Page 67 of Hot Lap
"C’mon. Just one bite." I expect him to laugh and say no.
Instead, Reece wraps his fingers around my wrist.
Gently.
Easily.
Like he's handling something precious.
My breath catches.
He doesn't take the fork. He takesme, and guides my hand closer to his mouth.
Never looking away from me.
Never giving me a chance to pull back.
With devastating slowness, he leans in and closes his lips over the fork, taking the bite.
His thumb brushes lightly along the inside of my wrist, where my pulse hammers wildly against my skin.
Heat surges through me, hot, immediate, and exciting.
Reece sits back, chewing like it's nothing, like he didn't just crash my entire nervous system with a single touch.
Again.
My hand stays suspended there, trembling just a little, wrist burning where he touched me.
Neither of us says a word.
The air crackles with enough electricity to power the entire goddamn Strip back in Vegas. That thing between us has grown hotter, closer, and hungrier than it's ever been.
One breath.
One blink.
One inch.
That’s all it would take to tip over into something I’m not sure I’m ready to survive.
Still...
I don't move away.
Neither does he, and I realize he’s waiting for me to decide what’s more compelling — what I want or what I fear.
The barrier feels thinner than it ever has, but if I let him in now, I’ll never want him to leave.
That realityterrifiesme.
Then Reece's watch alarm triggers, a buzzing-ringing sound that slices through the stillness and makes me jump.
He groans, hits a button to turn off the alarm, then scrubs a hand over his face. "That's me done for the night, then."
I blink. "Done? Why?"
He stands and stretches, his shirt riding up just enough to flash a strip of hard stomach before settling back into place.
