It makes my skin crawl. But at least his touch is impersonal. And through my clothes, it’s bearable. On the plus side, I’m not getting hard anymore.
He orders me down from the stool and starts measuring me for a jacket.
He measures my shoulders, my chest, my arms.
I’m only vaguely aware of him calling her over. They talk in whispered tones. He measures my shoulders again.
I blow out a breath of frustration. How much longer is this going to take? How many damn times does he have to measure my shoulders?
Because, yeah. I get it. I have the shoulders of a huge, ungainly bull. But am I really so freakishly big it requires this much discussion?
I’m ready to demand this be over, when the unthinkable happens.
Holly touches me.
She runs her hand along my shoulder, tracing the path of Rodrigo’s measuring tape, from the center of the back of my neck to the crest of my shoulder.
Her touch is light and slow and I feel it everywhere.
It’s not sexual. She doesn’t mean it that way.
I know that.
Jesus, I fucking know that.
But my cock doesn’t.
All my cock knows is that the most beautiful, alluring woman I’ve ever met is running her fingers along my shoulder. And then down my arm. Then down the center of my back all the way from my neck to the small of my back.
That touch—the feeling of her fingers on my back, just above the waistline of my pants—nearly kills me.
Because that touch fills my mind with images of her trailing her fingers around to the front of my pants. Undoing my belt. Cupping my cock in her delicate . . .
I’m done.
I jerk away from her touch and stumble to the side.
“Enough.” I whirl to face her. “We’re done here.”
“What?” She takes a step back, surprise and confusion warring on her face. She looks to Rodrigo.
He gives a shrug. “I have enough to get started.” He waggles a finger at me. “Don’t get any bigger, okay?”
And then he laughs as he packs up his stuff. I fume as Holly gives him a hug.
“Thanks.” She gives him a kiss on the cheek. “I really owe you on this one.”
He pats her shoulder. “You don’t owe me anything. You are a joy to work with.” Then he pins me with a look. “As for you, you are going to pay through the nose. Because I can already tell you’re going to be a pain in my ass.”
Yeah. Like I need a tailor to tell me that.
I’m a pain in everyone’s ass. Isn’t that the problem?
As soon as we’re alone, I ask, “Are we done here yet?”
“No, we’re not.” She turns back to face me as she shuts the door behind Rodrigo.
My jacket is still draped over her arm. Once again the fingers of her right hand stroke the fabric like it’s a cat or some other kind of pet.
