Page 13 of T is for…

“You really want to do this?” Nathan murmured from right behind her. He felt deliciously warm where she was touching him—backs of her thighs, where his hands still rested on her waist.

“I want to at least discuss it.” She was well aware that she was now backtracking, hedging her bets.

“Facing me, or facing away?” Given how close they were to one another, his voice was quiet, not a whisper but intimate, thanks to the lowered volume.

If she sat facing him, would she still sit on his lap? Maybe with her legs spread over his?

Her pussy clenched at the thought, the arousal shocking in its ferocity, given it was prompted by such a benign idea. Then again, it wasn’t just the mental image of her thighs spread open for him that she was reacting to. His thumbs were sweeping little half circles along her sides, the touch firm enough to avoid being ticklish.

But maybe if she said she wanted to talk while facing him, he’d slide her off his lap, back onto the couch.

“Facing away,” she murmured, not wanting to lose the contact.

“Okay, slide back.”

Gingerly, Tara scooted her butt half an inch, her satin robe making it easy to slide on his leather-clad thighs.

Nathan huffed out a soft laugh, his fingers tightened, and he jerked her back. She yelped in surprise as her ass nestled against his crotch, her back smacking against his chest.

She felt his warm breath on the side of her head and cheek. Her hands tightened on his forearms.

They were both wearing clothes, and yet this felt more intimate than being naked with someone else.

More intimate, and more arousing. Her nipples tightened into diamond-hard points, and her sex pulsed in time with her heartbeat. She wanted to turn her head and kiss him. Wanted to feel his hand at her throat, and his body weighing her down. She wanted this man who knew her intimately to now touch her intimately.

The arousal that spread through her was like a wildfire—hot, fast, and destructive.

This was too much too fast.

She leaned forward, putting distance between her back and his chest, shocked and worried at the strength of her reaction.

His hands fell away, leaving cold spots on her hips from the loss of heat.

“Tara,” he sighed. “You can’t even bring yourself to sit on my lap. This won’t work if we can’t touch?—”

“Wait, just… I need a second. And that’s not what’s happening.” She took several deep breaths, until her brain no longer felt like it was murky with arousal.

Facing away was the wrong choice. She needed to be looking at him to have this conversation.

Gripping the bottom of her robe closed with one hand, she climbed off his lap. Nathan let out another sigh, staring down at his legs.

Tara nudged his ankle with her toe and he looked up, his brows rising as she slid onto his lap once more.

This time, she sat side-on, her butt nestled in the seam of his slightly spread legs, her back against the arm of the couch.

The new position meant he wasn’t taking her weight directly and entirely on his thighs. She was just under average height, but just over a “healthy” weight. Her detailed explanation about why BMI was a flawed measurement had only made the nurse at her doctor’s office sigh.

Nathan slid one hand between her body and the arm of the couch, pressing his palm against her lower back. “I don’t want you to hurt your back.”

She blinked, touched that he’d thought about it and surprised he remembered her back issues. Two years ago, she’d been so deep in a project that she spent seventy hours a week, for weeks in a row, hunched over a bench in her wet lab. She’d gone home only to sleep and eat, and the only exercise she got was walking to and from her car.

Her body objected to the schedule and lack of activity, with prejudice.

The back spasm had lasted ten days, and had been some of the most excruciating pain she’d ever experienced. She’d talked to Nathan every other day while she lay on the hardwood floor in her bedroom. He explained where and how he was stuck on his own work, the technical aspects of their problem-solving discussions helping to distract her.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

“You’re welcome.” His hand was big and warm, and his thumb started to knead a muscle in her lower back.

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