“I’m sorry, Trina, but in this case, I thinkacknowledging themwould be asking for trouble andignoring themis the safest course of action.”
Now’s the part in the conversation when anyone else would argue with me, but Trina doesn’t, and that’s kind of scary. Because I know it means she’s about to hit me with a truth bomb. Or at least a truth power tool.
“If you try to ignore or suppress your feelings, you should be on the lookout for breakout behaviors.”
I frown. “Like what?”
She lifts and drops one shoulder. “Like unnecessary touching. Encroaching on personal space. Inviting him into your personal space. Flirting—”
I go cold.
I’ve already done that. All of the above.
My breakout behaviors have already broken out. Inmate style.
Trina’s gaze sharpens. “Is there something you’d like to say, Greta?”
I swallow.
I’ve touched Zach when I didn’t need to. Not just while we petted Russell together in bed last week.
In fact, that must have been when it started. Because after that, it seems like I haven’t even needed a reason to put a hand on his shoulder when I move around him in the kitchen. Or pat his knee when we’re having breakfast at the island in the morning.
Or ruffle his copper mop when he’s showing me something on his laptop.
My hands have sort of taken on a life of their own, now that I think about it. One that I’ve enjoyed quite a lot, if I’m being honest.
And it hasn’t been one-sided.
Zach seems to really like trapping one of my springy curls between his fingers and tugging on it absently while we study the construction progress at the building sites—the changing rooms and bathrooms and the erected beams for the challenge courses and zip line.
And maybe the barely there tickle of that touch makes my nipples tighten and my breasts go heavy.
The last few days, if we’re climbing into the fifth wheel together, his hand lands on my lower back as I mount the steps.
The first time it happened, a zing of pleasure shot all the way to my toes and almost made me trip. The other few times it’s happened, the zing is right there with his hand. I’ve just been ready for it.
And I don’t want him to stop.
“I think I’m in trouble,” I confess. “Breakout behaviors have broken out.”
She nods, looking completely unsurprised. “What do you want to do about that?”
I gulp. “Th-That’s why I have you.”
Her laughter seems to take us both off guard.
She covers her mouth with the back of her hand. “Oh, I apologize.” Trina composes herself all too quickly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you what to do, Greta. I think you know that.”
I roll my eyes. “But you think I shouldfeelthese feelings.”
She tilts her head with caution evident in her gaze. “Feel them. Acknowledge them, yes, but I do agree with you. Acting on them right now could be very disruptive. Not just to your life, but to Zach’s too.”
My heart plunges. Wrecking Zach’s life—hurting him in any way—that’s the last thing I want. He needs this place to be a success as much as I do. We need to stay on schedule and have a smooth launch for Camp Bliss next spring, and acting on the attraction I may have developed for him could only jeopardize that dream.
How can my feelings even be so stupid?
“Where do you think this is coming from?” I ask Trina.
