She doesn’t know what she’s asking. My father’s type of teaching came with a hefty dose of numbness and malice.“Go for the soft spots, find the opponent’s weakness.”It was his fatherly advice when my only friend in eighth grade finished top of our class, beating me by a slight margin. I won the following year, but we were no longer friends. Ruthlessness revs my engines whenever I come across a competitor. It’s the reason Adam and Logan are my only friends.
“Don’t wear your heart on your sleeve. You’re so transparent. Easy prey.”
Taking her chin in my hand, I’m not sure if I’m giving her business advice or warning her not to be so open. Whatever is going on between us has an end date.
“Got it.” She swallows and I trace the movement, tensing when unmistakable desire burns in her eyes.
I brush the spot under her lower lip with my thumb. “I don’t think you do.”
I leave her behind, looking confused, unaware I’m one “please” away from fixing all her problems if she asks. Or bending her over the railing and fucking her senseless.
Whichever comes first.
Those minutes in the kitchen were the most erotic experience of my life. I could get addicted to the softness of her skin under my fingertips. I got off on her moans and the look in her eyes when she came. But I was readyto pretend nothing happened after reason slapped me in the face and stopped me from taking it further.
The problem is I haven’t had nearly enough of her. Once the fantasy has formed it’s impossible to ignore. It coils around my thoughts, mocking me.
She’s not the casual type, no matter what she claims.
A deceptive calm has settled over our routine these last few days. The hunger is still there, simmering under the surface, and we’re pretending not to notice the tension ready to snap any moment.
Talking to Robertson, I keep getting distracted by the shape of Eliza sitting at the end of the small deck. Evening light pierces through the clouds above her and hits the water around the wooden platform and her hair. She is a fire fairy toying at the edge of the water, a naughty creature tempting me.
“Call Adam off,” Joseph says. “He’s getting on my nerves, sticking his nose in everybody’s business.”
“He’s worth his checks.” My steps take me to her. The pull I can’t resist scares me, but I don’t want to fight it today.
“Damn it, Carter. Get a hobby. Try birdwatching or something,” he huffs, aggravated. “Nobody wants to jeopardize your legacy, OK?” he says softly and I almost regret giving him a hard time.
Eliza’s swirling her toes in the water in a state of serenity I have no idea how to achieve. I decide to join her anyway.
“Is this some sort of countryside Thai fish spa?”
Eliza’s nose crinkles. “The call made you extra grumpy,” she says.
I rest my palms on the weathered boards and lean back. “Grumpy implies a level of cuteness. I don’t qualify.”
“What do you mean? You’re cute,” she says and blushes.
“Please don’t make this day worse for me,” I groan. “Cute?”
“There’s nothing wrong with cute, I’m cheering you up.”
“Not being in the same category as a newborn calf would help,” I grumble.
She heaves an exasperated sigh and looks at me with a quirky pout. “Are you going to make me say it?”
“Yep.” It’s childish but I want to hear it from her.
“This town has never seen so much hotness and smoldering in one person,” she says in mock wonder. “They’re talking about commissioning a bust. The lady who owns the souvenir shop said she’s planning to sell cuddling pillows with your face on them. It will surely save her business,” she finishes and her lips twitch.
“Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Eliza. I’m disappointed. I expected more from you.”
“Stop fishing for compliments.” Eliza shakes her head. “You even have sexy toes,” she grumbles and it’s so ridiculous it makes me laugh and she bursts into giggles.
The sound keeps carving at the hard scales around that soft tissue of vulnerability. Each day it’s getting more difficult to stop her from etching her way in.
I’m more in tune with her than I’ve ever been with another human being. Sounds that have become so familiar tell me everything about her mood. The morning clattering in the kitchen, the frenzied scratching of the coloring pensagainst the drawing pad. If the sound of her favorite home improvement shows travels under my door past midnight, she had a bad day at the store. She’s in a good mood if she works in her shed early Saturday morning.
