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He says nothing and continues stripping me back to my soul. My lungs get a little smaller with every breath so that I feel like I'm starting to pant. Jared on the other hand looks like an athletic god that never gets out of breath.
“I get it,” I start to blather. “You're busy.”
“I'm not busy,” he states. His voice rich as black treacle and smooth as hundred year old Scotch whiskey.
“I thought it for the best. In case things got out of control.”
What does he mean out of control? That he might start something with my dad because clearly there's some kind of history there. Or does he mean – us?
He wouldn't be wasting this time with me if there wasn't something happening. The room is crackling with the tension between us. I can't believe the entire bar isn’t aware of it.
“Maybe out of control would be interesting,” I murmur.
Jared swivels his mid-century modern chair to me and pulls mine around to face him. His legs stretch wide to encase my knees and I can't help but gaze at his powerful strapping thighs and then wonder about what's buried between them.
“Maybe out of control would be something I could learn from,” I say.
“It would be more than interesting,” he says. “Maybe something special. Something we'd both learn from.”
I swallow a gasp into the back of my throat when his palm clasps my ribs. The side of his thumb shelves the underside of my breast and my insides turn to warm chocolate, melting and gooey.
We're sitting in a public bar that's filling up fast so I have to stop myself from dragging his large hand higher up my torso to completely cover my swollen breast. With his palm holding me firm, he must be well aware of how fast I'm struggling for air, maybe even the rate my heart is pounding into his fist.
“I'd like that,” I almost whimper.
He smiles at me, the corners of his eyes creasing lightly as his lips curl up. He leans forward in his chair, close, closer so I think he's going to kiss me. My eyes flutter shut for a moment in breathless anticipation.
“I'd like that too,” he says.
