Page 18 of Reckless Vow

Baldo’s eyes flicker with hunger. He raises his hand and my heart takes off, galloping around my poor chest.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. Only he doesn’t remove his hand after, just lets it linger there. Electricity courses between us while I try to remember why I hate him.

A lock of hair falls across his face, and I almost copy his move but stop myself. “What’s up with the man bun?”

He shrugs. “You don’t like it?”

“I hate it.”

In the absence of any sensible need to remove myself from the current closeness, I can at least hate his hair. God, where the fuck did I leave my wits?

“Duly noted.”

His fingers trace the skin of my neck, along my shoulder, down my arm.

A very elegant retrieval of his hand from my ear. What his touch does to me isn’t healthy.

I swallow because my mouth is so dry and, of course, it prompts my tongue to dart out again. Only this time, I catch myself and retract. Unlike his move, mine lacks grace completely.

It seems to amuse him and encourage him as well, because the same hand he’s just removed from me—and thank God for that—returns.

Only this time, his thumb touches my bottom lip. Right where it is still damp from my tongue.

A woman with my life experience, especially when it comes to toxic men, should bite his finger off. I know that beyond any shadow of a doubt.

But as if someone kidnapped my body and my sanity without my knowledge, my lips part. Not only that, they close around the tip of his finger.

He hums. The sound strips me of any propriety or inhibition, and I suck. He tastes like salt and sin. I want his fingers elsewhere. Jesus.

He groans and grabs my throat with his other hand, squeezing gently.

What the fuck am I doing?

What the fuck are we doing?

What the fuck is he doing?

Jumping away from me. That’s what. Out of the two of us, he regains his senses first, drops his hand and steps back.

Leaving me completely vulnerable, exposed and embarrassed.

“We should talk about the next steps. Other than the big rock you demanded.”

He puts his hands in his pockets, but removes them quickly because the action prompts me to look down. And lo and behold, he’s sporting a semi.

We’re so fucked.

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” I try to move gracefully to my desk and sit on the chair.

“Do you want to call it off? We can, of course.”

The way he throws it out there hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does, and that pisses me off.

“But you would be the one announcing it, because I’m for sure not backing out. It would only confirm what they all think about me.”

“What do they think of you?” He frowns.

What, now he‘s my therapist? “Never mind. What were you thinking, anyway? Proposing?”

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