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It matters even less when I notice the shake of her hands ease with each small bite.
And all of it means absolutely nothing when her ocean blues focus on me for what feels like the first time with a severity to her softened brow and tipped lips.
Chest vice?
Gone.
In its place, a warmth that burns me from the inside out.
Oh, shit.
Chapter Twelve
Cedar
“Thankyou.”
Fin’s eyes lock on mine for what feels like a lifetime before I can work my throat enough to get out the words and I immediately want to catch them in the air and shove them back in my face.
I feel heat rise on my face even when I don’t do that. My voice that trembles, comes out breathy and quiet on a tongue that tingles thanks to that battery I decided to lick anyway.
Definitely don’t do that.
Letting out a sigh, I break away from his hypnotizing stare and let my eyes fall back down to the food in my lap.
The taco is no longer appetizing, my stomach turning in knots, and that margarita I bypassed seems increasingly appealing the longer Fin bores a hole in the side of my hanging head.
This is why I don’t do nice things.
“Cedar.” My name is soft off his lips but rides rough down my spine and settles into my already aching lower back.
He says it again when I don’t move or answer, stronger this time, and even easier to ignore because I’m just an asshole who doesn’t like to be bossed around or told what to do.
“Look at me.” The demand is deep, gravelly in a way that my core pulses, and has my sight snapping to Fin’s strong brow like I might actually like being told what to do despite the shit I just told myself.
“What?” I growl back. “I was trying to be nice, goddamnit.”
His chuckle sends shocks straight down between my legs as his eyes roam over me, but then he pushes to his feet and walks the tray of food back over to my toolbox, severing any attempt at a connection I thought I might be going for.
The view of his back sends a wave of nausea through my stomach and I wad up the foil in my hands to toss in the trash with pent-up frustration that the packaging did nothing to deserve, along with wasting the second taco I thought was a promising idea.
I don’t like eating in front of others anyway.
“Cedar.” Fin leans into my toolbox as he growls, massive hands braced on the stepped-out second level, his head tipped back on his tatted neck in a way that I know he’s staring at the ceiling and it’s like I can feel the rejection already coming off of him in waves.
I didn’t even try this time.
“Whatever.” I hop up from the chair and brush the crumbs from my lap when I feel the rush of heat adding to the already hot space. Fin’s boots fill my downcast gaze as I brush away more from my torso even though I don’t see anymore because I’d rather watch his feet disappear than his back and that’s when his hand reaches into view.
I flinch. It’s a subtle twitch of the eye and tension flooding into my shoulders, but it’s there when Fin’s hand comes closer.
I can’t help it.
“I want you to look at me.”
Just as I can’t help the way I sink my teeth into the inside of my lip when his calluses caress the underside of my chin and I fight the way he tilts my head almost all the way back to meet his eyes.
Because while I hate physical touch, I also want him to touch me.
