Page 34 of Cinnamon Roll Set Up

“I’ve never been told I have an ideal slope before.” I haven’t thought about the shape of my nose since middle school. It’s…average? All I really want is for her to touch me again, even if it has to be on the nose.

She nods, gently holding the ice to my face. “I’ve used your nose as inspiration on some of my covers. Every hero with a straight, strong nose? That’s yours.”

I’ve suspected as much—not about the nose, but about her sources of inspiration. It’s why I had a print made for the cover of one of her books. The couple looks exactly like the two of us. She’s never said a word that it might actually be us, but when I look at it, that’s all I can see.

“Anything else?” Barely a whisper because I can’t manage more. It’s taking a shocking amount of energy not to touch her in return, pull her to my chest, and hold her close.

“Eyebrows, sometimes.”

She traces each of them with the same soft touch, making my chest constrict from want. Normally, I would put eyebrowsat the bottom of the erogenous zone barrel. But this is Georgia—every touch is top of the line with her.

“How about my hair?”

She laughs, her breath ghosting across my skin. “Oh, yeah. You’ve got the best hair. Very inspirational.”

She runs her fingers through my hair, messing it up more than it already was. I have to force myself not to close my eyes and lean into her hand like a touch-starved kitten. Each sweep of her fingers sends shockwaves through my body and down my limbs.

I want more. I crave it. This is a dangerous game, but I’m not ready to take my wins and fold.

“Mouth?” My suggestion is gasoline on a blazing wildfire. She’ll either fan those flames…or douse them.

Her gaze drops there and holds. The muscles in her gorgeous throat work as she swallows. “Once. Just the hint of it.”

When her fingertip grazes over my lips, I think I might be dead. I’m definitely not breathing. Then again, my heart is pounding fast enough to be a bigger medical concern than my injured face.

We’ve touched hundreds of times before. We hug. Snuggle. Hold hands. But that always has an air of innocence over it, like she’s pasted the “friendly” label on those touches, and they barely even register to her as a point of connection.

But this…this is something new. This is curiosity and exploration. This is a borderline sensual touch that she’s initiating like she can’t help herself. This is standing on the edge of a cliff, trying to decide if we’re ready to jump into the water below. Even if I’m not sure she’s entirely aware of what she’s doing.

She certainly doesn’t know what she’s doing tome.

Her finger stills on my lips. It would take nothing at all to kiss her fingertip and change the dynamic between us. Possibly change everything. But I need her to be clear about what shewants. I’ll give her anything she needs. Including limitless space to make up her mind.

Right now, there’s barely a breath of space between us.

Her gaze darts up to lock with mine. There’s a question written there. I just can’t be certain what it is.

“Do you…” she breathes.

I wait for the rest, ready to answer her truthfully, whatever she asks.

Then she blinks. And blinks again. The hazy look in her eyes disappears as if she just woke up, and she steps out from between my legs. She exhales an embarrassed laugh, smiling her not-quite-real customer service smile.

My pounding heart falls.

“What were you going to ask?” I have to say the words, even if I already know she won’t tell me.

Her hesitation confirms it.

“I…was going to ask if you think that’s enough ice for now. I’m pretty sure you’re only supposed to do it fifteen minutes at a time. We don’t want to freeze your face off.”

“I can live without my face.”

She pulls the ice pack away from my cheek, smiling sadly at what she sees there. “I think it’s keeping the bruising down.”

“That’s something.” Deep down, I’m disappointed, but I refuse to sound like I am. My sky-high hopes and dreams aren’t her fault or her responsibility.

“Hey, boss?” Arlo leans past the back curtain.

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