“That’s not the part that would damn me,” he says, shaking his head. “Now sit back down before I fucking do something I regret.”
I’m standing in front of Thayer, who’s kneeling in front of me. I’m in my panties. He’s so close I can feel his warm breath on my skin. I imagine what it would be like if he held me.
This should… not be… erotic.
He’s… doctoring me.
I was injured.
He’s just being…brotherly.
“Are you laughing?” he asks, in that scowly-stern way that makes my heart flutter like butterfly wings.
“No,” I lie, and totally bust out with another laugh. I’m choking on my attempt not to laugh and failing miserably. Oh, God, I have to stop laughing.
“Savannah.” Thayer leans back on his haunches and fixes me with a harsh gaze with a hint of judgment behind it. He draws in a breath as if prepared to lecture me.
Mmm, lecture me, baby.
I’m giggling again, covering my mouth with my hand so he doesn’t see, which is about the same thing as closing my eyes and hoping that means he doesn’t see me.
Oh, God, I think the wildly swinging emotions of the night have me a little punchy.
“Yes?” I ask.
“What is so funny?”
“I—I don’t want to tell you what’s so funny.”
It takes more courage than I think it would to say this, but I soldier on, because there’s no way I’m telling him what’s going on in my mind.
“You’re damn lucky,” he says under his breath.
I feel my cheeks suddenly flame. “Why is that?” My words sound choked.
He holds my gaze for a few disquieting seconds. I squirm.
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
Wait, now that isn’t fair.
“Okay, excuse me?” I ask. Nicolette says I have a temper and I should watch it, because one day it will get me in trouble. “You can’t do that stopping in mid-sentence thing. You don’t like when I do that, and yet you did the same thing!”
“It’s called thinking before you speak, a concept I know is foreign to you.”
Oh, what an ass! How could I have thought he was hot?
“Sometimes, the better choice is not to complete a thought out loud, or to keep one’s thoughts to oneself.”
“Oh, really, is that right, Mr. Smarty-pants?”
The Gerard boys speak fluent English, and my French is actually excellent, but I’m not sure the whole “Smarty-pants” thing translates well.
Thayer stands. I haven’t forgotten that my pants are around my ankles.
I’m suddenly aware of every one of my senses, as if my simmering emotions have amplified them.
The feel of his hands on my skin. The way his breath burns me like I’m standing too close to a bonfire. His masculine scent, the deep vibration of his voice…
