His musky cologne almost undoes me.
But I refuse to step back, redirecting his gaze to the plans.
“Guest arrival begins here. We’ll have lighting along the walkway and...”
I pause.
For half a second my brain simply stalls.
Because Amos has leaned closer to look at the map.
Close enough that our arms are touching.
I can hardly breathe.
Clearing my throat, I continue quickly.
“And the bar setup will run along this side.”
He nods slowly, studying the layout.
“Mmm,” he moans, turning the page. “No, I'd like to keep it simple.”
I force myself to remain calm.
You want simple?I think.
Go fuck yourself. I don't do simple.
Can’t he see how much effort I’ve put into this?
I’ve spent hours dreaming of the perfect night with him.
For him, I mean.
Forhim.
My fists clench at my sides, but my eyes betray me.
They keep drifting toward those tattoos.
Lines and shapes weave across his arms.
So many stories behind them, I bet.
Intricate and meaningful.
One curves around his wrist like a dark vine.
Something about them makes me nervous.
An unsettling sense of familiarity that I can’t immediately place.
Amos finally straightens, stepping closer than ever.
Deliberately this time.
“So,” his voice is intimate. This is a game for him. “Where do you want me?”
