Damnit. She did know. She was just stalling because…well…because she didn’t know what to tell him.
I’ve been avoiding you because you were so wonderful that night, more wonderful than I ever imagined, and now I’m afraid that fallin’ for you would be far too easy certainly wasn’t going to work because… Number one: lame-oh. And number two: she wasn’t ready to hash out the reason why she was convinced going head-over-keister for him was not at all copasetic with her current life plan.
“I…I…” She stopped and licked her suddenly dry lips. What bastard had gone and stuffed cotton in her mouth? And when?
Michael’s ocean-water eyes flashed down to the flick of her tongue, sharpening instantly. The blood coursing through her veins burst into flames like it was made of gasoline and that look of his, that unmistakably hungry look of his, had been a match.
“I just figured I’d make it easy on you,” she managed, almost convinced that if she glanced down she’d see little sparks flashing through the air separating their bodies. “You know, considering you Navy boys like to practice the art of one-and-done.”
“Bullshit.” Okay. Yup. Leave it to him to call her on it. “You should’ve been relieved of that misconception after I called you the first time much less after I called you the twentieth time. Now, maybe I can understand if you’re playing a little hard to get. I enjoy a good game of cat and mouse as much as the next guy, but—”
“Hard to get?” She went to cross her arms, but he was standing so close her knuckles brushed against the hard, washboard muscles of his stomach. That one touch, that one accidental contact was enough to send electricity shooting up her arm and across her chest, causing her nipples to furl into sharp, painful buds. She did her best to ignore them. “Michael, you already got me. Got me good, if memory serves.”
At that admission, his teeth blazed blindingly white within the dark scruff of his beard. “That’s how I remember it, too,” he rumbled, mistaking her confession for an invitation to snake an arm around her waist. He was quick to dispense with the scant few inches separating them, and she was left with no recourse but to put her palms on the hard bulge of his biceps as the front of her just went ahead and reacquainted itself with the front of him. Her whole body instantly lit up like a roman candle, and it was a wonder she didn’t go shooting off into the air.
Sweet, sweet heavenly Jesus…
Her blood fizzed like the champagne at the embassy party. Her head spun like it had when he’d whirled her around the dance floor. And all this happened because he was already… Whoa. Wait a minute.
“Is that…? Are we talking adrenaline here?” she asked since there was no mistaking the hard, insistent bulge throbbing against her belly. She’d heard the SEALs joking about slinging wood in the midst of battle, and now it seemed she was witness to that very thing.
Or maybe not.
In answer, he spread his wide hand over the small of her back, pressing her closer, rubbing himself against her just the teeniest bit. And now it wasn’t her head that was whirling, it was the room. “No, angel. That’s all for you.”
Oh, goodness.
She gulped, vaguely realizing a little voice was screaming something in the back of her brain. Something that sounded a lot like for the love of all that’s holy, Harper! Save yourself the heartache! But she couldn’t be sure. Not with her ears filled by the sound of whooshing blood and most of her mind occupied with cataloging every minute detail of Michael’s face. The fine lines radiating out from the corners of his eyes, the ones that spoke of the long years he’d spent squinting through the scope of a rifle or laughing with the SEALs. The ever-so-slight list to his nose that attested to a break that was never properly set. The thick fringe of his dark lashes that almost made him look like he was wearing eyeliner.
And the ludicrousness of that thought, of hardcore, rough-and-ready Michael “Mad Dog” Wainwright sporting makeup was enough to jangle some sense into her. “Come on now. We can’t.” She attempted to push away from him. Feebly attempted, if she was being honest. Because nothing was better than being held in his strong embrace.
“Why not?”