Page 39 of Into These Eyes
I stand there like a fool, waiting.
“It goes,” she continues, gazing up at me, “Gavin Lake, the man I hate
Gavin Lake, never my mate
Gavin Lake, is a total fake
Gavin Lake, I hate, hate, hate.”
She grins. “Isn’t that funny?”
“No,” I growl, my gut clenching at the thought of her despising me so much she made a goddamn hate-poem out of me. “Bedroom?” I snap, and for some reason, that sets off a blast of sexy chuckles from her throat.
“Well, aren’t you sure of yourself?”
“No … I didn’t mean—”
“There,” she interrupts, pointing past the kitchen.
I hurry forward and as I reach the dark hallway, her fingers slide into my hair. Almost tripping over my own feet, I steady myself, close my eyes for a moment, and let the sensation of her touch against my scalp wash over me. I really need to get away from her. This is all too much.
Following the dim light coming from further along the hallway, I step into her bedroom, taking in the illuminated lamp on the nightstand and her neatly made bed. As I move forward, she tugs on my hair.
“This’s much better,” she breathes. “So hot … or handsome? Are they the same thing?”
I’m about to die. Alcohol definitely loosens her inhibitions, both physically and mentally.
When I gently lay her on the bed, her hands slide from my hair to the sides of my face, her fingers gliding through my short beard, exploring. Goddamn that feels good.
She frowns in concentration, then smiles. “It’s both,” she murmurs.
“Both what?”
Her fingertips soften, testing the hairs on my face as her eyes meet mine. “I was wondering if this was soft or spikey. It’s both.”
“You were wondering, were you?” I shouldn’t encourage her, but how can I resist? I’m pretty certain she’d never say anything like that while sober.
She gives me a slow nod. “I like it. I didn’t like your other beard. I couldn’t see your lips properly.”
Then she brushes her thumb right along the seam of my mouth.
“They look yummy,” she breathes, tightening her hold on my face and pulling me in so close I feel the warmth of her lips just below mine.
Nope. I can’t let that happen. I’ve already allowed her to cross too many lines I’m certain she never would when not intoxicated. Very gently, I extract her hands from my face, place them on her stomach and step back.
She watches me with hooded eyes, as if she’s about to drift off to sleep. Or pass out. Surprising me, her gaze drifts from my face in a slow, lingering inspection of my entire body. Reaching my feet, she trails her scrutiny back up again, in no hurry whatsoever. When her eyes meet mine, she smiles.
“You are so …” Her words fall away as she bites her lip, apparently trying to come up with the right word. And I’m holding my breath, waiting for it to escape her lips.
When she stretches both arms toward me, I think she wants me to embrace her. Of course I want to. But I won’t.
“I need to pee,” she sighs.
Ah, well, that’s different.
First, I slip off those sexy, dangerous heels and place them out of the way. When I lean over her, she snakes her arms around my neck as if she’s done it a thousand times. The moment I lift her, she instantly snuggles her face into my neck again. Damn. If only I was someone who deserved to be burrowed into.
Sighing, I carry her into her ensuite and gently place her on her feet with her back to the toilet. When I try to move away, she grips my shoulders.
