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My mouth went dry. I situated myself close to him, nestling in, feeling his chest against my back. Every inch of me tensed, but I brushed it off the best that I could and lifted my hand to grab hold of the same strap Duncan held.
Our hands brushed, sending a trail of tingles down my arm. My eyes flicked to his, which were pinned right on me.
“We all in?” the driver called.
“We’re good,” Duncan replied, keeping his gaze on me.
So good. Too good. More than good.
I was far too aware of him, of the heat of his body so close to mine, of the clean spark of his cologne, of the frissons that took place every time our hands touched.
I felt his gaze on me—and I lifted mine to meet it.
His eyes glittered. Frothed. Burned.
Time stretched. My vision blurred. And slowly, his pinky trailed over to smooth itself across mine.
That single touch packed a punch. It exploded in my stomach. I chewed my lip, and in spite of myself, my gaze trailed to his lips. The heat burning in me intensified.
I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to tip forward and press my lips to his.
Too soon, the doors closed, and the trolley began its slow progression, rocking us slightly and shattering the moment.
My heart beat far too fast for how little I was moving. Duncan hadn’t pulled away that time. He couldn’t—not with so many people crowding around us.
Had I imagined the touch? The fire in his eyes?
“Here we go,” he said, casting his attention toward the front of the trolley.
Shaking myself, I did the same.
A new thrill climbed my throat as we progressed deeper toward the town. I turned my attention to the street. Pedestrians strolled down the hill despite its steepness, making me glad Duncan and I had opted to take the trolley.
Homes of a time long past were stacked in the mountain’s side, wedged in among the rock and trees, and then the trolley slowed, pulling in at the next station. I was so absorbed with the surroundings, I didn’t pay attention to my footing.
The trolley stopped, tipping me into Duncan’s chest behind me.
His free arm braced around my waist, holding me to him. A thousand explosions shot through me. I placed my hand over his, pounding, beating, drubbing.
He didn’t lower his hold. Instead, he ducked his head toward my ear, tickling my skin as he said, low and secretive, “Hey, there.”
His cheek prickled against mine, spiking my pulse.
I didn’t want to move. I wanted his arm to stay around me, to turn around and face him, to lose myself in the depths of his eyes.
I didn’t know how to handle this new openness between us. He’d been scary before, but if he was the kind of man I thoughtwas underneath all the pain and gruff, something told me he’d be downright dangerous to my heart.
Logically, I told myself I couldn’t go there with him. So why did I want to so badly?
TWENTY-FOUR
duncan
I was being tormented.
It wasn’t my bombed attempt to purchase The Painted Lady alone; I’d lost out on plenty of investments before. Those were always to further my business, and I’d known every time I could find a bigger, better asset. It wasn’t even the wounds I was hoping to heal between myself and Grandmother.
No, like always, it was Rosabel.
