And why did that make me want to get in his lap and nuzzle his neck?
I became a cat in heat in seconds, just with the man opening the door.Get a grip, Emma.
“Uh, let me take your jacket.”
Harlan’s musk surrounded me as his hands met my collar. His fingertips brushed my collar bone and I shivered. I fucking shivered. I didn’t want to shiver. I didn’t want to have a bodily reaction to his scent and the little brushes of his fingers, particularly not under the current conditions.
I knew, or at least I thought I did. He knew I knew. And he really knew when he helped me out of my jacket and I caught sight of the fucking gargantuan steel rod occupying his sweatpants. Holy shit. He’d either just finished or I really had interrupted. But he knew I was supposed to be here now.
Was this . . . on purpose? Did he want me to catch him?
And why did that thought make my mouth water?
Don’t flatter yourself, Emma.
“Are you sure we don’t need to reschedule?” I offered, my voice cracking.
My gaze fell to the long and thick—was that thing forearm-sized?—one-eyed monster inhabiting his pants. And his gaze went where my gaze went.
He cleared his throat. “No. Of course not. I’ve got everything ready in the kitchen. Unless you need to go?”
“No! I’m fine!” I slipped my shoes off and saw a pair of clogs next to where I put my shoes.
“Those are for you, by the way. Kitchen shoes, for here. I just got an average size.”
My tongue pressed to the roof of my mouth. “That’s . . . really nice.”
Harlan let out a breathy chuckle. “Told you I was nice.”
I stepped into the clogs and together, we walked to the kitchen.
“How’s the hot tub?” he asked.
“I haven’t used it. It’s really too much, Harlan. You have to take it back.”
He scoffed. “And upset Dave of Dave’s Pools and Spas? I think not.”
“Dave isn’t my problem,” I shot back. “He’s yours.”
“Actually, Dave’s not my problem, because you’re going to keep it. You’ll use it, and you’ll fucking love it.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” I said so petulantly that I reminded myself of Liam in his pre-teen years. I even crossed my arms, like that would show how big and brave I was.
Harlan planted his hands on his kitchen counter and hung his head. “I’m the reason your back hurts. You have to let me do something about it.”
“Sorry, am I a receptacle for your guilt?”
He straightened and raked his fingers through his hair, grabbing the ends. “You are so difficult!”
“No,youare!” I stepped closer to him. “I keep you from getting hit by a bus and all of a sudden I owe you?—”
“I’mtryingto fix it,” he bit out over top of me. “If you weren’t so stubborn?—”
“I don’t need you to fix anything!”
That finally shut him up. I panted, our faces inches apart from where our argument had drawn us together.
His voice softened. “But I could. Fix it.”
