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Chuckling, I jerk my head down the hall. “I’m gonna go hop in the shower. I’ll be quick. You okay out here with Sully or do you want me to take him with me?”
She shakes her head. “We’ll be fine, don’t worry.” She strokes the spot between his eyes before lifting her gaze back to me. “Sully like Monsters Inc.?”
I smile. “You got it, beautiful Claire.”
There’s that blush I love. And because I can’t resist feeling that heat—or her—I pull Claire to her feet and take her face in my hands. She swallows hard and licks her lips, dazzling eyes staring up at me. She can deny whatever this is all she wants, but this girl wants me to kiss her right now.
“I missed you,” I whisper honestly. She looks as surprised as I am by my confession. I guess it goes with the whole wear your heart on your sleeve thing.
Claire’s tongue swipes across her bottom lip. “I…I’ve been right here.”
“I know, but you were being a brat.” Before she can say anything, I kiss her warm cheek and pull her against me for a hug.
And I’m struck by the feeling that right here, right now, with her in my arms, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
***
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Claire
There’s an exceptionally large part of me that feels like I don’t belong here, not in this incredible penthouse, staring out over the Toronto Harbour skyline. Everything about Avery’s apartment is breathtaking, and I’m afraid to touch anything.
That doesn’t stop me from pressing my hands up against the glass of his floor-to-ceiling windows, though.
“I told you I have an amazing view,” Avery murmurs in my ear, making me shriek and jump. His hands, cool and damp from his shower—also unnaturally large and magical—wrap around my waist, steadying me. His touch lingers, as does his gaze, both of them making me quiver the way they always do.
With an amused and arrogant smile—also charming as hell—he steps back, tugging a t-shirt over his head.
But not before I get a good, hard look at his chest, chiseled to an utterly annoying level of perfection, the six-pack that decorate his torso. No, eight-pack. Dear God. My fingers curl at my sides, itching to reach over and feel him, run my fingers over every curve of muscle, through the patch of hair that runs from his belly button down to his—oh God, Claire, don’t you fucking look. Abort, abort!
I hate the way my mouth hangs as I watch a drop of water dip toward that stupid V-muscle that I love/hate. The droplet keeps moving, like a river etching a path through the mountains of his abdomen, until it disappears into the waistband of his underwear, which are just peeking out the top of his shorts. Calvins, obviously.
The spell I’m under should be broken when his shirt settles around his lean waist, effectively covering up that bronzed skin I wanna lick—oh, gross, Claire, come on—except then I look up. I’m unimpressed with the tiny whimper that tickles my throat and puffs past my lips when my eyes land on that wet, drippy mop of dark waves on top of his head, and he has the nerve to smirk.
And just like that, the spell is broken. Well, kinda. Not really, but it should be.
I pin my arms to my chest. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did what on purpose?” Smug amusement drips from his husky voice like the water dripping from his hair.
“You know what.” When his brows inch up, I roll my eyes and drop my arms, poking his chest. It’s mostly an excuse to touch him. “You could have put your shirt on in your bedroom.”
“Well, excuse me for being comfortable in my own home. I wasn’t expecting to come out here and be ogled. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to stare?”
My jaw drops in a fusion of mortified rage. “I’d like to see how well you’d fare if I did the same thing.”
His curiosity is piqued. He grabs my shoulders and starts shuffling me down the hallway. “Tell you what, Claire Bear. Let’s test your theory. You go hop in the shower and come out here half-naked. We’ll see if I stare or not.”
“I already know you’ll stare.” I put the brakes on, digging my heels into the gray hardwood planks, slamming my palms into either side of the wall. When he finally stops, his fingers dip below my overalls and settle softly on the tank top covering my ribs.
His chin lands on my shoulder. “You’re not ticklish, are you, Claire?”
If I were smart, I’d swallow the involuntary gasp that flies past my lips. But I don’t, and that there is a mistake. My hands rocket to his, trying to rip them away. “Don’t you dare, Avery!”
“I’m not scared of you,” he whispers softly against my neck.
I open my mouth to detail all the ways I plan on dismembering him if he even so much as attempts to tickle me, but his fingers start moving. He gives me no lead-up. He doesn’t start slow, choosing instead to go right for the kill, his fingers fast and furious as they scour my ribcage. I shriek with laughter, warm tears streaming uncontrollably down my face as I try to claw his hands off me.
