Page 9 of Tangled With the Wrong Guy
She twisted away from him, as far to her left as she was able, and groped the tree behind her with her unshackled hand. She knew it was futile; her range of movement was constricted and she couldn’t see what she was doing, but the alternative would involve getting touchy. Her fingers skidded across the slippery surface, unable to find purchase.
She dropped her hand back into her lap. ‘I can’t, with one hand. And I can’t see what I’m doing. Can’t you just do, like, an Incredible Hulk. Burst out of it?’
He chuckled and flexed his arms, puffed out his chest. The cling film didn’t give an inch, never mind split. ‘Nope. Apologies for my lack of buff.’ He turned those eyes on her again – so close – and gave her an apologetic smile. ‘I think …’ he said, cocking his head to his right, ‘I remember, the cling film ran out when Gaz was on this side of me. Reckon the end’s somewhere on the tree trunk.’
It seemed she didn’t have a choice. ‘Right. I’ll have a look.’ She turned side on to him, then leaned across his body until her fingers touched the plastic where it met the tree. Her chest was pressed against his arm; she felt the warmth generated by all that alcohol and cling wrap. He was indeed hot.
Distracted, she glanced up at his face. He was staring ahead. His cheeks were flushed, his square jawline was faintly shadowed by stubble, and his mouth … that was a bit like Jim’s, too. Full lips, slightly pouty … She swallowed, and with an effort conjured the image of him vomiting from that mouth, so she could focus on the task at hand.
‘I can’t …’ She ran her fingers down the plastic, but found no loose end, no edge. She dug her nails in, trying to make a hole. How many layers thick was it? Five, six, seven – more? But at this angle she wasn’t strong enough, and her nails were short and stubby. Manicures were part of her past life.
‘Maybe the end’s further round,’ he said. ‘You might have to–’
‘No!’ she said, reading his mind. ‘If you want a lap dance you can piss off to Pigalle with your sleazoid friends.’
He chuckled, then screwed up his face again. ‘Chloe, I’m in trouble here. Ireallyneed a wee. I’m not exaggerating.’
She met his gaze.
‘Please?’
Shit. She was caught in the tractor beam of those eyes. She was having trouble looking away. But … dammit. Why would she want to? They were incredible. In fact, she had to concede, everything north of the cling film was absolutely gorgeous.
With the exception of his brain.
‘Keep still, then.’
‘Like I have options.’
Chloe shifted round, bending her right leg beneath her, then slid her left leg across him until they were face to face. She bent her left leg so she was on her knees, his legs between hers, then shuffled her bottom onto his lower thighs. Leaning around him, she fingered the plastic.
Still she couldn’t locate an end, or anything to unpeel; still she couldn’t pierce the layers.
She inched further up his thighs, stretching out her arm as far as she could. Her stomach touched his. Again she scraped, pulled and prodded the cling film.
Stillno luck. This stuff was impenetrable.
But it was possible that she wasn’t fully concentrating.
‘Hang on, I need to …’ Gazing into the middle distance, she shifted closer. Now she was sitting on his crotch. He tilted his head so she could see over his shoulder. Her chest was pressed against his, and through the cling film and his stripy T-shirt she felt his heartbeat. It was thumping hard, racing.
She stretched out her arm again, ran her nails down the plastic and … success! A piece came free. She gently pulled it, and it started to unravel.
‘I found the end!’
‘Halle-bloody-lujah.’
‘Wait …’ She tugged it again, and a few more inches came away. Then it snapped off. ‘Bugger.’ She let her hand drop. ‘Damn.’
‘Try again. Run your nails–’
‘I’m doing that! Don’t bloody mansplain!’
He was quiet for a moment. ‘Why’re you so angry with men, Chloe?’
She pulled back, looking at him in surprise. She was still straddling his thighs, and the movement caused friction. Their eyes locked again, and his breathing quickened.
Oh no. Not that. Please not that. Chloe inhaled sharply as he grew hard beneath her and her blood rushed south, to the warm spot between her legs. She had an overwhelming impulse to push herself against him.
