Page 90 of That Time I Kissed My Beachfront Boss

“At least until Link and Hadley are gone,” she says.

“Deal. And in the meantime, I’ll try not to be all—what was it you said? All piney and messy and …” I let the sentence trail off and quirk my lip.

“Strong,” she blurts.

“Right. That was it. I’ll try not to be so strong.”

Her gaze dips to my biceps flexed on my chest. “Try harder.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

Olivia

Hudson’s staring at me from across the porch now, his dark eyes in a full-on smolder. My tongue is so dry and raw, I might as well have licked a thousand envelopes in my sleep.

“Just don’t,” I say, but only half-heartedly. Then my mouth curves up.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t do that thing with your eyes.” I chew the inside of my lip. “They’re all dark and flashy,” I say. “You promised to put a pin in it, but you’re not … it’s not … you aren’t playing fair.”

“I thought I was piney and strong and messy.” His brow lifts. “Now I’m dark and flashy?”

“Yes.”

He starts to move toward me again, this time wearing a crooked smile that says he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I’m sorry, Olivia.” His voice is soft and deep. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”

Liar.

He takes the last steps closing the space between us. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

“What word?” I choke out, standing my ground.

“Stop.”

I push my lips together unable to speak, which means I’m also not telling him to stop. So he comes closer, towering above me, and I begin to shuffle backward until I’m pressed up against the wall. He puts one hand out to reach around the back of my neck, and I suck in a breath as his fingers tangle in my hair. His other hand lifts, index finger extended, and he dips his gaze to my mouth.

My stomach is a cauldron as the tip of his finger inches forward—not quite there, not quite yet—then oh-so-softly skims my upper lip from one corner to the next. His caress is painstakingly slow and achingly tender.

My lips part, just the tiniest fraction, and I absorb his one-of-a-kind scent. A tantalizing cloud of deliciousness that’s Hudson’s alone. You could blindfold me and put me in a room of a thousand men, and I’d be able to sniff this man out.

Like a bloodhound. I’m a Hudson Blaine-hound.

“Olivia.” His voice is a hoarse grumble now. My abdomen tightens, and I have to force myself not to dart my tongue out to taste his thumb. He gently traces the slope below my mouth before skating down along my throat. The pressure is feather-soft and velvety. When he reaches my collarbone and slides his whole palm up to cup my chin in his warm hand, I almost spontaneously combust.

“Hudson,” I breathe out.

“Liv.” He tips my face up to meet his gaze, and we lock eyes. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

Not beautiful. Plenty of men have told me I’m beautiful. A lot of them didn’t see anything but that. And yet Hudson thinks I’m amazing. No one’s ever called me amazing before.

“You told me you weren’t interested,” I whisper, my pulse racing. “At The Launch Pad. Two years ago.” A breeze blows the wind chimes, and a shiver runs up my spine.

“Oh, I’m more than interested in you now.” His pupils expand, two dark lasers. “I’m desperately, totally, permanently interested.”

Permanently?

What are we doing?

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