“You think?”
“Well, bear in mind they’ll need to come in on nights when I’m not around; otherwise I’ll run them out on a rail.”
A pause. “Why would you?”
“Kinda hard to be charged with being somebody’s bodyguard and not getting a little protective,” he fudged.
“Am I like your little sister now or something?”
He shook his head. Far from it. I wish I could be so saintly. “Nah. You’re my friend, and my coworker and employee. You’re a lot of things, but sister’s not one of them. Then again, I’ve never had a sister, so what do I really . . .”
He trailed off, distracted by her hand. Her fingers were opening and closing, bunching the cotton of his shirt loosely, letting it go, again and again. It seemed wise to write it off as an absent, thoughtless sort of touch, but he couldn’t. Not quite. There was something else in the contact. Something mischievous, or curious. Something that got his blood moving quicker, pulsing lower. Heading in dangerous directions. He swallowed, and felt her attention on his mouth or his beard or his neck. Am I dreaming this? No, he couldn’t be. Everything was too real—the smell and the dry heat of the fire, the scent of her shampoo or lotion or whatever that was.
And in a breath, it became very real. Very bold.
Her restless hand slid lower, fingertips finding his belt. He sucked a breath. “What’re you doing, honey?”
“Something I want to.” Her fingers slipped under his shirt’s bottom hem, tracing his buckle.
His brain screamed, Stop her, but his cock screamed, Let her. Kiss her. Pull her onto your lap and show her what she does to you. The rest of him was paralyzed, trapped between the two instincts. All it seemed he could do was watch. Watch as her hand freed his buckle with an easy, knowing motion.
Fuck, I’m hard. Whatever words his brain managed to bully his mouth into speaking were going to look monumentally out of line with his body’s obvious vote.
He grunted as she slid his zipper down, then covered her hand. He’d meant to pull it away, but his fingers weren’t complying.
At a loss for anything else, he said, “I’m your boss.”
She seemed to sense how thoroughly toothless that argument was, and squeezed softly.
Tell her this is wrong. That you don’t want it. Lie, quick. But the only sound his mouth offered was a ragged exhalation, a noiseless moan.
“I never stopped having a crush on you,” she whispered. “But I don’t expect this to turn into anything, I swear. I just like you. And I want you.”
“This doesn’t feel right,” he said, but the lie came out breathy and weak, the limpest protest. Nothing felt as right as this. She had to know what he really wanted, as she stroked her palm up the ridge of his erection through his shorts and fly.
“Fuck.” His eyes shut, and his hand grew limp atop hers. “It’s late.”
“I don’t care.”
And shit, he didn’t either. “The baby might wake up.”
“And she might not.”
Become that better man you’ve been telling yourself you are right fucking now, asshole, and move her motherfucking hand away.
But that voice was so small, and her touch felt so goddamn good . . .
His own hand slipped to her hip, up her side, but she caught it before he could cup her breast.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “I’m not ready for that yet. I just want to touch you. Make you feel good.” With that, she let his hand go, only to head for his waist once more. This time, at least, he halted it in a firm grip at his belly.
“Jesus, honey, slow down.” He laughed, feeling drunk, and did his fly and buckle back up. “Can’t we kiss, instead?” Do things in the right order, at least. He’d wanted this girl for too long to rush now.