Page 6 of Studfinder

“Sweet,” I whisper, forcing her gaze to my face. “You’re safe with me. I swear it.”

Her chin dips once to acknowledge what I said, but she doesn’t relax. Her hands still cling to the wood at her back as her chest heaves. Slowly, I reach out for her, wrapping my hand cautiously around her nape.

“Rita, focus on me. Take a breath.”

She nods again, keeping her eyes on mine as I massage the back of her neck, feeling the tension under her skin. Stepping closer to her, I will her to inhale as I do and then follow my exhale.

“That’s it. In. Out.”

She exaggerates her breathing, sucking in air before heavily releasing it.

“That’s it,” I repeat, still rubbing at her nape while her breasts brush against my tee-covered chest. Despite being sweaty from working under the heat of the lamp, I’m not stepping back until whatever frightened her subsides.

“Are you afraid of the dark?” I question, although it’s not pitch black. Low light filters down the flight of stairs.

“Fire,” she whispers.

I turn to glance over my shoulder, making certain one didn’t start, then look back at her.

“No fire,” I whisper.

Her eyes close a second, and she swallows hard. My thumb wraps around the front of her neck, slowly stroking up the column of her throat. Her skin is warm while soft under the calloused touch of my hand. I can feel her heart beating through the pulse at her neck. Slowly, her eyes open, and those blues are like fresh flames on a newly lit stove. The heat in them is just as intense.

Leaning forward, I lick my lips, watching where my thumb slides along her neck.

“Please don’t be afraid of me.” My roughened voice does not match the pleading words; however, I don’t want her to fear for her safety. I’d never hurt her. I’d never purposely hurt anyone.

She doesn’t respond to my plea, but I can’t seem to let her go. My eyes focus on her lips, slightly open and pink. Our breaths mingle. Our noses almost touch. Tipping my head as her nearness is too much, I can see down her loose top and note the swell of her breasts forced together by her bra. The dark purple silk matches the deep violet shade of her blouse.

I lick my lips, wanting to slide my tongue down the column of her throat and between the crease of those swollen globes. Rita has a nice rack on her small frame.

My hand slips from the back of her neck into the collar of her shirt. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I drag my palm to her shoulder, nudging the soft material to the side. Massaging as I move over her skin, I strum my thumb over her clavicle like I’d flick at fiddle strings. I want to play her and hear her sing.

Her chest continues to heave against mine, and my heart hammers in my chest. Leaning forward, I rub my stubbly cheek along hers. My lips almost touch the shell of her ear, and I whisper, “Relax.” As if thirsting for blood, my mouth waters, wanting to lower for the pulse thumping at the side of her throat. My thumb continues to stroke at the short cliff of her collarbone. No longer allowing my face to touch hers, I pull back but still feel the warmth of her skin against mine. My fingertip glides the length of her clavicle to the hollow dip at the base of her throat. Tracing along the notch, I lick my lips once more.

I could kiss her.

I want to kiss her.

Then I tell myself this desire is only because I haven’t kissed anyone in seven years. And kissing Rita would be a huge mistake. Despite my raging hard-on and racing heart, I cannot make a move on Rita. I’m needy but not desperate enough to fuck my boss.

“I gotta go,” I state, my voice gravelly rough. Abruptly, I release her, hovering my hand over her skin for a mere second as her heat sizzles off my palm. She’s a flame, and I’m a moth, and that is just not a game I dare to play.

Taking a large step back, I do a quick scan of the floor, unable to focus on anything I might be searching for, and then I take the stairs two at a time to get myself the hell out of the house and away from the intoxicating draw of Rita.

5

Rita

He almost kissed me.

Despite the slam of the front door, I remain where I am, holding the studs at my back like I’m nailed to them. I was drowning under him. His scent. His nearness. The touch of his hand on my skin. His fingers massaging my neck before his palm skittered to my shoulder. The calming effect he intended did not work. His hesitant touch made my heart race faster. I was ready to beg for him to lower that thick palm and touch me in other places. Then he stopped.

I gotta go.

His touch left my skin scorched.

My gaze drifts to the work lamp, no longer illuminated and evidently cooled from whatever landed on it. I don’t know what happened to me. I’ve never had a panic attack in my life. Not ever. One minute, I was watching Jake, heart fluttering, belly twisting, and then the sizzle occurred on the work light. A stream of smoke and the flicker of the bulb set my imagination running.