Page 140 of One Wild Wish

“You and your brother are no fun.” I bumped against his back as he carried me to my car.

Gently, he lifted me up and over him, setting my feet on the pavement. “You want to come over tonight?”

Although we’d escaped certain death, tension still radiating from him, a point in his jaw ticking. Something felt off. Like it had while in the Evil Bathroom.

Owen had stiffened before Emmett cut our conversation short, poking my intuition that he had more to hide. Intuition I’d vowed wouldn’t fail me again. But his tension was likely due to my claustrophobia display, and my distrust issues were surely messing with my mind. That must be it. Owen couldn’t fake his sweet nature. He was a gentleman at his core. Kind. Courteous. Thoughtful. Sexy as a sweat-slicked cowboy drenched in sunset.

If I was going to move past Brandon’s betrayal, I’d have to start with trust.

A rush of nerves fluttered through my belly. “I’ll shower and meet you there.”

14

Seven letters for the surge of an electrical current in one direction.

Or giving into desire even though warning signs ring in your ears.

I M P U L S E

Ainsley

Apparently Owen lived in a garage. At least, that’s where my GPS led me. A large steel door was open, light streaming out, along with old jazz tunes. Tools and a few pieces of furniture filled the stain-splattered space. The corrugated walls were rusted in spots, the concrete floors cracked. It had a vintage vibe to it. Classic, like something you’d see in a greaser movie.

It also housed a brawny man who was bending over a plank of wood, teasing me with his taut derrière.

“Did you pay extra for the view?”

He stood and twisted toward me, eyebrows pinched. “View?”

I gave him my best sleazy-stalker eyes as I focused on his lower half. “It’s definitely nicer than at my place.” This I could do. Flirt and joke as usual. Find our familiar rhythm and forget the conflict on his face at my car, the unease still gnawing at my gut.

Smirking, he dropped the sandpaper on his work-in-progress and smacked his dusty hands on his jeans, a stupid sexy move. He took long strides to reach me. “The view just got a hell of a lot better. Not sure they could put a price on it.”

This man was some kind of dangerous. “Aren’t you a charmer?”

“I’m honest.” He proved his point with his lips on mine, his hot breath filling my chest. The kiss was slow and deep, more intimate than our desperate necking in the Evil Bathroom. Our tongues pirouetted in a perfect ballet duet.

Hopefully we weren’t performing Romeo and Juliet .

His huge hands caressed my back as he rolled his hips into me, showing me how turned on he was. The Hugo Boss Package was indeed large . A solid line of granite jutting into my belly. “You make it hard to breathe,” he murmured.

My purple satin panties were dampening by the second, my apprehension increasing, too. “Since I almost suffocated tonight, that would make us even.”

He nosed my ear, the underside of my jaw. “Being even would mean forcing you to listen to all the ways I’m going to eat your pussy, then making you watch me flirt with another woman.”

“Touché.” His gentle explorations had me shivering, his dirty words firing the ache between my thighs. But it was all too much. A tug of war waged between my body and my mind, fear of getting hurt versus pent-up desire pulling at me.

I ducked around him and headed for the large table against the wall. “Is that the piece you finished? The maple table?” I sucked in a lungful of air, urging my pulse to slow.

“Yeah.” His voice grew quiet, and I glanced back. He dashed his hand through his sandy hair, a sweet blush dotting his cheeks. Was he nervous? Shy?

His humble uncertainty was endearing, and I gave myself a mental slap. I should be claiming him right now. Dragging him to a tattoo shop to have my name stamped on his other butt cheek. We could be making wild, passionate love.

Instead I walked the perimeter of his creation. I dragged my fingertips along the smooth wood, tracing the shimmering lines and colors tumbling through the grain, searching for my Zen.

During a few of our lunch confessionals, Owen had talked about this project. His eyes would go soft, his voice dreamy as he’d describe what working with wood meant to him. Working with his wood would likely plaster an equally blissful expression on my face, if I could get over myself. “It’s spectacular,” I said.

“Really?”