He shifts closer, his gaze dropping to my lips again, and hell, all I want is one taste.
“Out of respect for your boundaries, I’m going to walk away now, before I do something I can’t take back.” The strain behind those words tells me he’s struggling too.
Emmett pushes off the doorframe, leaving me where this all started. As he goes, he pulls his shirt over his head with a hitch in his breath, turning at the last second. “If we do this, someone needs to warn the doctor. Because if he even looks at you with anything less than professional intent, he’ll need a feeding tube to eat. You might not want a scene, but I have no problem stepping in and setting him straight if he doesn’t leave you alone.”
It’s a promise I have no doubt he’ll deliver on.
“And that’s exactly why I sent you away.”
“Smart girl. I’ve got less to lose than him and I’m not afraid to risk it if it means you’re free of him for good.”
Turning toward the bathroom, still in need of the shower, I almost fall flat on my ass when I see it. That fucker plugged my vibrator back in and left it on the counter. An open invitation.
I stare at it while I strip off my scrubs, knowing I shouldn’t, but that doesn’t make it any less tempting.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
ASPEN
I spin the phone on my kitchen table, looking out the window absently as the sun dips, casting golden shadows across the view.
My eyes stray from the mountains, drawn once again to the hulking man in my garage.
Emmett’s back at it—tinkering with who knows what under the hood of the jeep, a light he dug out of a box in the garage shining next to him.
He looks settled.
But he can’t be, not when he’s been so clear about his intentions.
Still, his actions and his words aren’t aligning.
Not that I’m paying attention, but I’ve noticed his routine. Sneak into the house, start the coffee, do three laps around the neighborhood, deposit my coffee on my bedside table, tiptoe into the shower.
The man in question lifts his head, wiping the sweat from his forehead. It’s the scene from every woman’s competency kink fantasy. Then his attention swings to the house and his scowl turns to a half-smirk.
Caught staring . . . again.
I stand too quickly, almost tripping over my own feet.
My head and heart are all mixed up over the hot guy living in my loft. My dignity has gone missing and I still don’t know what the hell to do about the other day. Or more accurately, my attraction to him. No matter how many times I go over it, I can’t see acting on it ending well.
But not acting on it feels like an impossible task.
There’s only one way through this. Tequila.
Okay, well, maybe that’s not the only way. The other involves climbing that man like a tree and finally getting a look at what I’m absolutely certain is an unfairly gorgeous cock.
Therein lies the danger, because if there’s one thing likely to ruin my remaining common sense, it’s a man built like Emmett Slate looking at me the way he does.
So yeah.
Tequila feels safer.
Pacing the living room, I swipe open the group chat with the girls.
I bite my thumb, debating if I’m really about to call in the big guns over my indecisive libido. Then I type out the two words we reserve for only the most serious life crises.
