“Oh dear God.” Kelsey fans herself. “Did the teasing lead to anything?”
I bite my bottom lip. “I, uh, I ended up dry-humping him to completion.”
“Both of you?” Lottie asks, and I nod. “Well . . . that’s it then, you just opened it all up for him to take control.”
“Yup,” Kelsey says. “And then with the towel thing. He has his mind set, and you need to decide if you’re going to let it happen or not.”
“I . . . I really don’t know. I don’t want to lose him.” He’s told me he’s loved me for years, and it’s always been in friendship, but lately . . . lately it’s felt like more. But how can I know the difference? And what if I’m not enough for him sexually and his interest in me dwindles like Brian’s did? What if I lose him too? “If what you say is true, and he’s trying to coax me into a relationship, what happens if he doesn’t believe we work? As a couple? I don’t think I could manage him not being in my life.”
“Sometimes the best relationship comes from a strong friendship as the foundation,” Kelsey says. “That’s how it was with me and JP. We got really close, and I thought he was a great friend. Crossing that line felt natural to me.”
“It doesn’t feel natural to me,” I answer.
Lottie taps her chin. “I think Breaker is going to help you see just how natural it can be.”
Breaker: Just got off work. Headed to your place.
Lia: Are you really just going to invite yourself over?
Breaker: As if I needed an invite to begin with.
Lia: Maybe you need one now.
Breaker: Fine . . . Lia, can I come over and play?
Lia: What does “play” entail?
Breaker: Games. eye roll
Lia: Okay, as long as we’re playing games. I can cook up some tortellini if you want. I got the fresh kind.
Breaker: Serve me a bowl. I’m making a quick stop.
Lia: What are you getting?
Breaker: Dessert.
Lia: Okay, see you soon.
“Hey,” Breaker says, walking into my apartment. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see him remove his suit jacket, revealing his tight-fitting button-up shirt where the top few buttons are undone, hinting at his firm chest. “Smells good.”
“Oh, thanks,” I say as I turn around and face the stove, my face heating from the mere sight of him.
He walks into the kitchen, comes right up behind me, and places his hand on my hip while looking over my shoulder. I’m immediately aroused, and that annoys me. I shouldn’t be this insane about the man. I should be able to control myself, but it seems like the girls are right. It’s next to impossible to control yourself around the Cane men.
His hand slides under my shirt and grips my waist as he says, “Want me to grab drinks?”
“Uh, yeah.” I gulp. “That would be helpful.”
“Okay.” He then lowers his face to my neck and places the lightest of kisses on my skin. “You smell amazing, by the way.”
And then he pulls away, and I’m left stirring the sauce rather frantically as I try to control my pulse, which has skyrocketed.
It’s the little things with him.
The attention.
The touches.
What he says.
All things I can now see that I wanted Brian to do—all things Breaker does without even asking. It’s almost as if it’s ingrained in him, and he doesn’t need to think about it. It just happens.
“How was your day?” he asks as he grabs two Sprites from the fridge.
“It was fine,” I say, still feeling stiff.
“Just fine?” he asks as he brings the drinks to the table.
“Yeah, nothing too exciting happened.”
“Well, we’ll have to change that,” he says as he grabs plates, and I take the sauce off the stove. “I got this. You go sit down.”
“You don’t have to, Breaker.”
He places his finger under my chin and holds me in place as he says, “I want to.”
Okay, then.
I let him serve us, and when I take a seat, I watch as he rolls up his sleeves, which then plays in my head like some sort of porno from the way his muscly forearm flexes. God, he really is so sexy. Why am I only letting myself notice it now? I mean, I’ve known he’s hot, but the thought has never hit me like this before, like I want to do something about it.
With a plate in each hand, he walks over to the table and sets it down in front of me. He grips the back of my neck and says, “Need anything else?”
“Uh, I don’t think so,” I answer while his palm burns into my skin.
He gives me a light squeeze. “Let me know if you do.”
Before he takes a seat, he scoots his chair closer to mine and then sits down, only to place his hand on my bare thigh.
I nearly choke on my tortellini.
“Problem?” he asks.
“Your, uh, your hand is on my thigh.”
“And . . .”
“Is it supposed to be there?” I ask as I stare at his gorgeous smirk.
“As a matter of fact, it is.” He stabs some tortellini with his fork and sticks it in his mouth.
Okay . . . I guess his hand is on my thigh then.
I turn back to my plate and try not to focus on the way his thumb caresses my skin back and forth slowly. It’s like he’s lulling me into some sort of sex-induced lullaby.
News flash, it’s working.
“Aren’t you going to ask me how my day was?” he asks.
I swallow and take a sip of my Sprite. “How was your day?”
“Pretty good. We had a company-wide meeting to go over the Shoemacher case, and then we fielded questions. It took up a great deal of the day. We split up the questions by department so we didn’t keep people waiting. I was glad to be back in the office.”
“That’s good. You happy?”
He glances over at me and smiles. “Very.”
And for some reason, I don’t think he answered about work.
“I can do those,” Breaker says as he comes up behind me while I’m at the sink, washing the pots. His hands once again slip under my shirt and past the waistband of my shorts to land on my hips. With his chest right against my back, the position feels more intimate than anything I ever did with Brian.
“I can handle it.”
“You sure?” he asks, his fingers sliding inward, causing a dull throb to ache between my legs.
“Yes,” I answer as I rest my head against his chest. Just for a moment.
He chuckles, and I can feel the rumble throughout my whole body. He brings one hand even closer in, resting just above where I want him. “I have no problem cleaning up. You did cook, after all.” His lips tug on my ear, and I drop the sponge in the sink and fully relax into him.
“I . . . I can do it.”
“Okay.” He nibbles on my ear again. “I’ll get dessert ready.” He removes his hands, and I almost let out an unsatisfied moan to call him back.
Throughout dinner, he kept his hand on my thigh as we talked about the old theater in Culver City opening up again and the old movies they’d play. He was attentive, he laughed with me, he listened, and he asked questions.
Just like every other conversation we’ve ever had.
Yet this felt different.
Everything feels different.