Page 3 of My Favorite Temptation

Chapter 2

Bella

“So, this is where I live,” I say as I lead Walker into my house.

Now that I’m alone with him, I’m nervous. I’m not sure why. He probably knows me better than any other person.

The nervousness doesn’t feel bad, though. It’s just that the sight of his muscular, masculine body makes me flush. His short black hair and the five o’clock shadow on his strong jaw makes me hot all over. The sensation I felt when I looked into his striking green eyes earlier today was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Just thinking about it makes my core twitch in a foreign way.

“It suits you,” Walker says as he takes in the bright, neat decor. “It’s… inviting. Just like you.”

“Thanks,” I giggle, feeling my face heat up inexplicably. My heart pounds in my chest, and I have to clear my throat before I say, “I can show you around if you want.”

“I’d like that,” he tells me.

I nod before I gesture at the room we’re in. “So obviously, this is the living room. You’re free to use the TV while you’re here. I have all the big streaming services. And there’s a landline in the kitchen you can use. I got it set up a few days ago.”

He makes a noise of agreement, following me to the kitchen. I watch his face, admiring the way the afternoon sun illuminates his strong features. After surveying the room, his gaze finds me, taking my breath away. He’s handsome, like a Greek god, and the place between my legs pulses.

“Uh, this is the kitchen,” I say when I remember I’m showing him around. “I don’t use it often. I’m not the best cook.”

“I’m sure whatever you make is incredible,” he says, his words warming me like the first sip of hot coffee in the morning.

I find myself blushing again, and I lower my head so he can’t see it. Then I say, “Let me show you your room. It’s right down the hall.”

“Lead the way.”

I do as he says, walking him the short distance from the kitchen to the room I set up for him. When we get there, I open the door and step inside. He follows close enough that I can feel the heat from his body.

“It’s not much,” I say, suddenly embarrassed by how bare the room is. There’s nothing in here but a bed and a dresser. “But I hope it’s okay.”

“It’s perfect,” Walker says, still so close to me.

“I wouldn’t say that,” I say, our proximity not helping with how fidgety I feel under his gaze. “I’m glad you like it, though.”

“It’s way better than my last bedroom,” he replies. Then, his voice drops low as he says, “The company’s better, too.”

My panties feel wet, and I think I want to get closer to Walker. I don’t think I should, though. He just got out of prison. Whatever I hear in his voice, no matter how it makes me feel, is probably a product of him being away from women for so long. I need to get out of here before I do something stupid. I don’t know how to behave, especially since a brand new kind of need is flowing through my veins.

“The, uh, the bathroom’s across the hall,” I stutter as I search for an excuse to retreat to the safety of my room to cool down and change my underwear. “I’m going to go check in with my boss. Holler if you need anything.”

“I will,” he says, finally taking a step back. “Thank you, Bella.”

“Of course,” I say before scurrying out of his room and into mine.

It isn’t like there’s much distance between the two of us – we share a wall – but I breathe a little easier once my bedroom door is closed. After my body stops vibrating, I try to figure out why Walker had such an effect on me. I’ve been around handsome men before, but they’ve never set my loins alight like that.

In addition to what I know has to be a sexual reaction, there’s something deeper there. I’ve always felt some level of closeness to him because of our written correspondence, but meeting him in person for the first time since I was seven has made that feeling more intense.

When I started sending him letters three years into his sentence, I was ten.

It felt like the right thing to do because he was all alone in there, and I knew what it felt like to be alone, especially after Josh went to college. I told him about almost everything: stupid fights between my friends, the books I read in class, my volleyball games. The world he lived in sounded so small and bleak. I wanted to show him that the life waiting for him outside was better. He told me my letters were always a bright spot in his day.

Which was why I tried not to talk about my dad.

As far as my home life was concerned, there were no bright spots to be found. My father was mean when he was sober, and he was even meaner on coke. There was a part of me that hoped someone would see the bruises I tried to keep covered and guess what was going on, to come save me, but I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.

Sometimes, when things got to be too much, I’d tell Walker a modified version of the truth. I’d tell him that my dad yelled at me, or that I was beat up on my way home from school. When I felt my most helpless, he was the only person I could come close to trusting.

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