“Yeah.” I give him the same sour look. “What?”
Then his hand is coming out of nowhere, settling on my hip. Gentle but with enough firmness to let me know he means it, Atticus curls his fingertips into me. “You don’t have to earn it.” The husky rasp of those six words makes my knees a little weak.
Again.
I swallow, but my mouth and throat are so fucking dry. My heart is beating so fast that the edges of my vision grow a little fuzzy. My senses seem to be growing a little fuzzy now, too. His touch infuses me with warmth, spreading through my skin like wildfire, ripping through me with unstoppable force. Everything between my legs goes achy, and my tailbone seems to melt. I have to fight to keep my eyes from closing halfway. My entire existence is liquifying from six words and five fingers on my side.
Eleven is a dangerous number for me right now.
“I like balance,” I croak, my voice so raw and hoarse it’s embarrassing. I clear my parched throat and smile, but even I can feel how unconvincing I am. “Balance is good.”
With his touch melting me, my tits join the aching, wanting nothing but to be palmed by his monstrous hands; he steps back. “You off balance?”
I look down at my feet and then back up at him, a little dizzy now, and it’s got nothing to do with the fire or the fact that I’m hungry. “No, I’m good.” His hand is still on me.His hand is still on me.
He shakes his head, and the way he’s looking at me right now makes every single fiber of my existence stand on end, arms up, waving to him,take me, want me, love me, care about me. But I don’t know what his look means, so I don’t know if I’m about to be swept off my feet—is that a stupid thought? Or called an idiot-–because am I actually arguing that I don’t deserve food if I don’t exercise? Oh my god. I’m going to ruin this with all myissues.
“Goldie.” My chest burns from the way he says my name. His tongue smooths over his bottom lip, and his gaze continues to penetrate my exterior. The wall of security is slowly coming down because the truth just floats to the surface inside me when I’m with Atti. I don’t even know why or how to explain it.
“What?” I’m so breathless I’m embarrassed. My neck is all hot and sweaty, and my lungs are really starting to burn. For that matter, my entire chest pounds with hot pressure. I’m going to explode or something.
“This mornin’, you said you normally have ‘just coffee’ for breakfast.” I nod because I honestly don’t think I can form a word right now. The only thing my mouth wants to do is be around his dick.
“Eat.”
Awkwardly, I smile, and instead of saying, “I do when I’m hungry” or “I do or I’d be dead.” I find myself nodding and saying, “I will, okay?” I’m not evensaying. I’m… asking for him to approve of me? Believe me? I don’t even know, but eleven is threatening to break me here on the spot.
“I’ll make lunch when we come back in.”
“Okay.”
His hand is still on my hip until.. It isn’t. He pulls it away, grabs a pair of gloves that I honestly didn’t even see him with until right now, and passes them to me.
“Don’t you want them?” I ask, looking out the window at the falling powder and then back up into his warm eyes.
He grunts. “They’ll get ruined grabbin’ wet wood.”
I wiggle my eyebrows. “Wet wood. I like the sound of that.” Oh my god. I’m not mad I said it, but I am a little cringed out with just how pervy this man makes me. Flush heats my cheeks, and surprisingly, I’m not even embarrassed. I just grin up at him.
After a moment, the ends of his lips twitch, his stoic facade hits the cabin floor and he smiles. He fucking smiles. Again.
“Ha!” I jump in his wool socks. “I got you to smile again.” I fold my arms across my chest, so satisfied with myself. “Atticus Winters, I don’t think you’re as big of a jackhole as you pretend to be.”
His smile stays, but he cocks an eyebrow. “Jackhole?”
“Beck’s baby-safe curse word.”
“There ain’t no babies around here.”
Yet.
Don’t say it,don’t fucking say it, you stalker-perv. “I know.” I don’t even want kids!This man.
“I smirked at wet wood. I’m a twelve-year-old boy inside.” He dips directly in front of me, so close that I’msurehe can smell my breath; I can smell his. “I’m still a jackhole.”
I want to kiss him. What would he do if I kissed him? He’s abreathaway, all I’d have to do is lean in just a whisper and our lips would connect. In my ears, my heartbeat echoes, and before I can take the leap, he pulls back, putting the pair of gloves into my palm with athwack. “Put ‘em on. You ain’t got the right shoes so you’ll just watch.”
“I thoughtyouwere the one who liked watching.” He tugs a beanie over his head as he eyes me cautiously. “You said that once you know,” I add.