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“Wow,” Robby said, “how do you ever get out of bed?”
“Some days, it’s hard.”
“I bet,” he said, giving me a sideways glance. He turned his back to me, but not before I could spot that cheeky grin of his. He looked at the books placed in slightly chaotic stacks before he moved over to my desk, his fingers running along the back of my leather chair. I was pulled in his direction like a magnet being dragged along the floor. My bed was only a couple of feet away, a fact that became very apparent and very important to me all at once.
Maybe I should get him to the guest room. He could clean up and rest, and I could go use my hand to clear up my head.
He neared a shut and locked door in the corner of the room. I didn’t realize how close he had gotten to it; I was too lost in my fantasies. Another reason why I couldn’t allow anything to happen between us. Distractions were annoyances at best, lethal at worst.
Before I could ask him to step back, he reached out. His hand went for the door handle.
I was only able to growl out two words of warning. “No, don’t.” But he was already going for it. His fingers barely grazed the brass handle when I snatched his arm, grabbing him hard by the elbow and spinning him around. He looked shocked, his doe-like brown eyes dropping to where my grip colored his skin pink. I immediately let go, a handprint slowly fading away.
Shit. This was going to need an explanation and an apology.
Chapter 11
Impossible
Robby
I knew I’d made a mistake when I heard Damien snap at me to stop. By then, it was too late. I couldn’t pull my hand back fast enough. Instead, Damien grabbed me—hard—and spun me around to face him. I looked up, seeing a simmering anger in the stern set of his brow and the heavy shadows that fell over those emerald green gems. It only took him a couple of seconds to let go, the shadows immediately lifting. His thick, dark eyebrows dipped downward, his expression turning apologetic instead of angry.
“Sorry, I just thought that was the bathroom.”
“No, I should be the one apologizing.”
We were standing pretty close. I could smell his natural scent: campfire smoke and sandalwood and citrus. An intoxicating mix. I cleared my throat and rubbed at my elbow, the impression of his large hand on my skin nearly gone now.
“It isn’t the bathroom,” Damien continued, his gaze going toward the shut door behind me. “That would be my hoard room. Every dragon has one, where we keep our collections, and every dragon is extremely protective of them. I should have explained sooner. I’m sorry.”
I nodded at that, feeling like an idiot. Even if it wasn’t a room full of priceless treasures, I knew better than to go and start opening every closed door I could see.
Although… now I was curious. What did Damien collect? And was it just a stuffy closet full of a hoarder’s wet dream, or was there more to it? Judging by how pristine and clean his bedroom was, I guessed the locked room would be the same.
“Maybe I can show you one day,” he said, clearly implying that today wasn’t that day.
I smiled. When had we gotten so close? I could reach out and wrap my arms around him if I wanted to. Suddenly, I felt nervous. A flutter of butterflies tickled at my ribs. His scent was stronger but not overwhelming and certainly not unwanted. “I’d like that,” I said.
It was then I realized just how big Damien was. He had at least five inches on my five foot eight, with a long, lean torso and arms that could wrap me up tight. He didn’t have football player shoulders—those had gone to his brother Maddox—but he clearly spent time working out.
I audibly swallowed. I didn’t do well in these kinds of situations. I wasn’t the kind of guy who paid a subscription for one of those hookup apps. I didn’t really date either, having only ever been with two guys before, and neither of them had lasted longer than three months after I realized they were both deadbeats. I was bad at picking up signals, and I was even worse at making any moves. My intense fear of rejection likely had something to do with that.
Damien’s hand came up to my face. I flinched, but he placed it gently on my cheek. “You’ve got some dirt there.”
Oh, great. While I was here drooling over his chiseled jaw and pouty lips, he was staring at the crust of mud on my face.
Alright, time to go to bed. I should skip my embarrassed ass out of his room and into the guest room, where I could lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for the next hour or so, imagining a hundred different ways tonight could have gone differently.
