72
“Emma?” His voice, husky and exhausted, pulls my gaze to him, and my stomach lurches up into my chest.
I guess that answers my question.
“Hey.” I smile unsurely from my position on the lounger as he walks toward me intently; he doesn’t hesitate but slides down beside me and lies down with a tremendous sigh. He’s on his front, and he’s buried his face in the crook of his arms, making it obvious he is utterly exhausted. His body sags heavily, taking up a vast amount of room. He’s close enough that we touch delicately in places, but not deliberately. He smells good, of sea and sun and him. If I could bottle that smell and keep it forever, I would. My body is tingling with the proximity, but I’m holding my breath, waiting.
I glance over his profile, appraising how tired he is. His hair has nothing in it for once, and it’s the first time I’ve seen it au natural. It’s ruffled with a hint of curl, and it looks boyish and sweet somehow. I like that he keeps a short back and sides; it showcases his neck and jaw, but there’s enough hair on top to run your fingers through.
Not that I should.
It’s thick, dark, and unruly, like him, and the temptation to touch it is overwhelming.
I study him for a minute, wondering what he’s thinking. His eyes are closed, and he seems like he’s fallen asleep; maybe he has. I don’t blame him. He was up all night in a cold, sterile hospital after the drama of diving into the ocean, frantically searching for his friend, and then whisked away in a helicopter ambulance in a flurry of chaos before dawn.
“I’m still awake.” It’s as if he’s listening to my thoughts. My eyes widen at being caught, and I glance away. I don’t respond.
Crap. How does he do that?
Maybe he could feel me staring; I know that I’m always aware of his eyes on me. Shifting his position slightly, he reaches out an arm and loosely drapes it across my waist. He pulls me closer so our bodies mold in the best way possible and brings his face closer to my shoulder. His eyes are still closed, and I’ve literally stopped breathing; I think my heart skips at least three beats. The position is sensual and comforting, but the fear inside of me is notching up into frantic worry.
“You smell good.” His nose brushes against the naked skin at my shoulder near my dress strap, his touch burning through me, igniting some of last night’s passion. Before making another stupid mistake, I need to push it down and shove it away fast.
“Thanks,” I mutter, trying to calm my racing thoughts. I’m tense as hell, rigid with it. I need to relax. I must be emanating crazy anxiety, but he smiles against my shoulder. I see it and feel it, the delicate, soft graze of his face as it moves, the slight scratch of the stubble of his jaw on my exposed skin.
God!
“Are you ever going to learn to let go when you’re sober, Miss Anderson?” His voice is hoarse from tiredness. The change in its usually clear tone is devastatingly alluring.
“What do you mean?” I blanche.
“I can feel you, stiffer than a board. Why so formal after last night?” He smiles again, tickling the skin at my shoulder with his mouth and breath, his tone flirty. I wasn’t expecting this conversation, especially after the kitchen kiss. I want the kitchen kiss conversation, the ‘sorry, we were drunk, it never happened’ speech. I’ve no clue what to say, so I swallow and chew my lip, twisting my hair, practically ripping the strand from my scalp. He reaches up, still with closed eyes, and tugs my hand out of it. He has that annoying habit perfected nowadays; he can even do it when not looking.
“Relax, I only want to sleep,” he mumbles, returning his arm to its previous position across my waist as if there was some agreement to do more. “Stop thinking and have a sleep with me; you look tired.” He sounds gruff, but I’m bristling in full alert mode.
I glare at the side of his face, hating his ability to read me.
Why did I ever let my boss get so goddamned close?
I know! Because, since I took this damn job, he’s practically forced me to live with him. I’m at his side every second of my waking life, and now it seems he wants me there unawake too. The betrayal of my body reacting to his has set me off in a weird mood, irritation rising like a beast.
“I’m not tired,” I huff and slide out of his grasp, diving off the lounger to dodge any attempts to keep me. “I’m going for a swim.” To cool myself off and put some much-needed distance between us. I catch his movement from the corner of my eye as he lifts his head, watching me storming to the stairs, then lays his head back down.
“Don’t drown,” he calls, “I don’t have the energy for a repeat of last night.” He’s already making jokes about Daniel. I guess that means Hunter will be okay after all, and I am pressed with guilt for not even asking about him. Also, I’m pissed off. I don’t even know why. I throw him a shady look with a toss of my hair and head to my room for a bikini.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
