Before then, I thought ripped skin and shattered bones were the only way to make the fire stop.
But now I knew there was a six-foot-something secret remedy at my disposal who ached for me.
To touch me. Devour me. Make a full-course meal out of me.
He had his fingers running repeat lines back through his dampened hair, staring off in extra broody thought at whatever darkness was behind me. Whatever he was thinking had his mouth drawn tight and his clenching jaw working overtime.
James went so long without saying a word, the prolonged nothingness finally got to me. I pushed to my feet, trudging through the dense waters up to where he sat and stole the Johnnie Walker from him.
Shadowed eyes cut across to me as I plopped myself down on his side of the hot tub, hiking my legs up on the seat beneath the water. My knobby knees breached the surface, even paler than usual submerged against the dark bubbles.
James and I were fixed on each other as I stretched my legs out, resting the arches of my feet against his muscled thighs.
They went bone stiff, his stare following suit.
Fuck, was he even a little bit aware of how much his eyes gave away? They practically had their own language they were so expressive.
They were a blistering giveaway right now, shouting at me for how brazenly I allowed myself to touch him.
So I shouted right back, squinting my eyes and telling him to get the fuck over himself and enjoy it. He wanted to touch me, and I wanted to touch him, so now we were touching.
My toes curled against his thighs just below where his briefs cut off, smooth tangles of his leg hair touching me back. He was so rough. I was so smooth.
A twisted paradox of our insides given that I was the one with way more jagged edges.
Eventually, the shouting died out to borderline acceptance in James’ eyes, and he turned his head back out to continue his sullen silence.
He gave a hard swallow, some piercing thought making the backs of his jaw clench in and out.
Then out of nowhere, a thousand nerve-endings came to life in my right foot, popping and sparking and cheering as a burly hand wrapped around it beneath the water.
My breath paused, suspended in the feel of his masculine hand completely enveloping my small foot.
It wasn’t a hard grab. It wasn’t one to move me either.
He was just holding me.
Letting himself hold me in this innocent way.
I blinked in surprise at his perfect profile because he wasn’t paying me any attention while he did it. Maybe trying to convince himself that if he didn’t look at me while he enjoyed touching me, it wasn’t really happening.
Tilting a soft smile, I laid my head on the smooth edge of the tub and studied him exactly how he was. The infection of tension his control issues never let him go without was chiseled throughout his jawline, but there were noticeable hints of peace hiding along his face too as he allowed himself this small mercy.
A bizarre tightness leashed around my throat as I memorized the extension of his long lashes against the streaming moonlight—my first cue to something I hadn’t considered before now.
I…
I think I was going to miss him.
Maybe just a little. But a little was a lot for me.
Beneath the cover of bubbles, his thumb suddenly started moving along the top of my foot, petting my skin in a placating indulgence.
The tightness in my throat moved down to my chest, upstaging the cocky fire almost immediately. It cowered away, realizing the contender it fought and lost against two days ago was back, and its pride wasn’t keen on a rematch.
Every tender swipe of James’ fire-dousing touch cinched the constriction in my ribs tighter, swallowing becoming a little harder, stupid breathing corrupting into something more difficult than usual for me.
He kept it up, rubbing unhurried lines over the fragile bone bridging in the top of my foot.