It comes out high and I don’t quite get the ‘ing’ out as I watch him tuck his shirt into the side of his shorts. Oh, how I want to run my hands all over every slick inch, explore, discover, tease...
I flick my eyes up to his and flex my fists that itch with the urge to touch. ‘Nice run?’
He combs a hand through his hair, and I physically fight to keep my mouth shut. I cross my arms in front of me.
His eyes flicker in the direction of the move, his throat bobs and I latch onto the gesture, hoping I’m not the only one suffering with this dogged attraction. It makes me feel better. Not a lot, but a little.
‘It was decent.’ His eyes come back to mine. ‘I’m going to get a drink. Want one?’
‘I’m fine, thanks.’
He smiles and gives me a polite nod, averting his gaze as he goes to move past me. ‘No problem.’
‘Wait!’ I reach out on impulse, finally remembering why I’m here...and it’s not to ogle, touch or do any manner of the things raging through my brain. ‘Before you go in, can I have a quick word?’
He pauses, his brows drawing together, and now he’s close, really close. His slicked-up body glows deep bronze in the sun, brilliant, blinding, and I can feel the heat pulsing off him in my outstretched palm. It’s not sweat I smell, it’s a heady mix of male cologne, all musky, sensual and... Jesus, Dani’s right, I just need to get laid, already.
‘Sure.’ He hesitates, his eyes darting to the castle interior and back out to the path before coming back to me. He steps closer, taking me with him so we’re out of sight of the open entrance. The flutters reignite inside my belly, clambering all the way up through my throat as I blink up at him.
‘Look,’ he says ‘if it’s about last night, I—’
‘No!’ I blurt, wetting my lips quickly and backing up a step. ‘I mean, it’s not about that. Though we probably should talk about that too. But maybe not... Well, I mean, it’s not... It wasn’t...’
And fuck me, I’m rambling! I can work a conference centre of hundreds without getting flustered but a one-on-one with Rafael Perez has me floored.
Great maid of honour I’m going to make if I can’t remain close to the bride’s brother without losing my cool. And, to make it worse, he’s laughing. His rich brown eyes positively dance in the morning sun now, flecks of honey-gold shining through, all warm and amused.
‘This isn’t funny.’
‘I didn’t say it was.’
‘You’re laughing at me.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You are.’ I resist the urge to poke him in the chest as I know one single press of my finger against that hot, naked skin and I won’t be able to stop my palm moving in next. ‘I can see it in your face.’
He crosses his arms and his biceps bulge—eyes up, Faye!
‘I’m sorry.’ He purses his lips, swallows. ‘I confess to finding your bluster...endearing.’
Endearing. I scan his face. As in sexy-endearing, cute-endearing, silly-endearing? I want to ask. My ego begs me to ask. But that’s not what I need to talk to him about.
‘Stop distracting me.’
‘Distracting you?’ His lips twitch at the corners; his body quivers.
‘You’re laughing again.’
‘I didn’t make a sound.’
‘Your insides are laughing.’
Now he bellows with it, an almighty chuckle that has him looking ten years younger, no sign of the serious, severe Raf-like behaviour I’ve been forewarned of and... And he’s bloody well laughing at you, Faye.
‘Okay, I surrender, I am laughing.’
‘It’s not acceptable.’