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Oh, boy.
I don’t know about any shine in my eyes, but I see how his sparkle like the ocean at sunset.
So. There goes any hope that I could actually forget about that kiss from Hades for longer than ten minutes.
“Did you need a hand after all?” I ask, walking toward him.
He’s wearing another skintight shirt today, solid black, with a red-and-black checkerboard flannel shirt thrown over it for warmth. I think this man could murder every hipster boy playing at Paul Bunyan ten times over in a lumbersexual style contest, plus every fireman calendar model for good measure.
“Nah, I was just wondering if you’d locked yourself in one of the rooms or something. These old doors are brick shithouses. Saves me some work replacing the interior locks. Just finished checking everything inside. I still have a few locks to wrap up.”
He steps into the room, closing the distance between us.
There’s a magical energy in the air. It spirals, closing around us like we’re nestled under a rain of pixie dust from some scheming fairies every second our eyes stay locked, gleaming, silent, but so loud.
Swallowing hard, I take another step closer.
“I’m not a dog, West. I would’ve yelled for you if I was stuck.”
“What if I didn’t hear? You don’t look like a screamer,” he whispers.
Heart, meet drumstick.
I step closer. If I reach out a hand, I could touch him.
My fingers curl into my palms, remembering how good he felt this morning, how hard it was to peel my greedy little hands off him.
My lungs stall, breath coming faster, remembering the sear of his lips on mine.
The anticipation of that sweet madness happening again electrifies me.
Suddenly, I’m tingling, wet, and so frustrated I could show him some screaming.
“Shel?” he growls that stupid nickname, waiting for an answer...except maybe it doesn’t feel so stupid anymore.
“I would have just yelled louder. Jeez,” I say matter-of-factly.
He doesn’t move, just stares at me.
“Yeah? You think you can yell that loud through this big old house?” His tongue flicks quickly along his lips, a heinous invitation. “You think I’ll be all over you if I hear you scream?”
So, this is how I die.
I never thought it’d be this man with sex-me blue eyes and diabolical innuendo, but here we are.
My entire body sizzles, blood becoming molten, and I wish to God I had the nerve to step closer, to inhale him, to ravish him with my fingers.
“Yes,” I whimper, and I can’t stop my eyes from giving him another once-over, even if I’m well aware how dangerous it is. “I would have screamed until I blew out your ears, Weston McKnight.”
“And what would you have done when I found you?” he growls.
I can’t take this.
We’re in sink or swim territory, and I hope like hell I won’t drown.
Stepping forward, I plant my hands on his chest, rubbing my palms up his shoulders.
Keeping my gaze fused to his, I say slowly, “I’d kiss you, you lunk.”
