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Her cheeks washed with pink as her eyes widened further.
“Beautiful,” I added softly.
So fucking beautiful my heart ached when I looked at her.
Her mouth was ajar, her chest rising and falling more rapidly. She licked her lips, then said, “I’m not perfect.”
“No,” I agreed. “You can be headstrong and willful beyond reason. Sometimes impulsive.”
Rather than react with hurt, her mouth broke wide and she laughed again, rewarding me with more of that sweet, hypnotic sound.
“And don’t forget dramatic,” she added, “as my mother always says.”
“I’d call it passionate rather than dramatic.”
And just like that, the electric tension constricted like a tight rope stretching between us.
Needing to get away from this topic before I fell on my knees like a smitten schoolboy and swore my love to her, I added playfully, “SoThe Witcheris a good escape, but I’d say you like it for another reason.”
“What’s that?” she asked, smiling.
“I’m pretty sure most women like it for the star of the show, Henry Cavill.”
She blushed but added brightly, “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I figured.” I chuckled. “So you’re a Cavill fan too?”
“Yeah, I like a big, thick man.”
She sat, facing forward, her plate perched on her knees. But I didn’t miss her side glance that became less of a glance and more of a lingering look down my body, stalling at my chest and thighs.
Forcing myself to keep my breathing steady and even, I kept focused on the TV and flicked on episode one of the show. I could hardly believe it, but Anna Hebert was checking me out.
After she finished eating, I took her plate and brought both of ours to the sink. When I returned, she was sitting sideways with her back on the other end of the sofa, her knees up. I settled back onto my side.
I could barely focus on the show because Anna had let her feet slide forward till the tips of her toes touched my hip. By the time the episode ended, her toes were neatly tucked beneath my thigh.
The thing was, this would’ve been totally normal had we been at her parents’ house, all of us watching a movie together in the living room. Casual touches had been commonplace when she was growing up. It had still tortured me then, but I’d accepted my role as her surrogate brother. Mostly.
But now, in the quiet isolation of my own living room, it felt achingly intimate. And her sultry looks and suggestive banter had tied my stomach into knots and had my cock rock-hard.
I was thankful when the episode ended. I quickly stood and clicked the TV off. “I need to call it a night.”
“Sure.” She popped up, nervousness in her voice. “Of course. Sorry.”
“No apologies needed. Thank you for dinner.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” She picked up her purse and headed for the front door. “Just doing my job.”
I followed her toward the front door. “Still, I appreciate it.”
Our exchanges were stiff and cordial and not like us at all. That electric sizzle simmered below the surface so we both reverted to polite talk to cover what was brewing beneath.
She turned to face me, putting her back to the door. “And I appreciate you.”
That look. That voice. I wasn’t imagining or fantasizing this into reality. Anna wanted me.
I held myself rigid, unable to move or speak, fisting my hands at my sides so I wouldn’t reach for her. If I touched her, it would all be over.
