Page 82 of Downforce

She turns her head when I move in for another kiss, but her hands tighten on my shoulders. The contrast of her actions is an obvious outpouring of the war raging inside of her.

“You definitely shouldn’t be kissing me,” she finally says, turning her gaze up to meet mine.

Every time her eyes meet mine, it’s as if someone punched me in the chest. I wonder if she’s aware how expressive her eyes are. My gaze becomes drawn to the freckle over her eyelash before roaming down to the other freckles dotting her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

“One … two … three⁠—”

“What are you doing?”

I come back to myself to realize, “I’m counting your freckles. This one is my favorite.” I lightly run my thumb across her left eyelid.

This is what makes her finally push me away.

“Weirdo.”

I chuckle mainly because I agree. What type of maniac begins counting the number of freckles on somebody’s face? Me.

I’m only beginning to come to terms with my obsession with this woman.

“You look bothered,” she corrects.

I lift an eyebrow. “Am I that obvious?”

Her lips tug into a small frown. “What’s wrong?”

“I didn’t like seeing his hands on you,” I answer without pausing to consider how my truth would sound said out loud.

From the expression change on her face, I’m alerted to the reality that it did sound as possessive as I suspected.

“His hands weren’t on me,” she says. “He’s my trainer.”

“He was touching you.”

“You make it sound like he was groping me in the middle of the gym.”

“That would never happen.”

Folding her arms across her chest, Annalise cocks her head to the side. “Why not?”

I hear the challenge in her voice and everything inside of me rises to meet it.

“Because …” I crowd her personal space again, “he would’ve been carried out of here on two broken legs if he had the gall to put his hands on you.”

It’s not my intention but my voice comes out with a hint of growl in it. The thought of Charles, fan of mine or not, touching Annalise makes my mind go to irrational places.

She peers at me for a moment before apparently choosing not to raise to my bait. Annalise rolls her eyes.

“It’s never a good idea to needlessly threaten your fans,” she throws at me with a wave of her hand. “But it’s your career. I should go.”

“I’m hungry."

That surprises her enough for her to pause in her attempt to leave.

“For food?”

The confusion in her tone mirrors my own at all of the strange emotions tumbling through me. My gaze trails down the length of her body, pausing at the few beads of sweat that’ve pooled at the little indentation where her neck meets her chest.

“Among other things,” I reply as a scene of me running my tongue along that spot to her clavicle plays out in my mind.