Page 15 of Blind Attraction

“That sounds nice.” Damn, she had no clue how to flirt. Her palms moistened, and she discreetly wiped them on her jeans.

Who was she kidding? Mitchell wouldn’t be attracted to her in her current state of disarray. Blind, scratched up, raccoon–ish eyes no doubt. She didn’t even want to think about what had happened to the light swipe of mascara she put on earlier. Definitely not one of her most appealing moments.

Oh, god, why was she even here?

“What’s wrong?” His hands grasped hers. “You’re frowning.”

She cleared the frustration from her face and smiled. “I’m tired.” And confused. And needy. And wanton.

“Do you want me to help you get dressed?”

Her nipples hardened and a spark of arousal ignited in her womb. “A little help would be nice.” She could’ve dressed by herself, she was a grown woman after all, but the offer to have his hands on her body couldn’t be declined.

He released a deep breath, and she worried it came out of annoyance. Taking her hand, he led her to the foot of the bed and helped her sit. He tugged at her left boot, once, twice, then must’ve realized there was a zipper and began pulling one down, then the other.

“I like your boots.”

“You do?” She didn’t own a lot of clothes or footwear. Variety wasn’t necessary when living on her mom’s property.

“They’re sexy, without being slutty.”

She laughed, but covered her mouth to quiet the noise. “You like sexy but not slutty?”

“I’m sick of slutty. I’ve dealt with slutty for far too long.”

She gave a solemn nod. “Well I’mdefinitelynot the slutty type.” If only he knew to what extent. He would laugh in her face.

“I know.” He removed one boot, and the next. “I think that’s what attracted me to you in the first place.”

Her heart stuttered, chugging like a car out of gas before it took off at super speed. He ran his hands up her calves, over her knees, and she inhaled sharply when he reached her thighs.

“I like your belt, too.” He gave a soft yank on the waistband of her pants.

Her chest expanded and small doses of panic slid into her bloodstream. She was on a stranger’s bed, unable to see, and completely clueless. Holy hell, what should she do?

No! Toughen up. Live a little.

She was on arock star’sbed, unable to see his captivating eyes and handsome smile, and, for once, she had an excuse to fumble. She should be cheering. Well, maybe not about the lack of sight, but the situation was definitely a keeper.

Before she lost confidence, she fumbled for the bottom of her shirt and yanked it over her head. Alana anticipated a compliment, nothing outlandish, just something sweet, like men always said in the movies.

Nothing came.

She sat on the edge of the bed, in nothing but her jeans and bra, and he offered silence. Mortification weighed her down, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach to ward it off. “Can you hand me your shirt?”

Mitchell slept with glamorous women, gorgeous women, women who had a reason to be confident. She was stupid to think her figure would be anything worth complimenting. Just because she was proud of her all-natural, perky, full breasts, didn’t mean he would be.

His grip released from her waistband, and she raised her chin, masking her disappointment. Light fingers trailed along the low of her abdomen, tracing the material of her jeans and delicately moved up to circle her belly. She bit her lip and swallowed.

Please, god, don’t let him stop.

“You have the most beautiful body.” His voice was low, a rumble of noise over her skin.

Large, warm hands ran up her ribs, and hovered at the bottom of her bra. She’d never been touched so delicately—with reverence and desire. Yes, she’d had lovers, but none had bothered to treasure her.

She let her head fall back, sinking into the pleasure.

Her thighs were nudged apart, his heavy weight coming to rest in between as one hand ran between her breasts. He glided his touch to her chest, her neck, and held her jaw. His breath brushed her lips, yet he continued to hover, killing her slowly with the pain of waiting.

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