‘C’mon then,’ he replied, sauntering over to the door and glancing back to me, eyes darting from my shirt to my black denim mini and down to my Doc Martens – which I had so far stubbornly refused to swap out for cowboy boots. ‘I think I’ve come up with a way to describe your look, you know,’ he added, turning into the hallway as I followed.
‘Tread carefully, cowboy,’ I warned, allowing myself an extra-long, fully gratuitous stare at his ass. His indigo blue jeans were fitted to perfection and, combined with his casual, confident walk, moved in a way that sent heat flaring right through me. ‘These boots have kicked many asses in the past ten years.’
Entering the kitchen, with the light over the table on low and the sound of Lottie and Cole’s laughter fading as the door shut, the atmosphere changed.
‘Kick any as fine as mine?’ he asked, opening the fridge door, pulling out a couple of beers.
I leant against the table, folding my arms.
He turned as if to question my silence, eyes immediately resting on my breasts, barely contained by the buttons.
‘Jessica Rabbit . . .’ he began, undeterred, putting the beers down on the countertop, reaching up into a cupboard and bringing out several bags of chips, ‘. . . meets Wednesday Addams. That’s your look.’
I narrowed my eyes. Secretly, I fucking loved that. But this was my way in, so I wasn’t about to tell him that.
‘A cartoonish, psychotic teenager, then?’ I said, voice low, as though he was walking a fine line.
His face changed in an instant, awareness flaring. I almost felt bad, even though this was all part of the game. It confirmed what Lottie had said, though, that under the cocky exterior was a genuine guy with a big heart.
‘Whoa there.’ He put everything down, rounding the counter with his hands raised. ‘I meant it as a compliment. Damn, I mean, you’ve got the whole cherry-red hair, sexy thing going on with all the black clothes . . .’ He stopped, clocking my eyes.
‘No, no, do go on,’ I purred, stepping closer, watching as he realized we were in touching distance, his eyes drifting down once again. ‘Up here, handsome,’ I added, waiting for him to look me in the eye again.
‘I . . . I just meant . . . Wait, are you . . . You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?’
Dipping my head to hide my smile, I kicked myself, realizing how much harder I found it to do this with him. There was something about his energy, something insistent and relentlessly positive, that made it almost impossible to fuck with.
‘Well, if I’m a sexy red-headed psycho –’ I replied, snapping my head back up and noting his relief, followed by a flash of challenge in his eyes – ‘that makes you . . .’ I considered it for a minute, studying his features openly. To his credit he didn’t flinch, just stared right back, only reacting as I bit my lip, painted the same intense red as my hair. His grey eyes widened at that, and his jaw flexed. ‘I’ve got it: Austin Butler meets the hot, ex-military one fromYellowstone, what’s his name? Kayce?’
This time he stepped forward, pushing his dark sandy hair back from his face. It was tanned from the intense summer sun, and his eyes were brightened by the contrast. The shadows of the dim room highlighted his sharp cheekbones, sloping to darker stubble on his cheeks and jaw.
‘The hot one?’ he asked, reaching out and gently unfolding my arms, taking my hands instead. The brazen look in his eyes and the pure jolt of electricity that shot straight up my arms at his touch almost gave me pause. I knew I could handle myself, handle him in this scenario, but something felt . . . different. He paused too, turning my smaller hands in his, studying the white tattoo on my left wrist. ‘What does this one mean?’
I hesitated, suddenly checking myself. It wasn’t like it was a personal question as such, but all of my tats had stories, some deeper than others. I’d explained this one many times before, to many people, but I couldn’t put my finger on why explaining it to Jesse suddenly felt . . . exposing.
‘It’s an old Norse compass,’ I began, staring at my wrist, feeling his eyes on my face. ‘Helps prevent you from losing your way. I did it myself when I was first starting out, just before I opened the studio with my ex.’
‘And is he still in the picture?’
I looked up, the gap between us disappearing. But, remembering my earlier promise to myself, I deflected. Not this easily.
‘Why don’t you give me your own tat tour and I’ll tell you,’ I countered, slowly retracting my hands from his and stepping back to lean on the table again.
He gave another small smile, and then his fingers began undoing his shirt buttons, working slowly as he watched me.
‘I’ve only got two so far. But . . . maybe I’ve got room for more,’ he said, eventually reaching the last button and opening it up to reveal the tanned skin beneath.Holy fuck. Turning around, he slid the shirt off to reveal a broad, toned back, leading right down to that ass. ‘So, what do you think?’
Momentarily stunned, I didn’t get it together until he peered at me over his shoulder. There was a bucking bull, small but nicely done, on one shoulder, and a larger water dragon at the top of his spine.
‘Nice,’ was all I could manage, covering my shock by getting up from the table and approaching him, as if to inspect them. But, in truth, I felt like if I didn’t touch him again in the next ten seconds I might just fucking implode.
So I did, reaching right out and stroking my finger down the dragon, letting my long, sharpened, gloss-black nail drag slightly on his skin.
‘Plenty of space for more,’ I breathed, feeling him shudder under my touch. ‘Shame I didn’t bring my kit with me.’
He turned then, fast enough that we were touching as I looked up into his eyes.
‘I’ve shown you mine,’ he growled, his finger grazing my chin, following the line of my neck and down, across my collarbone. ‘Only polite to show me yours.’
