“I’d be happy to show you just how wrong that is,” he drawls. “At least for me. I can’t exactly speak for others. But I think we both know that’s not going to happen, is it, sweet darlin’?”
Him calling me sweet darlin’ should not have the effect it has on my panties.
It’s… demeaning, right? I mean, being called either sweet or darling feels like it should be. But rolling off his smooth tongue while his eyes hungrily take in every inch of me feels nothing short of erotic and splendid. I could roll around in that endearment and feel zero shame for it.
“Nope. Boss.”
He cringes a little at that and I smile brightly. If I have no idea what to do with a man like Henry, I have to imagine it’s worse with a man like Keith. He just drips sex and experience. And baggage. He drips that too, and I’ve already got plenty of my own to carry around despite what my pathetic luggage upstairs would suggest.
“If you want my body and you think I’m sexy,” I start singing, and he explodes into a loud bark of a laugh. Thank god. There is only so much of his intensity I can take without having a stroke.
“You’re too young to know that song.”
“So are you.” I laugh, reaching in with my good hand and splashing some water his way.
He smiles, the light of it hitting his eyes in all the right places, and he looks so damn hot right now. I wonder if he kisses as well as I imagine he does. His lips are full, almost feminine they’re so full. Like soft pillows of marshmallows, which shouldn’t be enticing on a man, but it is on him. Would he put his hands through my hair and hold my face to his or press against my lower back, so my body is forced to feel his as he takes my mouth?
“You’re staring at my lips now.”
Crap. “Am not.” I cup more water, flinging it his way, the only diversionary tactic at my disposal.
“No fair splashing me. I can’t return the favor. And I may be too young for that song, but I’m a lot older than you.”
“Is that a warning, Keith? It sure sounds like one.”
I’m taunting him. Why am I taunting him?
He licks his lips, his expression growing austere. He takes a step forward in the water. A step toward me, and I instinctively sit up straight. “Yes.”
And just like that, playtime has left the arena. Frazier is down! My daddy used to throw that line out whenever any of his friends would pass out. It’s a boxing thing, I think, but he used it enough that it’s all kinds of tainted.
But right now, it’s my big mouth that got knocked the fuck out.
The problem is, I can’t seem to help it. All my life I’ve played by the rules. Colored inside every line. And it never worked out well for me. This is the first time, other than moving to California, that I’ve ever taken a risk. Done something that many would consider dangerous or crazy. I’m living with a man I hardly know, accepting a job I have no experience with. It’s like my body is taking all that undersexed, repressed, hopelessness and throwing it away along with caution and common sense. If I want my tomorrow to be better, I have to make it so. I can’t just sit around and wait for that to happen.
I think that’s what I’m trying to do now.
“I like that you’re scared of me,” I tell him. “It’s sorta cute for the big bad man to be afraid of the little blonde riding hood.”
Before I know what he’s doing, he’s splashing through the water in my direction, a determined scowl on his face. I want to get up and run. I stay planted instead, and when reaches me, he shoves my legs open enough for him to step in between them. His hands drop on either side of me, gripping the stone edge of the pool and caging me in.
My dress is already short and like this, I have no doubt my panties are visible.
If he looks.
Which he’s not.
His eyes have transfixed themselves totally and completely on mine.
Drops of water launch themselves off his body and onto my dress, but I don’t care about the cold or the wet. It’s welcome with all the heat radiating off him.
I don’t move. Hell, I hardly breathe.
He leans in, his eyes coasting softly down to my lips, sticking there like he can’t tear himself away, and he inches in closer. Practically touching mine. Mere inches separating us. And for one agonizingly beautiful moment, I think he’s going to kiss me.
And though I know I shouldn’t, I would kiss him back.
Which is why I lean in just a tiny amount. Just to see what happens.
Unfortunately, he stops just short of the end mark. His warm breath fans across my lips and I want him to do it.
Just do it. Just kiss me.
But I already know he won’t. That’s where the determined scowl comes into play.
His fingers drag up, saturated in water, and run along the crest of my cheek. His eyes follow the motion before they’re back on mine.
“You’re so beautiful, Maia. And I bet when men look at you, that’s all they see. Your beauty. It’s exquisite. And the fact that you’re so much more than just beautiful? It’s crippling. Your smart mouth challenges me like no one ever has, and I love it. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. Even when you exacerbate the hell out of me, I can’t stop thinking about it.” His nose brushes up along mine and I tilt my head so I can get more contact. He pulls away and I know what’s coming next. “But the flirting has to stop. The sexy teasing too. You work for me now, and that means I cannot touch you. It means I won’t touch you.”
The unyielding resolve in his voice makes my breath catch. It also makes me frown and I hate that I frown. It gives him power over me.
“Don’t look at me like that. You think I don’t want to kiss you? That I don’t want to do more?”
I shrug, feigning indifference and failing. I already know he’s right. I don’t even know why I’m acting like this. Maybe it’s because, for the first time in my life, a man is turned on by more than just my face and body. It’s so goddamn sad, but it’s also true. I challenge him and he loves it.
And I don’t want that to be over despite the necessity behind it.
“I want you to stay here in my home,” he continues. “I want you to feel comfortable like it’s yours too. And me acting like a horny jackass is not doing that for you. Me sparring with you like we just were, only turns me on. So, we’re going to find a common ground. We’re going to be friends while we’re in this house. Friends who trust and can talk and be ourselves. And when we’re working, we’re still friends, but friends who have a mutual work ethic, goal, and respect. And everything else between us, whatever the fuck this fucking chemistry is, will die. It has to.”
And with that, he pushes off, climbing the three steps and heading into the house, scooping up his towel and wrapping it around his waist as he goes.
My heart is pounding in my chest, and my stomach is filled with nervous flutters over that man.
But he’s unequivocally right.
About everything he said.
And a million things he didn’t. When I’m with him, it’s so easy to get swept up in our back and forth. I love challenging him as he said. I’ve never had this with anyone and I’m already positively addicted to it.
But… in my heart, I know it could never, should never, go beyond our verbal sparring.