“Heartthrob of Heart’s Edge? Fuck. Don’t tell me that dumb Instagram account Ember’s ma runs is still going?”
“Yup! She showed me. It’s up to like a million followers. Her mama’s pretty crazy for all the hot guys around here.”
“Yeah, fuck. Doc told me all about it.” Snickering, I pull my good leg back and shove her shoulder lightly with the heel of my bare foot. “Heartthrob, my ass. I ain’t nobody’s.”
She might just be mine, though, with the way my heart skips a beat when she laughs.
“You might not think so,” she teases, starting on my other foot with an arched look my way from under her lashes. “But I have it on good authority that every single lady in town pines away into their lattes at The Nest, mourning the fact that you’re probably being taken off the market by some out-of-town witch with purple ends.”
My whole body prickles.
If she wants to take me off the market…hell, that doesn’t sound half bad.
I almost say it.
Almost slip right then and there, but I rein myself in and force a smug smile. “Nobody told them they got the wrong idea, huh?”
She’s just staying with me for safety, even if she’s getting crazy ideas in her head.
I practically put her under lock and key.
I gotta remember that.
Peace falters a second, glancing at me before fixing her gaze on her hand as she pulls my other boot off. “I don’t think it’s worth the argument. Most of them will figure out soon enough I’m just a tourist, anyway. So they can stop fretting.”
There it is.
That reminder she isn’t from here.
This isn’t her home.
I’m not her home.
It shouldn’t get me so riled up.
I bite my tongue while she drags my other sock off, then shifts her weight up to sit at my side, her hip pressing into my waist.
“Here,” she murmurs, pushing my coat open. “Sit up for me a little.”
I can’t resist her. Not even when these feelings are sinking into my gut like a boulder, and I manage to haul myself up on my hands without jouncing myself too much so she can help me out of my jacket.
Then she’s got my shirt, fingers on the buttons, peeling the flannel open.
I can’t stop watching her.
She’s so close, her mouth red and sweet, a rosebud.
Nah—more like a strawberry.
A thick, luscious, juicy red strawberry you just want to sink your teeth into for a wet bite of tart sweetness.
One taste of her lips was enough to leave me addicted, obsessed, undone.
It’s a miracle I’m even looking at her without throwing her on her back and drinking my fill, pain be damned.
She’s quiet, her eyes on her hands while she works at the buttons, but now and then there’s a glance.
Her, catching me through those long lashes that make the green of her eyes stand out even more.
Her lips part subtly, just enough to see the gleaming tip of her tongue.
And me barely breathing.
This feels too fucking intimate, her hands trawling down my body, parting my shirt. She stands, working me out of it with gentle gestures that make her fingers glide across my body.
When she catches the hem of my undershirt, I nearly lose it.
Her knuckles, her nails, skim over my naked skin as she pushes the cotton up across my abs, my chest. I lift my arms and let her peel it over my head.
Fuck. Don’t think I’ve ever let a woman undress me before.
From anyone else it’d feel diminishing.
Weird.
This helpless, sorry bastard being pampered by this knockout chick.
With Peace, though, it’s almost too powerful.
Even just to strip me down for a massage, she’s got this certain care for my body. It makes her touch worshipful, like she’s handling something important, something that means the moon and the stars to her.
I almost can’t stand the silence between us.
The prickling tension.
Or how damn bad I want to put my hands on her body like I own it and just feel her warmth soaking into my fingertips.
She holds my eyes as I flop back against the sofa. Then she settles again, bracing one knee against the cushion, her hands falling to rest on my stomach just above the waist of my jeans.
I can’t help sucking in a breath through my teeth, shuddering, her touch so hot, my skin so crazy for this mad, sexy woman.
“You okay?” she asks softly. “This might hurt, getting your jeans off.”
Real cute. I don’t think she guesses the real pain I’m in.
Wanting her so bad I can hardly feel the hissing agony in my thigh. Not when the need burning in my gut cuts twice as deep.
So I nod, licking my lips, bracing myself. “Rip the Band-Aid off, darlin’.”
“I’ll try to be more careful than that.” She smiles gently.
So she says.
But she’s fucking me up hardcore as those nimble fingers flick the button of my jeans open and draw the zipper down.