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A little? Now that was a joke. Her susceptibility was growing by leaps and bounds. Oz was climbing out of that box she’d stuffed him into. She needed him crammed back in there. Pronto.
Because, even if her brain knew Oz was really the womanizing playboy she’d painted him, the Oz of late had her heart thinking perhaps he wasn’t so bad. Perhaps he’d changed and wasn’t really like Chris.
Leaning her forehead against the empty back hallway of the cardiac cath lab, she dug her fingers deeper into her tense flesh.
Moist heat blew against the back of her neck, prickling every hair, electrifying every cell in her body. She didn’t have to look to know who stood behind her. Instinctively she knew, her body recognizing Oz’s presence.
Ready to tell him to stop, that she was becoming too weak to fight him, she spun.
And toppled right into his arms.
He caught her, but didn’t let go.
God, he felt good. Smelled good.
His eyes twinkled and a smile curved his lips. “Really, Blair, can’t you wait until the night of the auction before you throw yourself at me?”
The night of the auction? Did that mean he was agreeing? That he really wanted her to bid on him?
What was she thinking?
This was Oz. He was teasing her.
She needed to get a grip.
And not on Oz’s shoulders to keep herself from falling.
Her throat tightened and the knots in her neck twisted so tight they threatened to snap. A strangled sound escaped from her open mouth.
But for the life of her, she couldn’t speak, couldn’t pull loose from his hold, couldn’t let go of him.
His eyes darkened. His smile faded. Oz drew her close. So close she could feel his breath against her cheek. “Are you okay?”
She wasn’t.
She felt light-headed. Dizzy. Breathless.
This was Oz. Why was she going into sensory overload? Why did the moist heat of his breath goose-bump her flesh? Why did she want to stretch onto her tiptoes and touch her lips to his?
His hand slid behind her, cradling the back of her neck. He held her close, his mouth centimeters from hers. “Blair?”
A hot flush drenched her skin. Her gaze dropped to his mouth.
What would it feel like to have Oz’s mouth against hers? To have him kiss her with the passion for life that coursed through his veins? Would his lips be gentle? Demanding? Warm? Cool? Would his tongue slip into her mouth? Would—
She had to stop. She didn’t want Oz. Not really. She couldn’t deal with all the emotional pain that followed being involved with a man like Oz. She couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
She placed her palms against his chest, planning to push him away. Her fingers stilled. She flattened her hand over his heart.
His racing heart.
Her pulse jumped from eighty to a few thousand beats per second.
She lifted her gaze to his.
He wanted to kiss her. Surely that was why his heart beat so fast.
Dear sweet heaven, Oz wanted to kiss her, and his heart beat as crazily as her own.
