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He’s gotta be messing with me. The man’s been nothing but a moody ogre, and suddenly he ‘likes the way I smell’. As if.
What is he playing at?
And why can’t I get a read on him?
“Yeah, Princess. I like the way you smell.” From Pipsqueak to Princess. Have I died and gone to the fluffy beyond? I mean, for real?
Subtly, I pinch my thigh just to be certain this isn’t one of my dreams.
Ouch. Well, that hurt. Clearly not a dream.
I should have known by the way my heart flutters dramatically in my chest that this is the real deal. Well, maybe it’s not the real deal, considering I’m positive there’s an angle to this Mr. Nice Guy, act. Still, I’m affected.
I swallow hard. It’s humiliatingly audible.
“You're sitting close to me because you like the way that I smell?” I just can’t leave well enough alone.
“Yep.”
Consider me dumbstruck. There's no other word for it.
Considering there’s no word for it, I face forward again to give my attention to the movie. I really do love this movie, but it’s hard to focus when the man I’ve held a torch for, for years, is sitting this close to me.
No matter how I try, I can’t seem to calm the racing beats of my heart.
My flesh feels all tingly and aware. I’m stuck fighting the magnetic pull my body feels for him.
You hate him, remember, Pippa. It’s no use to remind myself. I might hate the man he’s become, but my body sure isn’t on board with that.
He’s an asshole. He hates you. He does all he can to stay away from you. He’d get rid of you if he could. But he likes the way you smell. He’s an asshole. But he likes the way you smell…
I’m hopeless.
My heart lurches abruptly when he shifts, lifting one arm to drop it behind me on the couch.
O.M.G. Is this for real right now?
I can’t believe this is happening.
I force my eyes to remain fixed on the screen even though the wet heat between my thighs is difficult—impossible—to ignore.
It only serves to remind me just how inexperienced I am. Would a sexually experienced, confident woman be wet from something so simple? I mean, really.
Flames of emotion heat my cheeks and I shift, squeezing my thighs tight. I wonder if he knows I’m aroused.
I wonder if he’s doing this to me on purpose.
Because I can’t stop myself, I sneak a peek.
He's watching the movie, his jaw hard as always. I don’t think he knows.
I hope he doesn’t know.
Urgh, I need help.
“You’re looking at me.” God, I love how deep and rumbly his voice is.
“I’m confused.”
