“Yes, it’s fine.”
Emmett nods before dropping his gaze to my waist. Taking zero liberties, deft fingers carefully roll the thin fabric of myjogging shorts, making as little contact with my skin as humanly possible. He pushes the fabric high, but it doesn’t feel lewd. I’m showing as much skin as I would in a bathing suit, and I’m wearing a thong, which means he doesn’t even get a glimpse of my underwear.
This time, I give up on the ugly counter and watch Emmett from over my shoulder. It does seem like we’ve moved past being embarrassed around each other.
He’s laser-focused, the tip of his tongue pressed between his shapely lips as he plucks out the offending pieces of cactus. His breath comes out firm and even against my bare back. Each spine stings as he removes it, but a blooming warmth takes each one’s place.
My relief grows with every moment spent under Emmett’s skillful hands.
“Other side,” he mumbles, his touch dusting over my rib cage as he lets one side of my shorts fall while edging up the other.
Within minutes he’s done. He steps back, eyes raking over my ass like he’s Picasso and I’m a painting. “There. Looks good. I think I got them all.”
I sigh and drop my head to the counter in relief. “Thank fuck and thankyou.”
“Literally any time,” he quips, voice notably rough.
A tired giggle tumbles from my lips as I push myself upright and shake my head. He’s propped himself against the opposite counter, crossed his arms, and pressed his tongue into the side of his cheek. His brows—a few shades darker than his hair—are drawn low on his forehead, which only adds to the brash smolder.
He’s doing that whole James Dean pose thing.
But I know enough about him now to realize he uses his sexuality as a shield. And after everything he just shared, I won’t let him.
My ass is burning with the fire of a thousand suns, but I ignore it and stick my hand out like we’ve just signed a contract. “Well, now that we’ve gotten all that out of the way… it’s nice to meet you, Emmett Brandt.”
Cool, calm, cocky—Emmett is usually all those things. But as he stares down at my reddened and slightly puffy hand, he appears uncertain.
I step closer to him, bobbing my hand as I do. “Shake it.”
His brows knit together. “But we’ve already met.”
“Have we? I kind of think we knewofeach other and got tossed together a few times, and now we’re functioning under a lot of different pretenses. You told me about your childhood, and I showed you my ass. We’re basically best friends now. Consider this symbolic.”
He tilts his head, his expression telling me that he thinks I’m being ridiculous.
“Come on. Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite.”
He stares at my hand before reaching out and sliding his large palm over mine. His grip is firm, his warm skin slightly calloused.
“Biting isn’t something that would scare me off, Baby Silva. But thank you for the reassurance.”
When I finally look up from the sight of my hand enveloped by his, he’s smirking at me. Far too amused by his own joke.
His tongue pops into the side of his mouth again, and he looks away while shifting and tugging at his belt.
Which draws my gaze down.
Down to where the front of his jeans has grown uncomfortably tight.
Again, the ticking clock is the only noise I hear as I stand and stare for several beats. He makes no effort to move or cover himself. He just continues to hold my hand.
“I told you not to get a boner,” I say, looking him square in the eye.
He shrugs, playing it cool. “Following the rules has never been my strong suit. Plus, this is the hottest handshake of my life.”
I purse my lips and nod, refusing to laugh at him because that response was so…him.
His gaze flits between my eyes as he continues to hold my hand. There isn’t a stitch of embarrassment to be found on this man. The touch goes on for far longer than necessary. A realization that has me yanking my hand back as though I’ve touched a hot burner on the stove.
