Page 102 of The Broken Heart Playlist
“Okay.”
“I might have to get really close to you.”
“How close?” Why does my voice sound so breathless?
He shrugs. I’m not fooled by the overly casual gesture. “Very.”
My heart begins a jubilantyes, yes, yesbeat.
I’m abruptly aware of how close we’re standing to one another, as if our bodies had moved without our permission.
We watch each other for a long moment, the air around us thick and hot. One question remains. The proverbial elephant in the room. But he’s not asking it. And the uncertainty and anticipation are killing me. I can’t wait any longer.
“What about kissing?” I ask, my eyes moving involuntarily to his lips.
He takes his time answering, the conflict playing out on his face. “No,” he says finally. “No kissing.”
“Really? No kissing?” My voice is unnaturally high as I wonder at the swell of disappointment inside me.
I feel him watching me carefully. “That’ll probably be taking it too far.”
“You’re right.” I attempt to inject more certainty into my tone. “No kissing.”
His face is unreadable, showing none of the frustration swirling inside me. I feel the reckless urge to shake him up a bit.
“If we’re really going to sell it,” I tell him, my voice growing huskier with every word, “I’ll have to slip my hands under your shirt, maybe feel you up a bit.”
His breath catches and his eyes ignite. I feel a stab of triumph. Yes, Gideon Walker, you’re not completely in charge here.
And then he says, doubt flickering across his face, “I don’t know. I don’t think you can sell it.”
My competitive instinct is immediately triggered. Don’t ever tell me Ican’tdo something. Gideon obviously doesn’t know me very well.
“I can so sell it!”
“You know what, forget I said anything.” He’s already walking away from me, heading in the direction of his car. “We’ll never pull it off.”
“Why not?” I demand, hurrying after him.
“Tess won’t buy it. You won’t be able to convince her.”
“Me? Why can’t it be you who won’t convince her? Maybe you’re the one who’s a terrible actor.”
That stops him in his tracks. Slowly, he turns to look at me, his eyes pinning me in place. My disruptive imagination is abruptly picturing his broad, firm body pinning me beneath him.
His eyes take their time traveling from my lips down to the pulse beating frantically in my neck. Everywhere his eyes touch, my skin heats.
Then he steals the air from my lungs when he murmurs, “I’ll have no problem convincing your sister I’m attracted to you.”
Gideon pulls into my driveway and walks around the front of his car to open my door. The moment I step out, he takes my hand and laces his fingers through mine. The warm, slightly rough feel of his palm prickles my skin with goosebumps. Our lamp-lit street is quiet, residents tucked away inside their homes.
“Is Tess watching?” I ask softly, even though I spotted the guilty twitch of a curtain as soon as he stopped the car.
“Yes,” he confirms, just as softly. “You’re right. It looks as though her face is pretty much glued to the window.”
I stifle a giggle. This is so much fun. Actually, the whole evening has been loads of fun. I can’t remember the last time I laughed and enjoyed myself so much. Strangely, I think our shared horror over the exhibits in the museum really helped us to bond and smoothed over any awkwardness. From the time Gideon picked me up, I haven’t been in my head second-guessing my actions or worrying about his. I haven’t once felt nervous or uncomfortable. The one thing I have felt, though, is the pulsing pull of attraction for the man currently holding my hand and brushing his thumb slowly and tortuously over my skin.
“You ready?” he asks, his voice husky, the light from the streetlight highlighting the angles of his face.
