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And I had no idea what I could have done to deserve that honor.
He opened the lid and looked at me almost shyly, his hair falling into his eyes. “It’s not much…”
I took his hand. His hands were so large and capable; why did I feel so much like I wanted to take care of him in this moment? He didn’t need anyone to take care of him. But I wanted to. “It’s perfect.”
A flash of white in the shadows as he smiled. “You haven’t even looked.”
We were both whispering. I wasn’t sure why; the house was so big that we might as well have been in another county as far as the staff were concerned. But the darkness and the secrecy and the soft touches somehow made this moment illicit and stolen and not to be spoken aloud.
“I trust you,” I murmured.
There was a pause as Hunter took in my words. “Thank you,” he finally said.
My hand was still on his. As if they had a will of their own, my fingers began to stroke his palm—I blushed, glad that the poor light would hide it, and pulled away under the pretense of selecting a snack.
The tin was small, but it held a solid as**sortment of sweets, dried jerky, and home-made trail mix. I chose a chocolate in a bright green foil and unwrapped it, the foil rustling like a secret waiting to be told. When I bit down, a sweet cognac liquor burst across my taste buds, and I couldn’t keep from groaning in ecstasy.
Hunter laughed.
“Hey, you try eating this and not expressing your appreciation!” I shot back at him in a whisper, waving the chocolate in his face.
He raised an eyebrow at me, and then he bit right down on the chocolate in my hand, his soft lips just moistening the tips of my fingers.
I froze.
Calling all doctors, calling all doctors, Allison Bartlett’s heart has just stopped cold.
His rakish grin set my blood on fire as he leaned forward and carefully licked a smudge of chocolate from my thumb.
I swallowed, hard.
“Not bad,” he allowed. “But I think you’ll really like this much better.”
He unwrapped another chocolate, and slipped it between my lips. My eyes fell closed as the sweet taste of butterscotch melted across my tongue, and a little sound of perfect contentment escaped my chest in a sigh.
My tongue darted out to catch the last of the taste against his skin, and I could hear his breath catch in his throat, and my blood quickened further. I could feel my own heart pounding, blood rushing through my veins, warmth pooling between my legs as my arousal tightened within me like a spiral, my nipp**les suddenly hard against my silk bra, wanting his hands on them instead.
My eyelids parted slowly, and I was gazing up into his eyes, so dark with desire in that dim hallway that I could no longer see the line between his irises and pupils. They were only dark and determined, the golden light no longer dancing playfully in them but serious as anything I had ever seen.
He leaned closer, and I could taste the chocolate on his breath, as intoxicating as his gaze, I could so very nearly taste his lips—
I can’t let him kiss me.
Not with so much riding on this job.
So much for both of us.
I broke away before we made contact, stumbling backwards in my haste to save us from the dastardly destruction of our own hormones.
“I should shower before dinner!” I thanked God and also Jesus for the humidity that made this lie less obvious. “I didn’t think of that before but I should definitely shower and we’ve already used up ten minutes!” I was babbling as I backed away, but the words kept spilling out, trying to construct a wall between us so I wouldn’t take a step back towards him, wouldn’t soothe away that worried furrow in his brow with my hands, wouldn’t kiss him so hard that he— “So I’ll barely have time and I’m totally gross so I should really take all the time I can, glad you understand, you’re great see you later, bye!”
And then I fled, in a display of cowardice that would have made Robert E. Lee ashamed to call me his countrywoman.
#
I cranked the shower handle further to the right and gritted my teeth against the cold water, trying to forget the taste of Hunter’s lips.
Why must that night haunt me? We hadn’t even slept together, not really. He’d only gone down on me, that talented tongue and lips stoking the fire that his hands had lit as they traced over my skin, as I moaned, arching my eager body against his, ready for everything he had to give me—
Not helping, brain!
I scrubbed furiously with the lavender and black pepper soap, trying to punish my skin for its inconvenient desires, to scour them from my flesh. But the touch of my hands only seemed to inflame me further, and I found my fingers teasing across my nipp**les, stroking and gently twisting—
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