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There’s something deeply humbling about being passed by a kindergartner.
Plucking my limp ponytail from my sticky neck, I wonder if I look as pathetic as I feel.
Conner pulls a bottle of water from a black nylon sling bag and twists the cap off before handing it over. When I fail to reach for it, he nudges the bottle into my hand.
“Drink.”
I shake my head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re getting dehydrated.”
I know he’s right. But my stubbornness, as always, is instinctive. “Thank you, Dr. Conner. Worry about your own hydration.”
“I did. I’ve consumed sixteen ounces since we got here. But you’re on the verge of heatstroke”
“Heatstroke? It can’t be more than seventy degrees out.”
“I know what I’m talking about. Drink the water.”
“Or else what?” A juvenile response. Can’t help myself.
Conner startles me by moving with lightning speed. Before I can even turn my head, he positions himself at my back, swings one leg around and traps me between his muscled thighs. “Or else I’llmakeyou do it for your own good.”
His breath strokes the back of my neck. One large hand lands on my right hip, cementing me in place like it has every right to be there. There’s no escape from the rush of feral hunger that careens through my blood.
Despite his threat, Conner isn’t the vicious type. He’ll let me go if I complain or elbow him away. Funny how I have zero desire to do either one.
He holds the water bottle to my lips. I draw the line at letting him feed me so I snatch it out of his hand and guzzle the contents. My parched throat welcomes the relief.
While I’m greedily drinking, Conner’s hand remains on my hip. His fingers exert slight but possessive pressure. The rise and fall of his chest connects with my back.
“That’s my good girl.” His whisper is thick with buttery seduction, completely unanticipated.
And I fucking lose it.
Water sprays out of my mouth and decorates the rocks. More water gets sucked down my windpipe. I gasp for air. Poetic justice if I choke to death on a surge of my own lust.
“Careful, honey.” He gently pats my back, playing innocent. “You really ought to practice swallowing.”
When I’m finally finished coughing, I swipe a hand across the back of my mouth and swivel around to glare at him. “You never quit, do you?”
“Nope.” He sits back on the palms of his hands and gives me a lazy grin. “I’m not good at giving up when I want something.”
This guy.
Half the words out of his mouth are laced with supersonic sex fuel.
Usually I have no trouble firing verbal bullets at any man who thinks he has the secret ingredient to get the best of me. Yet somehow I’m having trouble snapping back today.
Fine time for my personal fortress to crumble like sand.
Conner’s knowing smile stays intact as I climb to my feet and take stock of our progress. From here, the cars dotting the parking lot look like toys. We must be more than halfway to the top.
Aware that Conner’s eyes are on me, I raise my arms and stretch, very slowly, twisting my torso from side to side. The clothes borrowed from Lita are designed for comfort not a fashion show. However, my boobs are big enough to fill out the cotton sports bra and strain against the fabric of the tank top.
Conner doesn’t bother to hide the fact that he’s enjoying the show.
I don’t mind.
