Page 14 of Reckless Desire

The family gets out and we end up standing closer to each other. It makes no sense because the large car is now empty. Yet the back of Hunter’s hand is brushing my wrist. His eyes are set on the changing numbers above the door, seemingly unaware of the light link between us.

His closeness is overwhelming. It sears the edges of my resistance and I can’t remember why sleeping with him is a bad idea. My brain energy must be channeled into the meal digestion and nothing is left for reasoning.

All my nerve endings tingle with anticipation or anxiety—whatever the feeling fluttering its tiny wings around my stomach is.

Would sleeping with him be okay? Am I just being too uptight? It’s not like I’ll see him again.

Iwon’tsee him again.

The realization punches me in the stomach and the tickling wings fly away, making room for the persistent indigestion that settles there. What is wrong with me? I’ve known him for three hours. I won’t miss him.

But will I regret it if I don’t let him do his job? Argh. I roll my eyes inwardly. The desire mingles with my objections—ones I can’t articulate properly with him this close—as heat rises to my cheeks. I don’t—

I don’t finish the thought because Hunter whips around, pushing into the panel and the elevator jerks into a halt. It happens so quickly I instinctively step backward and my back hits the mirrored wall.

He glides to stand in front of me, engulfing me with his masculine scent and warmth. I thought he was close before, but now I don’t know which breath is his and which is mine. I can’t look up because if the dinner was any indication, holding Hunter’s gaze challenges my willpower. My ability to remember basic functions.

I’m panting in short, shallow bursts. For a moment, or an eternity, we don’t move or speak. My body exhibits involuntary reactions to his heat—my mouth is dry, my heart is palpitating, my knees are shaking, and I’m sweating and shivering with goosebumps at the same time.

I’m a thirty-three-year-old widow and I’ve never been this riled up by a man.

Hunter stands there and waits. If I took a deeper breath, my nipples would touch his chest. At least they made up their mind easily and are almost painfully hard, begging for attention.

He is too close. Yet we’re so far apart because I’m afraid to take the leap. Shit, I’m not even willing to look at him.

I push my hands against his chest. His jacket is open and my palms feel his sinew through the thin fabric of his shirt. I think I was going to push him away, but I’m barely touching him.

I’m not shoving him away because I don’t want to. Even though my rational mind is discounting the energy between us. This is real. I can’t deny the attraction. We have a connection I haven’t felt with anyone in a long, long time. Could he really fake it? Is he like this with all clients?

Hunter touches my temple with his index finger. The butterfly brush sends a current down my spine. He slowly trails down my cheek and his breathing synchronizes with mine. Our chests heave in unison. Maybe the ventilation is off in here and we’re both suffering from oxygen deprivation.

His exploratory finger reaches my bottom lip and I stagger, a soft gasp escaping me. My nerves might as well be attached to a detonation device. He traces my lip back and forth. Languidly.

Still unable to look at him, I scrutinize the tiny lines of his tie. They are red. I didn’t realize that during dinner. How I notice a fabric pattern at this moment is beyond me, but here I am, grasping at anything that might snap me out of the tension. I fear if I look at him, I’ll lose… I’m not sure what I’d lose at this point.

And then he moves his finger below my chin and I close my eyes because only one of two scenarios can follow. He will nudge my face up or he will continue his exploration downward. Or he might stop and push the elevator button instead of all my buttons. But I know he won’t stop.

I don’t want him to. Can I possibly experience this night with him and leave unscathed?

He rests his finger there, either deciding which direction he’d take or waiting for a sign from me. Waiting for a reaction, but I can’t react. Giving him that green light would signify surrendering control.

I can’t give that up. As much as there is a part of me that wants to let go and enjoy this, I know deep down it won’t end well. Hunter might leave unaffected, but I will wake up tomorrow full of regret or guilt. Or both.

Hunter smashes his other hand on the wall behind me, beside my head. I wince and open my eyes. It wasn’t a violent move, but it startled me. Sudden and fast, it contrasted with the previous stillness.

If he wanted to get a reaction from me he didn’t really succeed, because aside from the startle I keep stubbornly staring at his tie.

He leans into his hand, moving even closer, taking up all the space around me.

I’m not the only one affected. His heart hammers against my palm. He can fake the flirting, his interest, the conversation, but his heartbeat is real. And it pulses deep into my core.

He allows me another beat to decide. I’m not sure why I’m not reacting. I should just push him away. I’m not going to fuck him, so what am I waiting for? For all my organs to melt in his heat? A brain aneurysm would be handy right now. Perhaps I suffered one already, since my muscles are experiencing some weird form of paralysis.

And then it comes. He nudges my chin up. It’s gentle yet firm. And in a very mature way, I shut my eyes.

“Look at me, Sydney.” The words grate past his throat and they rush through me like an earthquake, leaving devastation behind.

I pry my lids open, and if I thought his gaze was intense before… My God, this man can see deep inside me. It must be entertaining for him to witness all this confusion and turmoil. He holds my gaze, studying me as if trying to read my thoughts.

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