Page 22 of Heart Breaker

“It’s nothing,” she says, glancing up at me. For a few seconds, neither of us says anything. The tension between us thickens until she finally turns and moves toward the sink.

My gaze drops before I can stop it, catching on the curve of her round ass in her shorts. I regret it immediately because now I can feel my dick plumping further in my pants. But like the masochist I’ve become with this girl, I keep going, moving my eyes down her long, tan legs.

“Like the view?” she asks as she turns around and catches me staring. She dries her hands on a towel, trying to hide a smile.

What the fuck do I say to that? Admit that if her shorts ride up even another millimetre, I’m going to have to go upstairs and fuck the life out of my cock with my hand? Instead, I manage, “I’m not answering that.”

Her smile widens. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

There was a time where this is the position which I’d flirt back with a girl, let her know I’m interested. But Lottie is not any other girl. “It’s not a yes.”

“It’s definitely a yes,” she says, picking up a knife to cut through a wedge of Brie.

“It’s a refusal to participate in this line of questioning.”

That gets a real laugh out of her, and she points the knife at me like she’s caught me in something. “See? You do have a sense of humor.”

“I do,” I say, moving to the other side of the island. “It just takes a little more effort to get it out.”

“I’ll give myself a pat on my back then,” she says, entirely too pleased with herself as she adds the freshly sliced cheese to the board.

“Go ahead,” I nod. “You earned it.”

She hums, then adds casually, “I earned a lot more than a pat on the back this weekend. I unpacked all my things, organized my clothes, and then worked out in your gym. I had to burn off the weird energy from the last couple of days.”

“Is that why you’re wearing… that?” I ask, looking her over in an appreciative glance. It takes all of two seconds for my brain to head in a direction it has no business going. Jesus. I drag my attention back to her face. These thoughts need to stop.

“You’re very focused on my outfit tonight,” she notes with a smirk.

“Just making conversation,” I say. “And okay, I admit…you wear booty shorts well.”

“Mm,” she murmurs, with a wicked grin on her face. “For the record, your home gym is ridiculous. Do you know how unnecessary half the equipment is? Wes, there are more machines in your private workout room than there are at the gym I used to go to, and that one charged people by the month.”

The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. Lottie is quick and funny and entirely too good at pushing my buttons. I have to admit, I like the way she moves through my kitchen like she belongs here. I already like having her here.

“It’s well equipped,” I say, watching as she pops the jar of olives back in the fridge. “So, did you go shopping? Did you find something you like at Holts?”

She lets out a sigh. “I did. But I’m still not sure I’m comfortable with you buying it for me.”

She smooths her hand over the counter, brushing a crumb into the sink. I can see she’s still grappling with the thought of letting me do something like that for her. If that’s where her line is, she’s definitely not going to be comfortable with what I’ve got waiting for her tonight.

“Everything feels a little unreal” she says, like she’s trying to wrap her head around it all. “I have the dress, the shoes, even a hair appointment on the morning of the wedding, thanks to Victoria.” A small, disbelieving laugh escapes her.

“You are going to look stunning,” I tell her, meaning every word. “I can’t wait to see what you picked out.”

She finally meets my eyes and when I see the teasing look in them, I feel something squeeze in my chest. “You’re not going to fall in love with me for real when you see me, are you?”

Her eyes widen once she realizes what she just said, but it’s too late to take it back.

Our eyes lock.

She presses her hand into her chest, and I can tell she’s searching for the words to correct her mistake. “Of course, you won’t,” she says. “Besides, I’ll probably trip on my way down the aisle. That should help.”

“It may not be real, but we can still enjoy the day,” I say, crossing the kitchen and grabbing the takeout bag. “And I still plan on taking you for a nice dinner afterwards.”

I put the food in the fridge and then move to the cupboard where I keep the wine glasses.

“Ready to eat?” I ask.