Page 57 of How You See Me
“Thanks.” This is torture. “And I should have told you how beautiful you looked tonight. More like she took my breath away, and I’ve yet to find a way to breathe normally in her presence. “The bartender beat me to it.”
“Is that why you were mad?” Her head lifts slightly to see me, wobbles, then lowers back to the headrest.
The rag freezes on her elbow. “I wasn’t mad. Why did you think that?”
“You got really big hands,” she slurs, the topic forgotten. “Big, soft oven mitts.”
“Don’t flatter me, Josie.”
“From hot monk to sexy chef. This cowboy spa is . . .” She blinks slowly then yawns. “Ever do this before? Cuz you seem to know what you’re doin’, Cowboy.”
“No, ma’am. You’re my first.”
She snort laughs. “Lucky me.”
I work quickly to finish her arm, pretending my heart isn’t a bouncing pinball in my ribcage. Her collarbone and face are next—God help me—and my fingers already feel clumsy as I hold them under the old iron faucet.
I dig my control out the fog she created only to lose it again at the first sight of her. She’s fallen back asleep, the strap of her tank slipping farther down her shoulder to reveal more skin, another smudge, and areas of her body I have no right thinking about. Much less touching.
Shoot me now.
“Josie,” I rasp, begging her to save me. “Can you finish up?”
No response. Just the faint moonlight covering every inch of her in temptation.
This is better, right? No magical sapphires daring me to cross invisible lines. No rum-driven, sensual words shooting desire through my midsection. No excuses not to complete the mission plan.
Gritting my teeth, I drag the cloth across her collarbone, her skin blooming pink in the wake of my touch. The smudge there disappears, and I wish the fire smoldering in my gut would follow suit.
When I reach the new spot on her chest, she pulls in a sharp breath. Her eyes crack open, pinning me in place. She sighs on the exhale, and it sounds way too much like an invitation.
At this distance, I’m close enough to change everything between us. But I don’t dare move since my mind is already three steps ahead in a direction I promised myself I wouldn’t go.
For a distraction, I move the cloth to her face, following the curve of her cheekbone to the dark streak just below her ear. She tilts her head, and I wonder how it would feel to kiss her there. To trail my lips up her neck and—
Her gaze falls to my mouth. Is she thinking about that too? Is she waiting for it? For me?
The pull of her bottom lip between her teeth untethers the trained discipline I pride myself on.
I’m now a loose cannon, leaning in and pretending I’m not memorizing the feel of her.
Closer.
My body begs to tilt her up and find out if she tastes as good as I think she will.
Closer—
Thisis wrong.
Damn it.
Dipping my head, I force air into my lungs and reality back to the forefront where it belongs. Three stumbling steps take me away from her, my feet moving on protective instinct. I can’t feel my limbs until the cool washcloth drops from my hand, the missing weight bringing me out of the stupor. I lean against the side of the van to reunite with my conscience.
What in the hell am I doing?
She’s drunk and half-asleep. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for—if she’s even asking at all.
I shove a hand through my hair on the way to grab a blanket from the mattress. In those few seconds, she’s fallen asleep again.
