I tried to get my hands beneath his shirt, but because of the way we were sitting, I couldn’t find the hem. Instead, the back of my hand brushed across the undeniable hardness between his legs. The accidental contact made his entire body jerk and go rigid as a groan ripped from his mouth.
“Fuck, Katie.”
“I-I’m sorry,” I said, my voice low and shaky.
He pulled back, staring down at me with passion in his eyes. “Do it again.”
My eyes widened, and even as my mouth worked to tell him it wasn’t a good idea, my hand moved to do his bidding. This time, instead of the back of my hand, I used the pads of my fingers, brushing down the hard length in one single stroke.
His eyes fluttered closed and breath hissed between his teeth. A shudder moved through his body and in response, his member jerked toward me.
It was an intimidating size and my body stiffened.
Holt drew in a deep breath and then opened his eyes. Surprisingly, he sat me away from him, back onto my stool. He wiped a hand down his face and swore. “You’re going to kill me.”
Did that require a response?
An apology? A denial?
Before I could decide the appropriate way to address that statement, he pushed away from the counter and strode down the hallway, disappearing from sight.
It was kind of a relief.
Maybe now I could calm my racing heart.
10
Sexual tension. I never gave much thought to the term. I wasn’t the kind of girl to sit around watching romantic comedies. I didn’t read romance novels and I steered clear of Valentine’s Day and everything associated with it. I didn’t date and I stayed out of bars and other places where a man might think I was available. So sexual tension wasn’t something I was familiar with. It wasn’t something I ever thought I would experience.
Until now.
Four days of living with Holt and I was nothing but an exposed nerve, ready to explode at any moment. It was very confusing. It was very frustrating, and it was also kind of scary.
Yes, I’d been around men before. I’d lived with them. In fact, it was my experiences with the opposite sex that confirmed my decision to stay single. Forever. I was going to be one of those crazy ladies with fifty cats, a recliner, and a coupon addiction. Except my cats were going to be books. Books were way less stinky than cats.
But now things were changing.
My world, my view, my feelings were starting to tilt, and it left me feeling a little unbalanced all the time.
I found myself wandering down the romance section of the library, perusing the plethora of covers with shirtless muscle-bound men. All the females were gorgeous, with long legs and looks of desire on their faces. I used to snort at the sight of these books and secretly snicker when I checked them out to the little old ladies that came here for a weekly book club meeting.
But now as I fingered the glossy covers, I wondered what was within the pages. I wondered what kind of role these buff, half-naked men played in the story. Were the heroines of the story just as affected by their leading men as I was by Holt?
Did they lie in bed at night with him just walls away and wonder what it would be like to lie with him in the dark while he touched every inch of skin he could find? Did they breathe in deep every time he stepped near just to get a whiff of the scent that only he carried? Did an accidental touch, the simple brush of a hand or a shared look that lingered too long, threaten to drive them insane?
I cleared my throat and put the book back on the shelf. Clearly, I had enough romance swirling around in my head without reading some book.
He hadn’t kissed me since that first morning.
It seemed he went out of his way to give me some space, to keep a respectable distance between us. He wasn’t distant and cold. He was friendly and open. Every night since I’d been there, we cooked dinner together, laughing and joking in the kitchen while I showed him how not to ruin a pan.
We played cards (I was terrible) and he let me win (because he was a sweet). We watched action movies and made up our own dialogue when we thought what the actors said was stupid. I did his laundry and he washed the dishes, and I continued to sleep in his bed while he remained on the couch.
If I didn’t feel the attraction between us, if I didn’t feel the way it lingered in the air around us, I would have thought he didn’t see me as anything but a temporary roommate.
But I did feel it.
And he did too.
I could tell by the way his voice sometimes turned raspy and by the way he would watch me when he didn’t think I saw. The way he would angle his body so he never had his back to me, so he was always somewhat open to my presence. And sometimes, when I laughed or when I ate, he would watch my mouth and a hungry glint would come into his eyes.