She should have men lined up around the circumference of the Earth just to breathe near her.
Not that I’d let them.
I make a note to figure out how to delete her profile from any site that would make some other swinging dick think she’s out there looking.
Because her search for Mr. Right is over.
Her body language is closed off and a little panicky, and I get it. I’m a handful when I’m not so fucking keyed up, but her eyes are telling me there’s something inside her that’s with me already.
Firecracker.
That’s the word that’s been on repeat inside my head since the moment I saw her standing in the bar last night. Even Victor keeping me up half the night playing Call of Duty in my living room didn’t prevent me from waking up steel pipe hard, dreaming of her soft curves riding my face as I drooled into my pillow.
But, Jesus, up close she’s a thousand times more beautiful. She’s a fucking knockout.
She deserves to be painted on the side of some vintage World War II bomber.
The way her green eyes glimmer as she sizes me up with obvious pleasant surprise is making my nutsack tighten and my balls start to fill. Her fire colored hair hangs around her peach shaped face in ringlets and waves and my fingers twitch thinking of them through the silky wildness.
I even forget about the lingering pounding in my head from that beer bottle shot.
“Look,” she says, scratching at the top of her head. She’s so fucking cute, I want to carry her around on my hip for the rest of my life. “Last night needs to stay outside this office. I hope you read through the Code of Conduct that Dr. Hoffman said he emailed you yesterday. You did sign the documents electronically, but that doesn’t mean you read and understoodthem. This is a platonic, professional relationship. So, we need to forget about last night.”
“I don’t even get a thank you?”
My fingers twitch, wanting them around her throat, desperate to feel her pulse pounding against my hand.
But that’s not the only pounding I’m thinking about.
I imagine rolling down those black stretch pants, stripping the pink t-shirt with itsBristol Empathetic CounselingYin-Yang logo off her head. It’s making it hard to think of anything but what she might taste like.
There’s a hint of citrus and cherries in the air around her. Sweet and tart. Just like she looks.
A vent in the ceiling blows cool air onto my damp hair, making me shiver against the ball of heat ricocheting around inside me like an out-of-control pinball.
Sweat trickles down the indent of my spine as my mouth turns drier than the Sahara. She’s got just the thing to quench my thirst, and I’m not talking about water.
As she stares, her sparkling green eyes narrow, lips popping together as an uneasy and unfamiliar tension centers around my heart.
I fuckingcareabout this girl. More than I should. More than I have ever cared about a woman before.
Except my mom, but that doesn’t count.
How dare she wiggle herself through my hard shell with barely a look?
“I appreciate that you understood I was in an uncomfortable position. However,” She clears her throat with this cute as fuck little defiant stare, her fists pressing into her womanly hips, then finishes, “you need to learn to control your violent outbursts. That’s the reason you’re here. And I do not need a man to save me. I am perfectly capable of saving myself.”
Hell, yeah. Give it to me, firecracker.
“That so?” My eyes drift from hers for a moment, taking in the controlled space around us. Clean, white, neat, without frills or anything that makes the space feel like she belongs here with her unruly copper waves and state-of-the-art curves.
I note the way everything on her desk is set up in grid like organization, and I want to make a mess of her office while making a mess of her more than I want to breathe.
Instead of crushing my lips to hers in a sloppy kiss, then shoving her to her knees, showing her she’s mine now, I say, “I like your hair better today.”
See, Firecracker? I can control myself.
Her eyes snap wide, brow furrowed, silence falling from her open lips as I run the flat of my hand up and down my chest, watching her gaze drop, eyes lighting up before her cheeks ripen deep pink, as she gobbles up an eyeful of my hearty gray sweatpants-salute from down below.
