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I settle down, hugging my purse against my stomach.
Even though I know it’s coming, I’m still not quite ready for the moment he sits next to me.
It’s a good thing I’m small so his bulk doesn’t crowd me. I need less than one seat and he definitely needs more. His tight forearm brushes mine as he pushes the armrest up between us to make room.
Awesome.
Now I feel like a ninth grader with the hottest boy in class mushed in next to her on a field trip.
The glass is cool, at least. On my other side, he’s incandescent, his weight just barely resting against me. He leans in a little each time someone else needs to get past him in the aisle.
Looks like I’ll need deep breathing exercises to get through this.
And when did I start noticing him so much?
There’s just something about him, this aura that effortlessly trains every eye in the room on him.
I even hear a few giggling whispers, college girls wondering whether or not he’s a movie star.
I don’t know when my eyes stopped being so critical and started being so appreciative.
It’s quiet on the ride to wherever we’re going.
Eventually other people get tired of staring at Roland.
Honestly, I’m tired of trying not to stare at him, playing a game on my phone and dropping way too much of my real paycheck into imaginary loot boxes.
He seems content to let me, thank God.
When I glance over, sneaking the tiniest peek, he’s glued to his emails and slouched casually in his seat.
Nah. I’m not reading anything into the fact that he’s leaning ever so slightly against me.
I mean, it’s kinda necessary with his long legs, shifting his body at an angle.
As the bus turns off the road not far south of Austin, though, the tour guide stands at the front and picks up the little microphone dangling from its console over the driver’s seat.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he calls jovially. “Welcome to the Lady Bird Johnson Wildflower Center.”
I blink, glancing at Roland in surprise.
“Flower Center? This is what you wanted to show me?”
His lips turn up and he nods toward the window.
“Less questioning, more looking,” he orders.
Damn him, I do—and my lungs forget to work as the bus rounds a curve and the lush splendor of the gardens comes into view.
I haven’t seen anything like this.
Fields and fields and fields of bright flowers rippling below, surrounding gorgeous stone and brick buildings designed with archways made for blossoming vines to cascade over.
Stone terraced steps lit with golden lamps accent the shock of color baking under the afternoon sun.
Glassy lagoons dotted with more growth are scattered around. Walkways lead through cultivated gardens and stands of thick brush and oh, God, I see butterflies clinging to the blooms.
They’re everywhere.
It’s like they’ve fluttered right out of my belly to flit around in swarming jeweled beauty.
Lips parted, I press my fingers to the window and wait while the bus parks.
Roland’s voice drawls low and husky close to my ear. So near I can almost feel the scratch of his scruff tickling my skin.
“You love your bright colors so much,” he murmurs. “It made me think of you.”
Eyes widening, I turn sharply—only to find myself face-to-face with him. Eye to eye. Nose to nose.
Dangerously close to lips to lips.
I lock up, everything except the riot of my heart, the storm building inside me.
Every inch of me pulses like mad as I stare at this bewildering, beautiful man.
I can’t read him.
I can’t understand him.
I don’t get why he’d do something so sweet, choosing a tourist spot because it made him think of me.
He’s toying with me.
He’s got to be.
But it’s hard to remember that when he’s so close I can’t separate my breath from his.
His eyes narrow and drop to my naked lips for a steaming second.
I almost wish I had my brightest lipstick to shield me against this man’s strange intensity.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he wants to kiss me.
Holy crap.
Does he really want to—
Someone in the aisle bumps his leg as the crowd disembarks, severing my thoughts.
Roland jerks back, turning to the shuffling old woman who mumbles an apology as she grasps the seat to right herself.
“No, madam,” he says smoothly, rising from his seat and offering her his arm. “The fault’s all mine. Let me help.”
I’m left glued to my seat, gobsmacked as he escorts a delighted little granny off the bus.
He glances back at me, catching my eye with a twinkle in his, and tosses his head mischievously.
Coming? he mouths.
...pretty close, yeah.
I mean.
Right.
I gather my senses and grab my bag, then edge into the stream of people making their way off the bus. I don’t even mind that Roland left me behind a little.
He jumped in to help a senior.
He’s so loud about how terrible he is, but then he turns around and does these kind things so casually when no one else is watching.
