HIS LARGE HAND GRABS MY thigh and hooks it around his waist, anchoring us together. We’re both panting and we haven’t done anything more than kiss each other a little, but this is Ryan Miller. The Ryan Miller. I start having difficulty breathing the second he walks into the room. If he looks at me, I’m digging into my back pocket for the pair of spare panties I keep on me when we work shifts together. And if he talks to me, I never know what the hell he’s saying because I’m too busy staring obsessively at his full, gorgeous mouth. It’s my body’s natural reaction to his, so there’s no helping me right now.
“What do you want, Jodi?” he asks, so close to my mouth I inhale his air to keep myself from passing out. “Jodi.” He moves closer, nipping at my bottom lip. “Give me something, babe. Tell me where all I can touch you.”
“Are you reading porn?”
The low voice in my ear has me pulling my Kindle so hard against my chest, I fear I may crack the screen. I drop my chin, inspecting the front for any signs of damage while the man behind me breathes an amused laugh.
No cracks. Oh, thank God.
I settle my nerves before replying blindly, “I don’t think you can read porn. You watch porn.”
I turn my head as the man who just startled me moves to stand next to the booth. Given my position in reference to his, my eyes land on his body first, and stay on his body. I know I should do the polite thing and lift my gaze to his face, but my eyes don’t want to be polite right now.
Besides, he almost made me break my favorite thing in the entire world. The least he can do is stand there and let me gawk for a moment.
He’s dressed in a light T-shirt and distressed jeans, looking casual and comfortable, which I’d find sexy even if I couldn’t see the outline of muscles through his shirt. The material stretches to fit him, forming to his chest, his shoulders. Oh God, he’s got that build I love, long and lean, not bulky like some ‘roided up gym rat. His one hand rests on the back of the booth, the muscles in his forearm tense, and I know I stare for a good fifteen seconds at a body part I never paid too much attention to before on men. I mean, who cares about forearms?
I do. Now, I definitely do.
I decide not to make my new obsession so painfully obvious and slowly lift my head. When my eyes finally reach his jaw, his lips, his eyes, I do what might be the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life.
I smile. Really, obnoxiously big. Like a kid on Christmas day kind of smile.
Oh man. This guy wearing nothing but a bow would be exactly what I’d ask Santa for.
I don’t know why I’m reacting this way. I’ve been around hot guys before, and usually I can keep my cool long enough to at least get through introductions. Maybe it’s because this guy caught me reading smut in public, and I’m smiling to hide my embarrassment, or maybe it’s because he’s the first guy who’s paid any attention to me since Rocco. I don’t know. But I’m grinning like a full-blown idiot over here, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
My reaction throws him off. I see it, the way his mouth relaxes, forgetting whatever it was he had locked and loaded on the tip of his tongue. I’m sure it was something witty. He looks witty, but now he seems unsure of how to approach me. He blinks several times, his eyes shifting across my features, and I take his silence as my chance to really study him. But not before I relax my face a bit.
Let’s not scare him off, Beth.
His blonde hair is messy, long enough to fall into his eyes and tuck behind his ear. His eyebrows are thick, a shade darker than his hair, and his cheekbones sit high on his face, etched into skin that’s seen the sun. He reminds me of a surfer, or someone who should be modeling surfboards, but he’s got this rugged thing going on that toughens up his features. There’s nothing pretty about him, but in the same breath, I know I’d use that word if someone asked me to describe him.
He looks down at my mouth, and his lips twist into a stunning smile. One that makes my heart shudder against my ribs. His eyes reach mine, a crystal shade of blue, so light they appear translucent.
“Hi,” he says, breaking the silence between us. His voice is low, and smooth. “Mind if I join you?”
I shake my head and set my Kindle down next to my plate. “No, not at all.”
I’m expecting him to move to the seat across from me and claim that side of the booth. I’m prepared for that. What I’m not ready for is him sliding in to join me on my side, but that’s exactly what he does.
I shift over a few inches to put some space between us, to give us both a little room, but he just slides closer until his leg touches mine.
He doesn’t want space. I have a feeling if I keep backing away from him, he’ll just move with me. Like we’re tied to the same rope, forced to mirror each other. I won’t test that theory, because I don’t want to back away. There’s something about this man that has me leaning closer, pressing my weight against his, wanting his contact. He keeps one arm behind me on the back of the booth and brings his other hand up to rest on the table, keeping his body angled toward me.
His eyes drop to my mouth, stay there for several seconds, then meet mine with a heat I feel spike the temperature in my blood.