Page 2 of Sticky Situationship

That’s all it takes?

“You okay?” Concern creases his brow as I try and fail to stifle another cough. Before I can respond, he guides me across my place toward the windows with a warm, gentle hand on my bare, low back.

“Here,” he says, breaking contact to open the window. “Get some fresh air.”

I sink onto the windowsill and gulp in deep breaths of frigid New York City night air as delicate snowflakes fall outside. He drops to his knees in front of me, his hand innocently resting on my thigh.

At least, it seems as if he’s unaware of the touch. I, on the other hand, am not aware of a single thing besides the heat of his fingers ricocheting through my sweatpants, tremors shooting out like fireworks from the point of contact.

“Just a mild case of smoke inhalation,” I manage, clearing my throat and forcing my gaze up to his face rather than staring at the connection.

Big mistake.

Gray eyes, the color of charcoal, meet and hold my gaze. His irises shimmer like dark gemstones. They’re piercing yet tender. The shade is unusual but also somehow familiar. I sink into their captivating depth, drawn like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the magnetic pull.

“That a professional diagnosis?”

“What?” I murmur, distracted by what I have now officially deemed to qualify asbedroom eyes.

“Are you a physician?”

The question pulls me back to my senses. Strictly speaking I am one even if most days I don’t feel like it quite yet. But it’s interesting he said,physicianrather than the more commondoctor.“Technically.”

He eyes me but drops the subject. Squeezing my leg, he rises and pads back to the kitchen, the muscles in his broad back andshoulders rippling. I drink in the sight, absently rubbing the spot on my leg where his warmth lingers through the soft jersey knit.

A moment later, he returns with a glass of water, eyeing my bed covered with study materials as he picks a couple of flashcards up off the floor.

“Hypoparathyroidism?”

It takes a minute for my muddled brain to process the term, distracted as I am by this hunk of a firefighter, but finally reply, “A condition where the body produces insufficient parathyroid, leading to low calcium levels in the blood.”

He flips over the card and hums a murmur of approval. “Well done.”

He returns the cards to the haphazard stack on the bed. Shifting some papers aside, he settles on the edge of my comforter. His calloused fingers brush mine as he passes the glass of water. I flinch at the spark of contact.

Sure, it’s been a while—okay, alongwhile—since I’ve had sex, but never have I ever been so unequivocally attracted to a man at first glance. I mean, yeah, he’s half naked and clearly not a stranger to the gym, and sure, he’s already on my bed, but still.

Thanks to his quick response and fast actions, the smoke is clearing, but now, my body is on fire. So much for getting any studying done tonight.

One dark brow quirks up as he sweeps me with another assessing look, but this time, it feels like the analysis has nothing to do with the alarm. Or my safety.

My mouth goes bone dry, but the parched sensation can’t be blamed on the smoke this time. Obediently, I raise the glass to my lips. It’s impossible not to let my eyes trail over the tanned, defined lines of his chest cover with a dusting of dark hair, and those mouthwatering carved abdominals…

“You’ve got a little something—” he starts, reaching a hand to his face as if brushing something off the corner of his mouth.

“What? Oh!” I frantically swipe at the corner of my mouth, disconcerted to see chocolate batter on my finger when I pull it away. Chances are it’s smudged across my entire cheek.

“You’re good.” His wry tone snaps my gaze up to find a lopsided grin curling his lips.Bastard.“What were you baking?”

“Chocolate cupcakes.” I gesture at the open textbook, flashcards, and notebooks strewn over my rumpled bedding. “I was just resting my eyes for a minute while studying. I must have forgotten to set a timer and didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Ah,” he chuckles, as if he can read me—or maybe, my old sports bra, sweatpants, and messy ponytail—like an open book.

I wrinkle my nose. “Do you get that a lot?”

A soft rumble emerges from deep in his chest, and I can’t help tracking the sound, my eyes dropping to catch the hard planes and angles across the broad expanse. “Actually, it’s a new one for me.”

“I suppose I should be glad you happened to move in next door. Otherwise, I’d probably still be trying to fan the smoke detector,” I admit sheepishly.

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