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My eyes snap back open. Nope. Can’t think about that.
And now it’s too hot in here.
I unzip my coat and try to get the giant puffy thing off me without touching James, but it’s impossible.
“Sorry,” I say as I elbow him repeatedly, maybe with a few extra jabs in there for good measure, stuck inside my coat until he grabs the ends and pulls me out of it.
“Thanks,” I tell him, trying to tame my hair, pushing my sunglasses up to the top of my head. I smoosh the coat between us like a barrier.
I feel his eyes on me for what seems like eternity before I finally turn my head and look his way.
He was just staring at my chest. Like I said, this sweater is extremely flattering (not that my curves need any emphasizing at all, because I have an ample amount). And he makes no apologies for his gaze either. His eyes drift up to mine, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Your hair looks really nice.”
I pat my hands over it, for a moment thinking he’s being sarcastic. “Thanks,” I tell him. “I use Sundays as an excuse to fix myself up.”
He looks me up and down, heat simmering as he goes. “You do a good job. That sweater is very…becoming on you.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “If you turn that into a pun, you’re getting kicked out of the car.”
He grins and looks away.
And then I find myself smiling too.
Not good. This is how it started last time. This is exactly how he got under my skin. That smile and those burning eyes and a rocket full of innuendo ready to launch at a moment’s notice.
Suffice to say, the ride into Oslo feels much longer than it should. And hotter. And it feels like there’s no air in the car. By the time Olaf drops us both off outside Steen & Strøm, I feel like I’ve been released from some prison of my own sexual frustration.
“Where you off to?” James asks me, following me as I head into the store, totally prepared to just leave him outside.
“I’m going to get my grandmother a cake from the café,” I tell him, stepping out of the way as shoppers come in and out of the store. “Then maybe do a bit of shopping before I see her.”
He has this eager, almost hopeful look in his eyes. His puppy dog impression. But I’m not about to invite him along for this. This is the one day of the week that’s my time and my time alone. In the name of self-care, I can’t have James following me around.
I don’t even have to say anything because that hopeful look disappears pretty quickly. “So what time does Olaf pick us up?”
“I’ll text Olaf and let him know when we’re ready. I usually go for dinner after, so…” I pause, rubbing my lips together for a moment, knowing I’ll regret this. “So if you wanted to get something to eat when I’m done, I know a nice little wine bar.”
His brow creases in surprise. “Really? I’d like that.” He walks over to me, and I freeze, not sure what he’s about to do.
He holds out his hand.
I stare at it for a moment.
Stare up at his face.
Get overwhelmed at how handsome he is.
And put my hand into his.
He smiles in delight, giving it a squeeze. “Actually I was just wanting your mobile. I wanted to add my number.”
Shit.
My cheeks immediately burn, and I try to snatch my hand from his, but he hangs on to it for a few seconds more before I can take it back. I look down and busy myself, searching for my phone in my purse, my skin on fire.
Finally I enter my passcode and give him my phone, avoiding his eyes. Even so, I can tell he’s got that cat-got-the-canary smile, and right now I’m one very flushed canary.
He takes the phone and enters his contact information. “Feels kind of silly, doesn’t it?” he says as he types. “Considering we’re practically sleeping in the same room.”
