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Okay, she hadn’t thought this one through, had she? She took hold of his hand and started cleaning it. It took every ounce of control she had to pretend that she wasn’t affected from touching him like this.
It’s just a hand, Isa. Not his cock!
When she was finished, she put a Band-Aid on. It looked a bit silly, especially since it was one of her rainbow ones. But he didn’t say a word; he just helped her pack everything back up.
“You need socks,” he grumbled.
“I can get them. Thanks for the eggs.”
“Those chickens are fucking nuts.”
“Shh.” She slammed her hand down over his mouth. Was he insane? Didn’t he know by now that he couldn’t insult the she-demons? “They’ll hear you.”
He just stared at her with those dark eyes. That’s when she realized she was practically pressed against him, her legs on either side of his body, her hand against his mouth.
It would be so easy to replace her hand with her mouth . . . to kiss him . . .
Pump the brakes, Isa.
She didn’t know what had come over her. This wasn’t her. A slightly ill feeling developed in her tummy.
This was wrong. What would Loki say?
Loki isn’t your boyfriend. He’s your best friend. And he’s never been interested in you like that. To him, you’re like his sister.
No matter how much she might feel differently.
But she still slid her hand off Remy’s mouth and moved back, away from him.
His gaze narrowed as he studied her.
“I’m gonna go shower. I have a change of clothes in my truck. Do you want me to get you some socks?” he asked.
“No, I’ll get them. There’s, um, spare towels in the hallway closet.”
“Got it.” Turning, he walked out of the house. And she felt this stupid sense of loss. What was wrong with her? Shaking her head, she got down from the counter and turned the oven on.
She squealed in shock as she saw what time it was. She had to get moving, or she wasn’t going to get these cupcakes made.
By the time she mixed up some batter and was pouring it into the baking pans, Remy had finished in the bathroom.
What was he going to do now? Would he go home?
Don’t you want him to go home?
She should.
As he grew closer, she snuck a glance at him.
Dear Lord. Why wasn’t he wearing a T-shirt? All he had on was a pair of low-slung jeans, and all of that delicious skin on display was making her feel light-headed.
He drew his T-shirt on. Why hadn’t he put it on before leaving the bathroom?
Was he trying to make her head explode?
Certainly seemed that way.
“I’m going to go get some breakfast for us. You need anything else?”
