She didn’t even notice he’d gotten out and come round to her side until he spoke. “Are you kidding me with this, short ass? Come on, now,” he said, as he made a beckoning gesture with both hands, then tapped his shoulder. Obvious in intention, yet still she couldn’t help hesitating. She thought of that heat, of how solid he had felt, of how funny it had made her feel, and her hand just hovered there.
He had to gesture again.
Softer this time.
And his face looked that way, too. It sort of opened, in a way she understood even without any accompanying words.Oh, I made a mistake, it said.I was too brutish that time, it said.I made her nervous, it said. All of which added up to her not wanting to be nervous at all.
She put her hand down firmly.
She even let it slide around his back, and leaned toward him.
But now he seemed like the anxious one. He kind of stiffened—enough that she was sure she’d made a mistake. Only then he simply went ahead and scooped her into his arms again. All in one businesslike motion, before he moved straight to the front door of her shop. She didn’t even have time to think about that strength, the fever burn of him, that struck-match scent. “Keys,” he said, and she had to fumble them out of her pocket for him.
And then it was just him and her in the dim quiet before opening. No fairy lights lit. No customers about to come in. No soothing burble from the coffee machine. The door clattered shut, the bells at the top finished jangling, and they were alone together. Really alone together, too—he didn’t put her down right away.
He just stood there, holding her.
As if he’d realized he was now in an even more uncomfortable position than he’d been in the car, and in his house, and in her shop yesterday, and had frozen in place. But before she could say something or nudge him, he seemed to get it back together. “Just gonna set you down here,” he said as he carefully levered her into the nearest comfy chair. The squishy one, by the books he’d perused the other day.
She saw him eye all the self-help type of stuff as he drew back.
Before he remembered the task he was supposed to be focusing on.
“Okay, kid, where’s your first aid kit?” he asked, and she pointed behind the counter. But it was only when he started rummaging and came up with the tin that she realized: he actually did intend to do this. He was going to touch her bare leg. He was going to touch it a lot. With his whole big hands.
Even though she’d barely recovered from being carried.
She could still feel her heart thrumming. Her palms were sweaty.You really don’t need to do this, she almost said, just as hecrossed back over to her, and set the kit on the cute round table next to the seat she was on, and thencrouched down.
Not even crouched, really. Hekneltat her feet.
He looked like he was about to propose marriage.
And in a way she’d always dreamt of, but long since packed away as not for her. She just wasn’t the sort of girl who got swept off her feet and wined and dined and given heartfelt proposals. She was the sort of girl who got asked out for practical reasons. Like she was the only one left to dance with, or a single dad thought she’d make a great nanny/cook/maid.
A nice and helpful girl.
Not a passionate obsession.
Honestly she had no idea why her cheeks heated, seeing him there. Then even more so when he looked up at her. Those wild blue eyes caught and held hers, and a great wave of warmth just seemed to go through her. Very visible at this point, she was sure. But if he noticed her flushed face and flushed chest and flushed fricking elbows, he didn’t say.
Instead he asked a question.
“Is it okay if I touch you?”
And she wanted to laugh in response. She wanted to say,You’ve just touched me a ton, you held my whole body in your arms, what do you mean?But even as she thought it, she could feel it just wasn’t the same. One touch had been brusque, efficient, necessary. All brute strength and tough orders.
This had him almost whispering.
Asking for permission.
Blatantly unsure that he should. Or even that hecould, with those enormous hands. She looked down between their bodies and saw them there, hovering close but not closing the gap, and marveled at how soft and vulnerable they made her legs look.
She felt pretty sure she should say no.
But she somehow said yes instead.
Then held her breath as he reached forward. One agonizing millimeter at a time, until it seemed like he had to be there already. He had to be touching her. It even seemed like she could feel him, burning his fingerprints into her skin. And then he actually did make contact, right on the sensitive curve at the back of her ankle, and she almost shot out of her chair.
