“Like I mentioned—I’m in for the beta testing.”
“What changed your mind?”
His eyes drift to my lips and stay there. “Let’s say I’m seeing things in a new light.”
“If we do this,” I say carefully, “there are conditions. No backing out this time. No repeats of before. Do you know how that made me look? This is your last chance, Gale. I need your word.”
“You have it. I won’t disappoint you again.”
The air hums between us. I register every detail—the heat of him nearby, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that makes even my fingertips tingle.
“Here.” He dips his spoon in a pot and offers the chili to me. “Taste this and tell me if it needs anything.”
I take it, our fingers brushing. The contact sends a jolt through my body. I take a taste, closing my eyes to savor the flavors.
“Well?” Gale asks, his voice low and expectant.
I open my eyes to find him watching me intently. “Really good,” I admit.
“You sound surprised.” He smirks, taking a step closer.
“I am,” I counter, holding his gaze, not backing down. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Suddenly, Gale’s foot catches on the edge of a floor mat. He stumbles forward, arms flailing. I reach out instinctively to steady him, but the momentum is too much and he is so much bigger than me. We both go crashing against the kitchen island.
Our lips smash together, accidental, clumsy, and electric. For a split second, neither of us moves. I can feel the warmth of his breath, the softness of his lips against mine. My heart thunders so hard that he must be able to hear it.
Then, as quickly as it happened, it’s over. Gale jerks his head back. “Fuck. Harriet. I... I’m so sorry,” he stammers, not moving from his position, pinning me against the island. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Gale.” My voice is barely audible over the sound of my common sense packing its bags and heading for the door.
We face each other in charged silence, every breath weighted with possibility. His hands grip the counter on either side of me, not touching me but close enough that I feel trapped in the best possible way. The air crackles between us—or maybe that’s static from my sweater, though honestly, my brain’s too scrambled to remember how electricity works when he’s looking at me like that.
When his eyes drop to my lips again, I see the silent question there, waiting for me to call this play.
And it finally clicks why Pandora couldn’t resist opening the box—sometimes the most dangerous temptations feel an awful lot like destiny. I’m facing a pivotal decision: keep my carefully constructed walls intact or demolish them completely. Here in his kitchen, caught between my sensible brain and the part of me that wants to climb Gale like a tree, I make my choice.
Chapter Six
Harriet’s eyes locked onto his—a mosaic of gold, brown, and green flecks that made his breath catch. The same eyes he’d gotten lost in as a freshman, when she was his sister’s best friend who practically lived at their house. Back then, she’d been the untouchable college girl, five years his senior and so far out of his league she might as well have been in the VIP box. Sure, things had changed—these days he spent more time on ESPN than in his sister’s shadow—but right now he felt like that tongue-tied kid again. She was here, warm and real against him, every curve fitting perfectly after he’d stumbled into her. Her hands had landed on his biceps, fingers unconsciously kneading the muscle there, and his whole body hummed with an electric awareness of everywhere they touched.
He should step back. He knew he should. But the scent of her herbal shampoo clouded his thoughts, dragging him back to summer afternoons by the community pool, stolen glances of her on the diving board in those cute bikinis, and all the countless other times he’d watched her, wondering if she’d ever see him as more than her best friend’s awkward little brother—
God, he was still holding her.
“Ooops. Pretty clumsy for a big pro athlete,” she murmured, reaching up to fix her ponytail. The movement exposed her neck, and his eyes caught on those three freckles he’d always noticed.His hand found her waist to steady her, thumb brushing bare skin where her sweater had ridden up. The contact shot straight through him.
“The floor came out of nowhere.” Their faces were so close he could feel her quick breaths against his lips. Her fingers found his biceps again, trailing down and leaving goose bumps in their wake.
She placed a hand on his chest, and even through his shirt, her touch sent lightning through his body. Her fingers curled into the fabric, drawing him closer. “Excuses, excuses,” she breathed, her other hand sliding up to rest against the nape of his neck, playing with the short hairs there. “I think you did this on purpose.”
“Me? Never.” His thumb traced slow circles on her hip, drawing a small shiver from her. He was used to women’s attention—it came with the territory of being a pro athlete. But this was different.
This was Harriet.
“I wouldn’t attack you.” The words came out rougher than he intended.
Her eyes darkened, pupils dilating as she held his gaze. The air between them felt like the moment before lightning strikes. Then the oven timer shattered everything, and she slid away—but her hand dragged across his chest as she moved, a slow torture that made his muscles jump beneath his shirt. He could still feel the brand of her touch even after she’d gone.
