Next thing I know, I’m airborne and falling backward. I catch Rowan dropping the bag in his hands and running toward me, but I’m already resigned to the scrapes and bumps I’ll get from the fall. I’ve had worse during dance practice.
Rowan must be made of magic, because he suddenly appears in front of me. He scoops me into his arms and twists our bodies around, and we have a repeat ofThe Great Jump Rope Incident.
“Are you okay?” Rowan asks with a groan. He has me pressed tightly against his chest, blocking me from any danger.
“Fine,” I mumble weakly.
My heart is hammering in my chest, not because of the fall, but because I’m once again plastered all up against Rowan. This time, I’m fully naked, and the leather scent that clings to him is making me dizzy.
It’s only been two days since I saw him or caught a whiff of his scent, and now it’s like my body has tuned out everything besides how delicious he smells and how good it feels to be wrapped up in his arms.
I’m hard in an instant, which is mortifying on its own without being pressed up against Rowan.
Maybe he won’t notice? Maybe it’s not a big deal?
Ifeel the exact moment Rowan stiffens under me, and my hopes of sweeping this all under the rug are washed away. I press my face deeper into his chest, which probably isn’t the best idea considering it’s only making his heady scent wrap around me even more. I wish his scent could just swallow me whole and save me from this embarrassment.
“It’s the, um, adrenaline. Don’t worry about it,” Rowan says gently.
My face is still pressed into his chest, but his gentle tone makes me look at him. He’s staring up at the ceiling, and a hint of red that matches his hair is creeping up his neck. It’s adorable, and it’s only making my hard-on worse.
“What if that’s not the reason?” I whisper.
Rowan’s breath catches in his chest. A second passes, then his chest rises again, with me on top of it.
He peers at me. Our eyes meet in a burning gaze that has me feeling downright warm despite my nakedness.
It’s Rowan’s heat seeping into me. I want to sink further into it. It’s too comfortable to resist.
And then I feel it: the huge bulge against my stomach, growing. My eyes widen because now Rowan’s hard too, and it’s a temptation that’s much too difficult for me to resist.
Rowan has the willpower of a saint, apparently, because he sits me up and covers me with my towel in one quick movement. I’m wrapped up before I can even process what’s happening.
“You should get dressed before you catch a cold. Your hair is still dripping wet too,” he mumbles, his eyes flicking everywhere but at me.
We’re back to playing the oh-so-fun game where we pretend we’re not attracted to each other. Where Rowan covers his crotch with his hands and ignores the lust that’s practically palpable, and I must go another minute without his lips on mine.
What fun!
I take a deep, calming breath that isn’t soaked with Rowan’s scent, then very confidently stride upstairs to get dressed, as he suggested.
That’s not to say I’m giving up. Quite the opposite. I’m a man with a plan, and that plan starts with the stomach.
Rowan is by the kitchen island, unpacking the bag he’d dropped by the elevator.
“Was someone baking earlier?” he asks. He catches my eye, but his gaze quickly shifts away again.
No matter!
I’m not the type to quit before I even get started!
I sidle up to his side, bumping his hip with mine. For a man who stands so tall, the action has him stumbling a bit. He quickly finds his footing and acts as if nothing’s happened.
“Someone did bake.” I smile to myself and say, “Me!”
He raises a brow at me. “You know how to bake?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, but Iama man of many talents. In fact, I made you those croissants!”
