Page 45 of Catching Feelings

I squeeze my thighs together and return to my meal. I can’t tell if I’m famished or too nervous to eat. After a few bites of fish and two scallops, I push the tray closer to Miles.

“All yours.”

“You sure?”

I nod. “I’m going to get more napkins.” I shuffle out of the table and back to the shack to walk off my lust. Am I seriously lusting after Miles Buckingham? It’s gotta be my late-night chats with Adam that have my mind in a sexual haze.

There’s no way in the world Miles would be interested in anything other than a shopping and hiking partner. I’m not his type.

He’s not mine.

I keep telling myself that on my way back to the picnic table. Miles has turned so he’s straddling the bench, and I return to my spot, putting a little more distance between us.

He scoots across the bench and his long legs encase me. If I avoid him and continue staring out at the ocean, he’ll think I’m uncomfortable. Which I am, but not how he might think.

I’m uncomfortable with my thoughts going in a direction I hadn’t anticipated.

“Rowan.” His voice is gentle. Not a word I ever imagined using to describe Miles.

I flip on my girl next door smile and turn toward him, pretending I feel nothing sexual about him. About us. About this. Nope. Nothing at all.

And then he ruins my pretending by reaching out and capturing a strand of my hair in the wind and gently pushing it back behind my ear. He leaves his hand on my cheek longer than appropriate for a strictly friends relationship, then cups the back of my neck.

Is he going to...kiss me? Me? Rowan McDaniels, who has as much sex appeal as Hermione Granger in the firstHarry Pottermovie. Sure, she turns into a sex goddess. I mean, who doesn’t love Emma Watson?

But I’m more like twelve-year old Emma Watson.

“Are you okay?” Miles studies me and I notice his caramel eyes appear lighter out here in the sun.

“Um. Yup. Fine. Good. You? Get enough to eat?”

His eyes drop to my mouth and I instinctively lick my lower lip. Even if I knew how to be a seductress, that’s not why my tongue darts out. It’s instinct. Or maybe it’s my body’s way of inviting Miles to taste me.

He leans in and I panic. I just ate fish. Gross. Fried fish. My mouth is greasy and fishy and so not kissable. Miles is used to glossy lips and classy women who sip on martinis, not gorge on fried food.

I jump back and kick my feet over the bench, thus also kicking Miles in the crotch. Shit. I should have swiveled the other way.

“Fuck.” He cups himself and leans over, this time not for a kiss, if that was even his intention a few seconds ago.

If it was, it’s not anymore. Not after being close enough to smell my fish breath and now protecting his balls.

“Miles. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Can I get you ice or something?”

“No.” He shakes his head and holds up a hand. “Give me...a sec.”

I cover my mouth with my hands and pace around the picnic table. A few minutes later, he slowly picks up his right leg and moves it over the bench. He rests his elbows on his thighs and takes a few more breaths before straightening his shoulders and standing.

His eyes are closed and his face pinched in pain.

“Miles.” I rush to him and squeeze his massive forearms. That bolt of electricity zings through my fingers again.

He opens his eyes and stares up at me. I’ve never seen him look so serious. So strained. I bite my bottom lip and wait for him to say something. He doesn’t break the intensity of his heated stare, and I swallow the lust building in my chest.

It’s so wrong of me to drool over this man while he’s in obvious pain.

“I’m sorry. What can I do to help?”

The corner of his lip quirks. “Is a massage out of the question?”

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