Asking for Trouble - Leslie Kelly [30]
I grinned. “Cool.”
“You’re a morbid little thing, aren’t you?”
At five-eight, I wasn’t used to anyone calling me little. But since this guy had a few inches on me, not to mention many pounds of solid muscle, I decided it was appropriate. Besides…I sort of liked it. “Not morbid, I just like mysteries. Like to dig into the past and see what I can find out. I loved puzzles as a kid.”
“And the game Clue.” Opening the refrigerator door again, he poked around a little bit, then closed it without retrieving anything.
Realizing he was hungry but wasn’t going to make himself a meal out of the healthy foods in the fridge, I rolled my eyes. Typical man. If there weren’t any cold leftover pizza, he couldn’t be bothered to eat anything. Mmm, pizza. I already missed my pop’s deep dish. And though I’d been happy as a bunny to get away from them for a while, I already missed my family a little bit. Even my lunkhead brothers.
Deciding to make sure he got at least one decent meal today, I pushed past him. “Go sit down.”
His eyebrow shot up.
“I’ll make us lunch. It’s the least I can do since you’re letting me stay.”
When he didn’t move toward the table, I put my hand on his chest and shoved, just as I would have with one of my brothers. Only, like my brothers, Simon was a big man. And whether he’d lost weight or not, he was a sold hunk of muscle. So he didn’t budge.
That didn’t mean I took my hand away. No, I sort of left it there, splayed on his broad chest, feeling his heartbeat against the tips of my fingers. Beneath his thin, loose shirt, I could feel the raised skin of his other mysterious scar, and something made me move my index finger up and down it, as if I could ease away any last remnants of pain.
He didn’t say a word, didn’t move a muscle. He simply stared at me, his breaths slow and steady, making his chest rise and fall beneath my touch. Those dark-to-the-point-of-blackness eyes blazed as he stared at my face. He appeared ready to rip my hand off for daring to put it on him.
Or rip my clothes off and take me up against the refrigerator.
I swallowed, using all my determination to remain completely motionless, knowing the wrong move would break the intense moment. He’d back away, storm out of the room or simply retreat back into casual conversation.
And I didn’t want that. I wanted him to go forward, not retreat.
Finally, moving so slowly I almost didn’t realize he was doing it, he stepped closer. It wasn’t until I felt his shoes touch mine that I understood why my leg was suddenly feeling so warm. It was because his was so close, his body radiating heat. At the brush of his chest across my sweater, my nipples tightened and my breasts felt heavy.
I have often complained over the years about inheriting the more-than-generous Santori women’s cup size—and the back problems that go along with it. But right now, I saw the benefits. Because while he hadn’t taken me in his arms, our bodies were touching, ever so delicately. That light scrape of his shirt on the very tips of my nipples was more sensual than any heavy petting I’d ever experienced. The almost-there caress heightened the anticipation. And the tension.
He moved his arm up slowly. But he obviously hadn’t lost his head over the idea of getting his hands on my breasts the way my former lovers—college guys—always had. Instead, he covered my own hand and pulled it away from his chest.
A sharp stab of disappointment hit me low in the belly. It quickly disappeared when I realized he wasn’t letting go. In fact, he’d twined his fingers in mine and pushed my arm behind my back until both of us were touching my backside. Then he took hold of the other and did the same thing until he had me completely immobilized. I couldn’t move my arms. Couldn’t back away because the counter blocked my path. Couldn’t do anything but stand there and breathe him in.
I should have been scared since I barely knew him. And since mystery and danger dripped off the man in buckets.
Instead, I was excited as hell. This could get wild.