He reaches out his hand, and his feather-light touch zings through me. The tender skin where he brushes his fingers is enough to let me know my forehead is going to bruise. A small hiss escapes me as I sit back on my heels.
“Let’s get some ice,” he says, standing and placing the book back where I found it. Then he takes me by the hand and leads me to the kitchen.
“Wow.” I spin to take in the expanse of the room.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s gorgeous,” I reply. This kitchen is stunning, the skylight streaming early morning light in all the right places. I skim my hand over the black quartz worktop. One day I want something like this for Molly and me.
“I’m glad you like it.”
I shake my head, the pain reminding me why we came in here in the first place, and grimace as I answer, “No, I love it. Who did this?”
“I did,” he replies and again I’m fucking floored. I point to him and then open my hand to the room in front of me. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I studied architecture.”
“Damn, Olly. I want you to pencil me in for some time in the next five years or so.”
He cocks his head. “That’s way off,” he replies, walking over with ice he’s packed inside a dish towel. Reaching out, he gently holds it up to my head.
“Olly, you’re quite the anomaly, aren’t you?”
He quirks his eyebrow. “What? Not your typical stereotype, you mean?”
I scoff. “Please. I learnt my lesson about judging people a long time ago. I’m trying to be a better person. What I mean is—you take something ordinary and made it extraordinary. And you teach people how to protect themselves. I’m struggling to find any flaws where you’re concerned, and I’m in awe to be perfectly honest…”
What’s wrong with me? Too much information.
He laughs, and it spreads this warmth through my entire body—one I don’t think I’ve ever felt before. “Believe me, I’m no saint. I have my flaws. I am amanafter all.”
Yes, he is.I almost forget why I’m here and have to shake my head to clear the fog. “Did you get the keys?” I ask, desperate to divert my wandering thoughts.
He nods, and they jingle as he pulls them out of his pocket before passing them to me.
“Thank you.” I turn my wrist and sigh. “I need to get going.” I don’t want to be late for the delivery guy.
The air thickens, and swallowing isn’t quite as easy—not while I’m this close to him. Which is weird since he has his hands all over me while we train, but this seems…more intimate, standing alone in his kitchen.
I need to get out of here.
“No worries, any time,” he says, putting some space between us as he stuffs his hand into his pocket, drawing my line of sight to his crotch.Fuck me.I avert my eyes and take in the kitchen while I stumble my way towards his front door, hoping my embarrassment isn’t written all over my face.
I sense his presence behind me, followed by the patter of his bare feet as he pads along the wooden floor, heightening all my nerves. Why is a man barefoot suddenly so appealing? It’s not like I have a foot fetish, but damn, Olly in jeans with no socks is sexy. My skin heats again from my wayward thoughts, and I thank God I made it to the door without tripping over my tongue.
He reaches over my shoulder and unlatches the lock. I move back a little to make room for him to pull it open and step into his body, his chest now flush against my back. My breathing audibly hitches, and I hate that he affects me. I squeeze my eyes closed, unable to move. His breath breezes over my ear. When he leans in closer, my skin prickles with anticipation.
“Rachel?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
My eyes snap open. “Fine, thank you.” I grapple for my car keys, then make an unceremonious exit, his echoing chuckle only making me more flustered. Unable to look back, I climb into Betty and take a deep breath, my hands shaking that it takes me more than one attempt to get my key in the ignition.
I turn it over and nothing. Taking a deep breath, I try again—nothing. “What the fuck?”
I close my eyes and lean against the headrest, trying to remember if I still have recovery on my insurance plan, knowing full well I don’t. It was too much of an added cost, so I opted out upon renewal. I don’t often have the urge to cry, but try telling my eyes as they betray me and begin leaking.
Chapter Twelve
