Page 25 of Dear Rosie

Nathan pauses, hand held over a tray of toast points topped with burrata, blended sweet peas, and chili oil.

His eyes are locked on mine, silently asking permission.

I dip my chin.

Nathan picks up the triangle of toast and winks.

He fucking winks at me.

Heat slithers down my spine, and I clench my thighs as I’m reminded thatthis Nathanis all man.

My body doesn’t care that he can stare right at me and not know who I am.

My body doesn’t care if he doesn’t remember me at all.

All my body wants is his giant hands touching us.

Tasting us like he’s about to taste that bite.

Nathan turns, heading farther into the house, but my eyes follow him as he shoves the whole thing into his mouth.

I hold my breath. Wanting him to love it.

Nathan’s steps falter, and he tips his head back as he chews.

The profile view of him is… devastating.

His jawline. The way his throat works when he swallows. That tiny head shake he does and the way his hair moves with the motion.

He turns his head to look at me over his shoulder.

“Good?” I whisper.

“Divine,” he whispers back, and I swear his eyes are on my mouth.

Then he’s gone.

And my condition is bordering on cardiac arrest.

“I think I just got pregnant,” Presley groans.

This time I have no argument. Because I think I might have too.

Fanning my face with my hand towel, I grab my backpack off the floor. “I’m going to go change.”

Presley nods, already in her event clothes.

After locking the door to the closest powder room, I turn the tap on cold and stick my wrists under the running water.

That damn wink has me wishing I’d packed a whole handful of extra underwear in this bag.

I let my head drop forward as I continue to try to freeze the lust out of my body.

If Nathan keeps this up, I’m going to cave and start flirting back.

And I can’t do that.

That would be a bad idea.

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