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him. I wait for some signal that’s what he wants, and when he doesn’t give one, my back begins to tremble from the effort required to keep my cheek from touching his pec.
“Anyway,” he rumbles, sounding normal and relaxed, as if he didn’t just put an arm around me, “our dad worked long hours. They had a nanny, but I liked to watch them.”
The arm around my shoulders tightens slightly, pressing me against him. My lungs stop working as I lay my cheek against his chest.
I feel the rumble of his chuckle, feel his fingers sifting gently through my hair. I look up and see him smile. It looks both sweet and smug. His eyes find mine, and the scales tip to sweet; almost indulgently so.
“You’re tense,” he says softly.
“I know.” For the second time in the last hour, I feel like a teenager again.
He squeezes me closer, and I feel his big chest rise and fall. “I thought you wanted to be friends,” he whispers.
“Is this what friends do?” My words are husky. Charged. I strain my gaze to look up at his face without moving my cheek off his pec. I find his eyes closed.
“I don’t know,” he answers. His hand strokes my shoulder, and I want to shriek—or rip his pants off. As it is, I feel a little shaky. Like I’m on a roller coaster.
He presses his cheek against the top of my head. I shiver as his scruff tickles my hair.
“You smell good,” he murmurs, his arm around me squeezing.
I wrap my arms gently around his chest. “You’re nice and warm,” I whisper. Underneath my carefully roving fingers, all I feel are ridges of hard muscle. On his back… along his side…
I feel a hot pulse in between my legs and have to take a slow breath so I don’t implode.
We stay like that for a brief stretch of time—Barrett leaning on the window, his legs out in front of him; me tucked up against him, unable to move or think.
Every breath he takes is hypnotic. I find I love the feel and smell of him. The strength and size of him.
Why is he doing this?
He’s lonely…
So am I.
His fingers stroke my shoulder once more, and my stomach tightens. I can feel him take a long breath—and then he pulls me closer, curving his wrist so the rough, warm fingertips of the hand that’s cupping my shoulder straighten out and drift over my neck.
I’m struggling to breathe around the knot in my throat when he pulls his arm out from around me, and shifts so he’s kneeling in front of me. His hands cup my elbows, roving up from there. One comes to rest on my collarbone; the other spreads over my throat.
“What do you want with me?” The words are almost groaned. They strike straight to my heart, which stops, then takes off at a gallop.
“What do you mean?” I murmur, looking at his solemn face.
His eyes shut.
“What do you mean?” I whisper, gently. I reach a hand out, stroking his warm neck.
His eyes open. His hands frame my face—gently—and I feel his rough cheek brush against mine. His arms encircle me and then his mouth is near my ear. I can hear and feel him take a deep breath; so deep it’s almost like a gasp.
I pull him close, his face against my shoulder, his huge torso bowed around me. I find I have to swallow before I speak, and even then, my voice is raspy. “I don’t want anything from you, Bear.” My hand rubs a circle on his back.
His breath tickles my shoulder. “Why are you so kind?” It’s almost groaned.
My heart squeezes painfully. I hold him tighter. “I’m not…that way. I’m just…” I cup his head, shaking mine—because it’s all I can manage.
He leans against me, and I take him. With one shoulder pressed against the window, I take all his heavy weight, so I can feel it when he shudders.
“What’s the matter?”
