Page 70 of Taming Tesla

“For a lot of things.” He shakes his head like he doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. “I hope you’re hungry because I came here to eat.”

Because I’m a total perv and kinda drunk, his comment chases thoughts of Declan and Tess from my head in an instant and sends a quick blast of heat over my skin, tightening my nipples instantly.

Shit.

“I’m just going to go—” I turn, heading to my room to brush my hair and change my clothes. And put on a bra. Jesus, he probably thinks I keep ditching my bra on purpose just to fuck with him.

A strong hand reaches out and snags my arm, stopping me cold. “Nope,” he says, pulling me back. “I need a sous-chef.”

I lift my free arm, mashing my hand against my skull, wincing when the hair on top of it springs back when I lift it up. “I have bedhead.”

He’s standing close, the hand on my elbow loosening to slide up my arm, skimming over my bare shoulder before coasting up the line of my neck. “You do,” he says, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. “It’s adorable.”

I turn my face, digging my chin into the top of my shoulder. “I think I drooled.”

“You did.” He nods, barely suppressing a laugh. “But considering you drank enough champagne to drown a horse, I think you got off easy.”

“I’m not wearing a bra.”

Now his grin turns wicked, his gaze drifting over my chin… my collarbone… before settling on my breasts. “Yeah…” He says it softly, letting his eyes linger for a moment before lifting them to mine. “I noticed.”

“I didn’t mean—I wasn’t trying to…shit…” I sigh and stop talking because nothing is coming out of my mouth right. I’m not sure if it’s the bubbly or the fact that he’s standing so close I can feel the brush of his work shirt against my swollen nipples.

“I know.”

His words, the way he says them—slow and careful—remind me of what happened the day of the storm. The way I goaded and pushed him into bending me over the pool table.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him quickly. I want him to know that this isn’t a game to me. That I don’t think he’s a joke.

“Don’t be.” He takes a step back, away from me. “You’re allowed to be comfortable without having to offer me an explanation.”

I shake my head. “That’s not what I’m mean.”

He looks like he’s about to say something else, but he doesn’t. Turning away from me completely, he opens the fridge. The only thing in it is beer and water. He deliberates for a second before snagging a beer. “Put stuff away while I take a quick shower?” he says, twisting off the cap before tossing it in the trash. He takes a long drink of his beer, casually avoiding my gaze.

I nod. “Sure,” I say, watching him walk across the apartment to disappear down the hall.

I’d bet my life that whatever he was about to say to me, that wasn’t it.

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