Page 54 of Sweet Distraction

His stare pins me in place. I’m standing in the doorway, but I feel anchored, cornered, like I’m on fire from the inside out.

And I hate the way my body responds. The heat that pulses low in my belly. The goosebumps that skim over my arms. The part of me that freezes and wants him to reach for me.

“What are you upset about?” I finally ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

But I already know. I saw it earlier before he left—the defeat and the hope. And I sure as shit see it now—the fear and the predetermined failure.

“Just am.” His tone’s flat, indifferent. The exact opposite of what the look he gave me says he is.

“You’re full of shit.”

He takes a step toward me, slow and deliberate. “And you’re not?”

I lift my chin. “I’m not the one brooding in the dark with an empty bottle and taking whatever you’ve got going there out on a ball and a stick.”

“No,” he says, circling the table, “but you’re the one who pretends she’s immune to fucking everything.”

“Immune?” I bark out a laugh and challenge. “Define everything.”

He stops at the corner of the table, arms braced, gaze smoldering. “Me.”

My heart stutters.

Immune to him? Fucking hell. I’ve been standing in the lion’s den each and every day since I’ve been here—never more so than right now—and he thinks I’m unaffected by him?

“You say you’re here to look out for everyone else,” he continues. “So tell me, Willow. Who’s looking out for you? Who’s going to protect you?”

“I don’t need protecting.”

“From me?” His chuckle is dark. Suggestive. Wrecked. “Sure, you don’t.”

I swallow hard, throat dry. Rocket’s making me feel things I shouldn’t feel. He’s making me want things I have no business wanting. Not now. Not because he’s my boss. Not because he’s clearly been drinking.

“Because I’m drunk. Because I’m pissed. And because when both of those things happen, I typically like to fuck them out of my system and, Wills, you’re within reach.”

Am I attracted to Rocket? Who wouldn’t be? Have I thought about acting on that? No. I simply can’t. It’s not what I’m here for.

But those words, adding to the wickedly sexual vibes in the room right now?

My body wholeheartedly disagrees.

I do the only thing I can to bring us back to where we need to be. To throw cold water on this conversation. “So who’d you go to so you could fuck it out of your system tonight?”

He doesn’t stutter. “That question has no place in this moment, but I’ll answer because you asked.” He leans forward, eyes trained on mine. “No one.”

“And what is this moment?” I ask, chills chasing over my skin. “Because I’m not used to men who warn me away, stare at me like they want me, but then talk in circles.”

“What are you used to then? The boy next door? A man with smooth hands, lack of conviction, and emotional maturity?”

James flashes in my mind. A gentle giant. My first love.

And nothing like the edgy, mercurial, and incredibly sexy man in front of me.

“Grow up, Rocket.” Isn’t that what this is all about? Poppy’s presence is forcing him to grow up? And yet everything I’ve seen about him screams grown-ass man. “You don’t get to have an opinion on what I’m used to. You don’t know anything about me.”

His smile is a slow, wicked crawl over his lips. “I know your hands are trembling, and the pulse in your neck is pounding so hard I can see it.” He closes the space between us in two long strides, his voice low when he next speaks. “This moment is when I should walk away. When I should go to my bedroom, grab another bottle to drown out the noise, and close the door. When I should pretend I didn’t think about that bikini you wore or the way your laugh got under my skin.”

I take a step back. He follows.