Spitfire in Love (Chasing Red 3)

“Want help?” he whispered.

I felt dizzy. And it was because I hadn’t eaten yet. It was absolutely not because of his proximity. Absolutely not the heat emanating from his body. Absolutely not the delicious timbre of his dark voice.

“I don’t need your help.”

I raised onto my tiptoes and felt for the highest shelf without looking. When I felt a hard hat come free, I looked up and screamed when it fell.

He was there behind me right away. I was locked between his arms as his hands quickly caught the hard hat before it could do damage. I jumped back and sucked in a breath as our bodies made contact.

I was trapped. The locker doors and his arms blocked my sides. And behind me was a hard, immovable wall of male muscle.

I could smell him so strongly—that very appealing smell that always reminded me of raw masculinity. I could feel the warmth of his body and the strength he controlled so meticulously.

We didn’t move. One, two, three damned seconds of weakness. I allowed myself this and only this.

“Get off me,” I said after a moment. My voice sounded thick.

He didn’t budge at first. One, two, three, four seconds. Then he did. I jerked away, far, far away, from him.

“I told you not to touch me,” I said.

He clenched his jaw, then looked down. There was a smirk on his mouth, but when he looked up, his eyes looked hard. “You were the one who touched me first

.”

I glowered at him. Fine. That was true. My brain needed oxygen to function, and he was sucking it all out of the room.

“Here.” He offered the hard hat to me. “I touched this one though. Now it’s infected. Want to get another one?”

I grabbed the hard hat from his big, idiot hands and left that damned room.

Now I felt hot. And angry at myself for letting him affect me so strongly, so powerfully that I had let myself wallow in his touch for those significant seconds. I let it happen, and that was what ate at me. Because giving in even for a tiny moment could be my downfall. One blow to an already cracked surface—no matter how thick or strong that wall looked, one blow was all it needed to topple it all down.

“Wear this.” He handed me a white mask with a yellow, thin garter. “We’re going to drive around the lot and it’s dusty out there. This should help.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Take it,” he insisted.

“No.”

He sighed loudly, then proceeded to open the front door. He held it for me as I walked outside. I squinted, the sun blinding me.

I blinked up in confusion as it darkened suddenly. And I realized that he had placed his palm in front of me, blocking the brightness of the sun.

My eyes moved to his face. He was looking at me. His eyes looked so very, very fucking blue that my throat felt tight.

“Why?” I blurted out.

Another sign of weakness—asking him a stupid question about his actions. About his feelings.

I saw him swallow. And just before he could answer, I walked ahead of him.

Why are you walking away? Are you scared that he’ll answer? Or that he won’t?

I ignored the voice in my head.

“I don’t have all day,” I said. “Let’s go.”