Page 8 of His Fairytale Princess
As he does, his shoulders brush against the tips of my breasts and the zing it shoots down to my toes is electrifying. And alarming. I suck in a silent breath and step back against the door frame to keep my distance.
Preston scans the room. “So where exactly are we bringing these things and what are they for?”
We both pick up some bags – his four to my two – and head back downstairs, I explain what we’re doing.
“We’re decorating a haunted mansion for our Halloween charity event. The house belongs to one of the girl’s parents.”
We make our way through the corridor past the kitchen and I carefully dodge the incredulous looks from some of the girls. Casey catches my eye from in the kitchen and fans herself when she notices Preston.
He’s kind of hard not to notice. I don’t usually bring guys into the house – like never – so I’m sure the girls are going to grill me later tonight. There’s nothing to say, though. I’ve known him for all of a few hours –has it only been that long?– and he just happened along at the right time.
The fact that he not only has a very fit athletic physique, but also that he’s very easy on the eyes has given me heart palpitations. A nervous sweat has broken out in my palms and between my boobs.
Gross, boob sweat. Not convenient.
We shuttle the bags to my car and Preston opens the passenger side door. I stare across the convertible roof at him, still uncertain of why he’s doing this for me.
I give him one last chance to back out. “Preston, seriously. I can just drop you back at your house. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
His smile is like warm honey spilling over my shoulders, over my chest and down in my tummy, where it swims in languid peace.
“It’s all good. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have time. Plus, you’re doing me a solid helping to tutor me, so I owe you.”
As I back out of the parking lot, I glance over at him and admire his side profile. His nose is a little crooked, but the perfect shape and length for his face. His blond hair feathers at his ears and does a little side-swoop over his forehead, just meeting the top of his eyebrows.
He’s so handsome and sweet.
Waving him off, I stop at the four-way at the corner. “You don’t owe me anything. I tutor because I like to help others. I’m getting my degree in teaching, so it’s what I do. What’s your major, again?”
“Finance. I’ve always been better with numbers. Reading wasn’t my forte. Numbers come easy to me, but words just get jumbled.”
I nod. “I’m just the opposite. Maybe you can help me with my stats course. Three weeks in and I’m already pulling out my hair.”
“We wouldn’t want that…it’s such pretty hair.”
I practically swerve and slam on the breaks. Did he just compliment me?
I feel my cheeks burning bright and I try to keep my focus on the road, hoping to change direction of our conversation.
“You’re a hockey player, huh?”
He chuckles. “Yeah. It’s fun. Where I come from, if you have the size and strength, you’re either into hockey or football.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see him slide his palm over his thigh. His massive thigh that seems to ripple under the touch. My own palms get sweatier and tremble, as I tighten my hold on the steering wheel.
“Where are you from?”
“Pittsburgh. And you?”
“I was born in New York, but now live in Connecticut.”
He’s quiet for a moment so I chance a look in his direction and find his eyes pinned on me.
“What?” I ask, wondering why he’s staring at me with skepticism.
My eyes return to the road, but I see the movement as he lifts his shoulders in a shrug.
“I don’t know. You’re not like the other people I’ve met from Connecticut. You don’t have that air about you.”
