Page 61 of Tempting

But as the elevator doors open on my floor, I’m drawn to Nixon’s door, not mine. Only hesitating for a moment before I knock tentatively. Gordie’s excited bark welcomes me just before Nixon opens the door.

His hair is messy, like he’s run his hands through it a few times, and I itch to do the same. A tight black tank hugs his chest and proudly displays each beautiful muscle, and gray sweatpants hang from his lean hips. Hips I want to lick. Hips I want to feel pressed against me.

“Hi,” I whisper and stand frozen for a moment as electricity arcs between us, sparking and soaring like a live wire being drug along the street.

Pretty to look at but so damn dangerous to touch.

We’re irresistibly drawn together by an invisible force.

And right now, I just don’t have the energy to fight.

I’m not sure who reaches first. My arms circle his neck as Nixon lifts me from my feet and moves me inside. He leans me against his front door, and I wrap my legs around his waist as his mouth devours mine. “Fucking missed you, Mac.”

Those words. God, they shouldn’t have this effect on me, but they really do.

Our tongues tangle as we get completely lost in the moment.

Just us and this kiss that somehow shatters my world as I cling to this man.

He pulls back and presses his forehead against mine. “You okay, baby?”

Damn him.

Tears pool in my eyes, and the weight of the week pushes me over my limit.

Nixon swipes his thumbs under my eyes and carries me into his bedroom.

“I don’t even know where this is coming from. I’m not a crier.” I sniff.

He sits down on the bed with me in his lap. “It’s been a hell of a week, Mac. I’m sure everything with Brynn was weighing on you. And I can only imagine how many hours you’ve worked. Plus, that shit with Dr. Dick. It’s a lot. How about you let me take care of you? Maybe get a little sleep.”

“I’m sorry.” Guilt tugs at me because what he’s proposing sounds perfect. “You’re not supposed to be taking care of me, Nixon. You’re supposed to be teaching me.” I know I’m throwing up walls, but this overwhelming need mixed with such a sense of safety... Of more. It scares the hell out of me.

“Part of teaching you is making sure you know how you deserve to be treated. Sleep, baby. There’s plenty of time for everything else. Just do me one favor.”

Nixon’s hands slide under my shirt and skim up my sides. “Arms in the air, Mac.”

I lift my arms over my head, wondering where in the world he’s going with this until he strips the hoodie and shirt off my body, then sits me on the bed as he stands and steps into his closet. He comes back out holding an old Boston University hockey tee that he slides down over my body. “When you’re in my room, you wear my name.”

A weary, watery smile tugs at my lips at that deviously possessive tone I’ve come to love. And as if that thought alone wasn’t enough to send me running for the hills, he squats down in front of me, unties my sneaks, and pulls them and my jeans down my legs and off my body. He drags his lips up my calves and presses them against the inside of my thigh before pulling back the heavy down comforter and sliding my legs under it.

Heavy eyes hold my gaze hostage, while a sliver of moonlight filters through the shade, and a cool breeze blows in from the open window. His room smells like a fall night mixed with a warm fire. It’s heat and spice and everything Nixon Sinclair, and I sink into it all. “You look good like that, Mac.”

“Exhausted?” I ask, and he clenches his jaw.

“In my bed.”

Well then... Nixon leaves his sweats on but yanks his tight tank over his head, then crawls in behind me and pulls me to him. “Sleep, Mac. I’ve got you.”

I’m not sure why, but those words strike the biggest blow my painstakingly built walls have ever taken. “Nix...”

I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.

I can’t do this.

I’m scared to death to truly let you in and accept that you mean something to me.

I want so much more from you than lessons. But how am I supposed to tell you that when that’s it—the thing at the core of all this that scares me most?

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