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I wait for him to give me his eyes like he always does. Instead, I get a close-up view of the scruff on his jaw. Dark, scratchy, and, God, my lips ache with the need to feel the burn of it. That one thought spikes my pulse to a new level of frenzy that makes it impossible to breathe as my eyes flick up to his.
This whole time I’ve been gawking at his jaw like a bitch on heat, he’s been watching me, his chest puffing that bit more, and his head getting bigger as my awkward fascination feeds his ego.
Holding his stare, I swallow past the thick feeling in my throat as I resist the urge to trace his stiff jaw with my mouth/tongue.
I might be going crazy. I think he’s driving me cuckoo, because my mouth is watering at the thought of it.
“You want to play a game, Cassidy?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“I knew there was a reason I like you,” he says, maintaining his hold on me when I try to pull back so I can gather my wits about me. I see the way his eyes are shining—there’s no mischief, just loaded promise.
“Cut to the chase, McAllister.”
“Apt choice of words, darling.” He grins. “I catch you and I get to do whatever I want to you.”
I’d be tempted to ask what’s in it for him, but then he might change his mind.
“Benches are safety. The park gates are home,” Leif says, his grip on me easing.
“You should know I’m a decent runner.”
“Mmhmm.”
“No, really. I’ve won the teachers’ race for the last four years.”
Leif pulls back, tipping his head to the side, and smiling at me broadly. “Good for you.”
“So, don’t feel bad when I make it home before you have a chance of catching me.”
“You done talking yet, Ms Morgan?” He comes around me so he’s at my back, and the open view of the sludgy path to the park gates is in front of us. “I’ll give you a twenty second head start.”
“I don’t—”
“Nineteen.”
I look back at him, wondering if he heard me when I told him I’m a good runner.
“Eighteen.”
“Seriously, I—”
“Seventeen.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I smile over my shoulder as I start a slow jog away from him, grateful that the worn tread on my Chelsea boots still has a decent grip.
It takes me the rest of his countdown to find my balance, along with a rhythm that I build with the sense of excitement and urgency that has me laughing in between breathless gasps. The cold is making it a lot harder to keep up my pace when it hits my lungs.
“I’m coming for you!” Leif calls behind me.
He’s a lot closer than I expected, and when I look back, he’s bounding towards me with that big fuck off grin on his face. A man with his muscular physique should not be so agile. The harder I push myself, the quicker it feels that he’s catching up to me.
“Is that all you got, Ms Teacher Champion?”
Fuck, he doesn’t sound a little out of breath, while my lungs are threatening to tear themselves into a gazillion miserable pieces with every stride.
Isn’t he supposed to be a retired athlete?
