He takes it and glances around my place.
“Thank you again for coming tonight. I’m usually cooped up in this tiny apartment.”
“Is that why you’re always showing up at the jobsite?”
“Yes,” I admit, my cheeks heating. “I get bored. I hope it’s not a problem.”
“No. I don’t mind the distraction.”
“I distract you?” The surprised response pops out before I can shut it down.
“Yes, Cassie.” Like his tone, the line in his jaw deepens. “You distract me.”
“You sound like it’s a bad thing?”
His head tilts ever so slightly. “Define bad.”
“You just said you don’t mind the distraction, but it really sounds like it bothers you.”
“It does.”
“Why?”
“I like seeing you on the job.” He pauses, and his heavy eyes skim over my exposed skin. “It’s how I feel when I’m looking at you that bothers me.”
“How’s that?”
“You’re an intelligent woman. You know how I feel.”
“Yes. I do.” I set my glass down and walk over to him, ready to show him how pleased I am that he recognizes my intelligence. At least when it comes to him. “The same way I felt last night when I was at your place.” I take his glass from him, put it on the counter, and reach for the top button of his shirt.
I release it.
He glares down at me through the slits of his eyes with no emotion.
I release the second one.
“That’s far enough.” He snatches my wrist and holds it in the air.
“No, it’s not,” I say with determination, the strength of his grip turning me on.
He studies me. “I want you to feel safe.”
Leaning my head back, I gaze up at him, trying to understand what he means.
I feel safest with him.
“Okay.” I pull the silk scarf from around my neck. “Put out your hands.”
His eye twitches.
“Go on,” I urge, holding up the scarf.
“You think this will make you safe?” He thrusts his hands out with a crooked smile but is obviously willing to play along.
“No.” I tie his wrists together. “But it might make you feel safe.”
“When it comes to you”—he leans down, lowering his voice—“nothing could make me feel safe.”