Page 25 of Fixing to Be Mine

“Bullshit. You saw everything,” I say, my voice a challenge. “Don’t lie.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t deny it this time, and he doesn’t move. “I didn’t mean to. I needed to change clothes.”

My pulse pounds in my ears as I move toward the bed, grabbing his shirt I took off this morning. I slide the shirt over my head because I can feel him even without looking. The tension in the air is alive. The hem falls against my thighs, fabric clinging to every curve of my breasts, my nipples hard. I don’t bother with panties. There’s no use pretending I have anything left to hide.

“I’m decent,” I say, and he turns, giving me a look that could burn the whole goddamn house down.

His eyes drag over me, and the only way to describe it is hungry. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I tell him, my voice too breathless to pass for casual.

He takes one step forward, and it’s enough to tilt the room. Or that’s the tequila.

“Sunny,” he says, my name a warning.

I take a step too. Then we’re five feet apart, four, and soon, we’re standing in the middle of the room like gravity pulled us there without permission. His gaze drops to my mouth.

I feel him before he touches me.

Every muscle is tuned to the moment he closes the distance. And then, like he’s giving me every chance to stop him, he lifts his hand and drags his fingers across the edge of my jaw, down the slope of my neck, stopping above the curve of my breast.

I stop breathing.

“I heard you say my name,” he says.

My heart stutters, but his gaze doesn’t drop.

I take his hand and press it against the center of my chest, right where my heart is pounding like it wants out of my body. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes,” he says.

“I’m scared shitless,” I admit.

Colt smiles. “Don’t be. Live in the moment.”

He places his hands on my shoulders, and I have to get a grip. Colt’s blue eyes are unreadable, but I can see the muscle in his jaw twitching, like he’s trying to rein something in.

My throat tightens.

“That shouldn’t have happened,” I mutter, moving past him before I do something I might regret, like kiss him. The loss of his closeness is instant.

I can feel his eyes on me as I lift my suitcase onto the bed, but I avoid his gaze.

“What shouldn’t have happened?” he asks carefully.

I grab a pair of panties and slide them on as he watches.

“I didn’t mean for you to hear that.” I suck in a breath. “I got carried away. The tequila. With everything.”

Silence stretches, but he doesn’t let me sit in it long.

“That wasn’t tequila, and you know it.” His voice is unapologetic.

I look up at him.

“You said my name,” he repeats. “Say it every damn time. You want to fall apart with me on your tongue? You do it.”

My chest tightens, heart thudding against my ribs, like it’s trying to warn me away from this perfect man.

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