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Cursing, I run cold water over my hands and splash some on the back of my neck. In the reflection of the mirror, my cheeks are pink and my eyes are shining. I look excited.
“Hell.”
I pat myself dry, take another calming breath, and leave the bathroom. And practically run into someone. My shoulder hits the cool wall behind me as I step back to get away.
Baylor stands there, his expression bemused as if he hadn’t expected me to pop out at him. Then he moves closer, taking my air. My thoughts scatter.
His eyes, intense and determined, are all I see. We are alone. Utterly. Finally.
I can’t look at him then. Not directly. He is the sun, burning bright.
“Why are you here?” My voice is a wisp of sound in the small space.
So is his. “I want you.”
The floor dips beneath me, his confession taking up too much air. Baylor seems just as shocked by his words. But he commits to them with a squaring of his broad shoulders. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I’ll go.”
My mouth opens, a denial on my lips. Then he reaches for me. It’s barely a touch, just the tips of his fingers on my elbow, as if he’s planning to guide me back downstairs. Nothing really. And yet it’s everything.
The small contact burns, ripples outward along my skin with lightning-fast intensity, and my breath hitches.
His does too. A quick glance up, and he searches my face as though seeking an affirmation. Whatever he sees must tell him that he’s not alone in this because he doesn’t let go.
Neither of us says a word. Blood rushes hot and thick through my veins, as the backs of his fingers skim slowly, oh so slowly, up my arm. His pulse thrums, quick and visible just beneath the golden skin of his throat. I want to lick that spot, put my mouth there and suck. I want him. I want him so badly that I’m going up in flames.
A quiet, pained sound escapes me, as his knuckles drift toward my inner arm, just to the side of my breast. I’m shaking deep within myself, an increasing tremor that spreads outward, until my breath comes in choppy pants that I fight to control.
What am I doing? This is Drew Baylor. Nothing good can come of this. I need to be strong. I need to stop this. To walk away.
I lean into his touch, wanting, needing him.
His lips part with a sigh, as if touching me is both a relief and a source of pain.
Somehow my hand settles on his hip, the bone solid beneath his skin. He tenses, a visible clench that has his biceps bunching. The next instant, my fingers steal under his shirt.
His skin is hot, as if he’s burning up from within. My palm glides along rippling muscle, smooth and toned, the cotton of his shirt tickling the back of my hand as I go.
He holds so still that when he shivers it’s an earthquake. My questing thumb finds his nipple, and he stops breathing altogether. The little nub of his nipple beneath my thumb turns me on so much, I bite my lip to keep from moaning.
Oh, but it’s getting to him too. He swallows audibly, those little tremors within him growing stronger.
I press down hard.
With a choked cry, he stumbles forward, his forearm hitting the wall beside my head as he braces himself. Warm breath caresses my cheek, the sound of his panting filling my ears.
Shaking, Baylor stands so close that his vivid heat envelops me. I draw in his crisp, clean scent, and grow lightheaded. Unable to resist, I flick my thumbnail over his nipple. He grunts, his hips jerking as if pulled on a string. And then he retaliates.
His long index finger curls around the strap of my top. For a moment, he simply runs his finger up and down the strap, toying with it, each pass drawing closer to my breast. Then he tugs, sliding the strap over my shoulder by agonizing degrees.
Oh, God.
My lids flutter. I want to close my eyes but can’t. I’m stuck staring at his rapidly beating pulse, all of my awareness centered on the progress of my strap as it scrapes down my arm, peeling the top over the curve of my breast, which has grown heavy, aching. I don’t think I’ve ever been more conscious of my breasts, of my body.
The top slips further, exposing more skin.
Hurry, I want to cry. I’m shaking by the time the edge of my top catches on the hard bead of my nipple. Stuck.
We both seem to hold our breaths. Beneath my palm, his heart beats fierce and strong. I can feel his stare, covetous and hot. I want him to see me. I want to be exposed to him.
