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“Hey,” he coos, cutting me off and stepping closer. “I’m all right.”
Closing my eyes, I take in a settling breath because I’m sliding into panic.
“I’m okay,” he says, eyes still watching me too intensely. Like he can see everything I’ve hidden written beneath my skin.
“Okay.” I nod, then shake my head. “All right, good. Then, I should—”
He grasps my bicep in his hand, warm and firm. A solid hold, like he’s always had on me.
“Stay.”
Blue eyes almost swallow me whole, devouring my anxiety and desperation to get away almost instantly. It’s impossible for me not to feel settled in the grip of Bennett Reiner.
I shake my head. “No. I can’t—”
“Please, P,” he whispers, pulling me closer—so close I can almost feel the fiery heat of his bare chest on my skin. “Please. Let me—”
“Hey, Ben? I—” A voice interrupts, abruptly cutting him off. “Oh—sorry.”
Rhys Koteskiy is barely a foot away from us, dousing the heated moment with icy water, clearing the almost rosy haze from my eyes.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s fine—” I try to say, but Bennett slowly pulls me farther into his arms.
“Freddy’s got an extra bed,” Bennett says, his voice raspy and deep. “Mind staying with him?”
Rhys’s eyes widen slightly, but he nods. “Yep. I’ll just . . . I’ll see you tomorrow, Ben.”
And then he’s gone. There’s not a second for me to think before Bennett pulls me into his hotel room and shuts the door.
Alone in a hotel with Bennett feels dangerous. My entire body reacts to his proximity, heart racing and skin flushing. A pang of need sinks into my belly as his muscles bunch and move beneath the softer layer of his skin.
“I’m okay,” he says again, sitting on the corner of his bed, legs spread wide and arms crossing over his bare chest as he looks at me again. “Just a groin sprain.”
It’s embarrassing how quickly I feel my entire body heat.
“Oh.” I nod, feeling like a bobblehead as I manage to come up with nothing else to say. “And you’re . . . that’s all?”
He grins unexpectedly. “Hurts like hell, P. I think that’s plenty.”
“No.” I shake my head, squeezing my eyes closed. “Sorry—”
“I’m just messing with you.” He absentmindedly runs his hand down the inside of his thigh, and the reddened area moves beneath the pressure. “I just need to stretch it and rest. I already iced it for a while after I got pulled.”
“You didn’t get pulled.” I roll my eyes, my shoulders relaxing as I step farther into the room. “You got injured. There’s a difference.”
He’s still massaging the area, face grimacing every now and then, the muscles in his arm trembling slightly. And maybe it’s that. Or the hypnotizing flecks of gray in his ocean blue eyes. Maybe the reminder of the last time we were in a hotel room together this close.
Or maybe it’s just the desperation I always feel like a constant tug at my heart to be nearer to him that possesses me to offer, “Let me do it.”
His mouth opens before closing slowly again, like he knows he should deny me—what have I done other than cause him pain and suffering over and over? Why should I deserve to touch him so vulnerably?
He nods.
I step forward slowly and he scoots back to sit more fully on the bed, arms behind him to hold him up. My body sinks next to his on the soft mattress, and I curl to my knees just left of his spread thighs. The position is almost too intimate.
“Can I . . .”
