I’d love to find out.
But from the way Ethan is lying with his hands folded behind his head, staring at the white ceiling, he’s clearly not going to make a move.
Which means it’s all up to me.
For women everywhere who’ve ever wondered if this man has the goods to justify his piss-poor mood.
Forscience.
I snuggle closer.He’s like an inferno.A big, brooding fireball.
Speaking of flames, his eyes spark when they meet mine.He looks like he’s about to breathe fire when I nestle into the crook of his shoulder.How is this more comfortable than the pillow?He’s just the right height, and he smells like spring rain.
“What do you think you’re doing?”he asks.
“Warming up.I’m cold.”I prove it by pressing my fingers to the sliver of toned stomach between the waistband of his shorts and his T-shirt that’s ridden up beneath the covers.
He hisses and tenses, but doesn’t push me away.“Chloe, what are you doing?”
“You looked like you didn’t believe me.”
“So you thought you’d stick your icicles under my shirt?”
“Be glad you got my fingers and not my toes.”Pretty sure they’re frostbitten.
Stiffly, he lowers his arm.I wait for him to nudge me away, but instead he tucks me closer, and his hand just happens to land on my hip.His touch should feel completely innocuous, yet I’m the one on fire now, because I can feel the rough pads of his fingers in the tiny gap between my shirt and pants.
Er…hisshirt and pants.
After another sigh, he asks me if I want socks.
“And seal in the cold?”Has this guy never suffered from cold feet?Putting on socks now will only keep the frostbite from thawing.
His hand moves from my waist, and the other slips from beneath his head.“Give them here.”
Is he serious?
This night just got a whole lot better.
I turn toward him and put my feet in his big, warm hands, feeling so damn happy, I swear my heart swells in my chest.Yeah, I kinda wish I was feeling a different sort of swelling, but this is a pretty decent consolation prize.“Myhero,” I say, smiling.
His thumbs begin to move along the bones of my foot, gently massaging.I’m not even sure he realizes he’s doing it, and since I don’t want him to stop, I keep my mouth shut.
At least that was the plan before he hits my arches, and I moan.
That’s right.A full-on, feral moan.
Ethan’s grip on my foot tightens.“Chloe.”He says my name like a curse, low and deep, almost angry.Only I don’t think he’s actually angry.He looks like a man with a very thin hold on his self-control.
“I can’t help it.”I blink innocently.“That feels sooo good.”I expect him to freeze, to realize the game I’m playing.Instead, his fingers continue up my ankle.My calf.Coming to a stop right above my knee.It’s like we’re playing a game of chicken, and whoever pulls back first loses.
I’ve never liked losing.
“You don’t have to stop,” I say.In fact, I’d prefer he didn’t—that his hand would continue higher until he eased a different ache.
His grip on my lower thigh tightens as I inch closer, my knees widening.
A breath passes between us.Two.
