Page 48 of Tough Nut to Crack

I have to swallow twice before I dislodge the lump that has managed to wedge itself in my throat.

"There's coffee," I say, my voice less sure and more of a whisper than I intend.

His eyes drift down the front of me once more before he heads toward the coffee pot.

It's weird. It's going to be weird with him staying here, and I don't know if that's something I'm going to be able to handle. This home is my sanctuary, and his mere presence here is throwing everything off-kilter. It's enough to drive me mad.

I open my mouth to tell him the agreement is off, that he needs to go back to the hotel or at minimum find some other place to go. Staying here is no longer an option, but after he pours his coffee and turns back around to face me, his eyes once again dropping down the length of my body, I find it impossible to ask him to leave.

He's a complication, the very last thing I need in my life, but I still can’t formulate the words to ask him to leave.

"What are you doing today?" I ask instead.

"Working on my house," he answers, a glint of something unsaid in his eyes when he lifts them back up to my gaze.

"I could help," I offer, feeling like a fool for even making the suggestion.

I don't know a single thing about construction. There's still a massive hole in the wall in the tiny closet where I keep my cleaning supplies in because I attempted to hang a battery organizer and made some miscalculations.

"I have to confess that I don't know much about any of it," I add awkwardly when he just continues to stare at me. "But I'm teachable."

As if it's his main goal in life to make me squirm, he doesn't immediately respond, instead he takes another slow look down the length of my body, and I don't know how I'm supposed to feel when he has to clear his throat before he speaks.

The swipe of his tongue over his bottom lip sends an electrical current up my spine, forcing goosebumps along both of my arms and tightening my nipples as if that attention was directly against my skin.

"You'll have to wear more clothes than what you have on," he says.

I instantly feel naked in front of him despite wearing a sleep-set I snagged on sale last year.

"You don't like it?" I ask, my voice so husky that I don't even recognize its sound in my own ears as it bounces around the room.

That devilish tongue of his snakes out once again and I swear the man is taunting me in the best way, and with the way my body responds to him, I don't know if he's oblivious to the way I react to him or if he's purposely trying to torture me.

"Oh, I more than like it, Riley," he says, his tone low and welcoming. "But the electricity has been turned off at the house because of the fire, and you'll freeze. Plus, it's a demo day. You'll need long sleeves, pants, and boots if you have them."

"Ok," I whisper, a little surprised that he's actually okay with me tagging along.

I rinse my coffee cup and walk past him, but his hand grazes my stomach as I begin to pass, and it halts me immediately.

I look down at the touch, wondering why I would normally be embarrassed with a man touching me there. It's one of my trouble spots, that I can't seem to get under control, no matter how many times I cut carbs or exercise.

"I want to thank you for letting me stay here," he says, his thumb brushing back and forth until it slinks under my sleep shirt and brushes my bare skin.

"You don't even have the good bed," I say when nothing else comes to mind.

I feel a little breathless when his eyes drop to my mouth before he speaks.

"Is that an invitation to sleep in yours?"

I'm not a complete idiot. I can decipher the tease in his tone, but my body urges me to jump up and down or attempt a back flip which will no doubt put me right on my ass. Before I can formulate an answer, his hand drops from my stomach and it's as if some sort of spell is broken.

I walk away without saying a word, and despite thinking of a million and a half things that would've fit into that brief moment of silence as I make my way to my bedroom, I feel like a fool for not being able to think of anything to say.

As I move clothes around in my closet, trying to find an outfit that not only works for what he needs help with today, but will also have him looking in my direction for other reasons, an argument begins in my head. It's not the first time that I've questioned my sanity where Mac Hammer was concerned. The man has spent more time in my head than any man probably should've.

I don't know if he's manipulating me with the looks, and that touch moments ago in the kitchen. I highly doubt he's trying to fight the same draw I have for him. It's too easy for him to exploit the crush I've had on him all these years, although I'm not so sure he's even aware of it.

The man did act like he'd never seen my face before in his life not long ago at the bar, despite what we did in high school.

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