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Get a grip, Amber.
Then I look through the peephole, and it’s déjà vu all over again. Reality lurches as my dreams merge with the image of the tall, muscled guy waiting outside, bright eyes shifting between the door and the world beyond. He’s dressed in jogging gear, in a washed-out black hoodie and stretchy jogging pants that mold to the thick muscles of his thighs and calves.
My whole body flushes, my nipples harden and the ache between my legs returns.
God. If looking at him through the peephole does this to me, what would it be like to touch his strong chest, his face, kiss those lush lips, taste his smoky, masculine flavor?
And there I go again, wanting a guy I shouldn’t. I may not be a good judge of people, but this case is clear-cut: Jesse isn’t who I need.
For a moment I consider pretending I’m not here. I could walk away quietly. No harm, no foul.
Before I step away, though, he turns his gaze to me, as if he’s looking straight at me. As if he knows I’m there. His gaze is sad, his pretty mouth downturned. He seems so miserable I don’t have the heart to go through with my plan.
Cursing myself six ways to Sunday for being an idiot, I open the door and face him.
“Good morning,” I say, repeating to myself that I should avoid pet names and anything ambiguous he could use to tease me. “Is everything okay?”
The long slide of his eyes over my neck and breasts quickens my breath and leaves a trail of heat on my skin.
“Good morning, sweets,” he drawls and braces one arm on the doorframe, leaning in. “Well, now it is a good morning indeed.”
Looks like it doesn’t matter what I say. With this man everything is an innuendo waiting to happen.
Then again, no wonder he’s staring at my breasts. My nipples are stiff and aching, standing to attention, poking through the thin fabric of my T-shirt.
Hurriedly I fold my arms over my chest to hide them. “It was a good morning until you showed up,” I grumble.
“You wound me to the heart.” He presses a hand to his chest and flashes me a lopsided grin, so sexy my brain short-circuits.
“Do I?” I whisper, breathless. Why the heck am I breathless?
His gaze is dark and hot, the length of his muscular body within touching distance, and his scent snags me and draws me in—musk and cinnamon and sweaty boy. He’s so close I can see the ring of blue around the green starburst surrounding the pupils of his eyes, the fine lines at their corners deepening with his grin, and a thin, jagged scar, white with time, running from one dark brow to his hairline.
When did he get so close? Or was it me?
Maybe that’s why I can’t breathe properly anymore. I force myself to take a step back and look away.
“So what are you doing here today?” I clear my throat, my voice somehow thick. “Anything else you lost during the party?”
“Just the one.” Out of the corner of my eye I see him lean on the doorjamb, his grin fading. “I don’t suppose you found it?”
“The leather band?” I shake my head. “I looked. Maybe it wasn’t here you lost it. Maybe at another girl’s apartment? I know. How about that blonde’s house?”
“What the…” He huffs, a breath of a sound, and rubs his forehead. “I’ve never been to her place. I don’t know her. Can’t even recall her name.”
“Veronica, I believe it was.”
“Then you know more than me.”
“You’re a,” I swallow, looking for a non-ambiguous word, “a douche.”
He doesn’t deny it, only snorts softly. “May I come in?”
“What for?”
“To look for my leather band.”
“No way. I’ll let you know if I find it, but honestly, I don’t think it’s here.”
