Touch by Touch (Riggins Brothers 4)

“That too.” He smiles, the heaviness of the mood-lifting. “I mean, I have to use these guns for something.” He smirks as he flexes his arms. He’s still wearing the long-sleeve dress shirt he wore to work today, but I know what’s hiding under those white sleeves of his.

“You better roll your pants up, Con. Shit’s starting to get deep in here.” I grin at him, taking a huge bite of rice.

“I could take them off, you know, to make sure I don’t get shit on them.”

“The pants must stay on.” I point at him and give him a stern look.

“Party-pooper,” he grumbles good-naturedly.

We spend the next thirty minutes eating, talking, and laughing like old friends. The tension from our time at the cabin disappears. Well, I’m hiding it, but the atmosphere is light, and it’s nice. He’s a good guy. I know he is. I just don’t think he’s good for my heart. I’ve heard him pick on his brothers and give them a hard time about the magic their family believes in when it comes to love and how he doesn’t believe in it.

Here’s the thing. I believe in it. I watched it work for my sister. I was certain she would remain single after what her dick of an ex did to her. He tore her down, ripped her spirit and her soul to shreds. I was convinced she was done with relationships. That is until Grant Riggins walked into Warm Delights, and instantly there were sparks flying between the two of them. Grant fought for them, for her.

Conrad called bullshit. So did Marshall. Sure, all the brothers claim to not have believed in it, but three out of the five have fallen hard. Conrad and Marshall both still insisted it was crazy talk.

I want the magic.

“Thank you for dinner,” I say, pushing away from the table. “I ate so much. I don’t think I can move.”

He, too, pushes back from the table, only he stands. I yelp out in surprise when he lifts me into his arms and carries me to the couch. “You sit. I’ll clean up.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. He ignores me and walks the short distance back to the small kitchen area and begins to close containers and toss the trash.

“I’ll leave these in the fridge. You can have them for lunch tomorrow.”

“Why not breakfast?” I fire back just to mess with him.

“When you make treats as good as yours, you don’t eat Chinese for breakfast.” He tosses the trash and makes his way back to take a seat next to me on the couch.

“Maybe that’s why I want to eat it for breakfast. I didn’t make it.”

“I’ll make you breakfast any day. You just say the word.”

“Right.” I chuckle. “I’m up and in the bakery no later than 4:00 a.m. every day. You’re still snoozing while I’m working my life away.”

“I’ll have you know I was up and at the gym by five this morning.”

“I was up at three thirty.”

“I was up most of the night,” he counters.

I don’t ask him why. I don’t want to hear the answer. I cover my yawn before I can think of a reply. I’m exhausted, and with a full belly, it’s going to be lights out for me soon.

“Come on.” He stands and once again lifts me into his arms as if I weigh nothing.

“You know, my legs do work.”

“I’m aware of that. But you’re exhausted, and I like you in my arms.” It’s a simple statement, but I feel it deep in my core. “Which one?” he asks.

“This one.” I point to my bedroom door.

He pushes inside and places me on the bed. “I’ll be sure to lock up when I leave. You can set the alarm from your phone, yeah?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Let me go grab it. I’ll be right back.” He disappears, and I’m thankful as I suck in a deep breath to try to calm my nerves. “Here you go. I’ll make sure everything is locked, and I’ll text you once I’m outside.” He leans over, and I lick my lips, thinking he’s going to kiss me, and I know without a doubt that I’m going to let him. There is nothing better than this man's lips when they are pressed against mine.

However, his lips don’t land on mine. Instead, they press to my forehead. “Night, beautiful,” he whispers. His voice is low and husky and hot as fuck.

“N-Night,” I stammer.

Gripping my phone tightly in my hand, I listen as his footsteps retreat. I hear the sound of the door closing, but I don’t move a muscle. I wait, gripping my phone like a lifeline. When it pings, alerting me to a message, I’m quick to swipe at the screen.

Conrad: All locked up. Set the alarm.

Me: Thanks for dinner.