“What are you doing?” Her husky voice sent a shiver of desire down his spine.
He gave in to his protective urge and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his body. “Keeping you warm.”
With a sigh, she melted into his chest. “You give good hugs.” She burrowed closer and all he could think about was how perfectly she fit against him, her head tucked under his chin, soft curves molded against his body.
“Not only do they have a warming effect,” she mumbled against his shirt, “they also make everything seem less dire. So what that my dad painted vulva fruit? Or that he had a live muse who is wandering around the gallery right now eager to talk about her experience with my bosses, my postman, my local grocer, my friends, and my family? It’s no big deal. Am I right?”
Warmth flooded through him. She loved her dad and he understood that love, the willingness to do anything for the parent who’d raised you. The gallery was full because of her. Indra couldn’t say enough about Zara’s efforts to support her father. And now that she was over the shock of finding out there was a muse—he still couldn’t wrap his head around that one—she was planning to go back inside because it was the right thing to do.
“It’s art,” he said. “I’m sure everyone understands that. They certainly were . . . stimulating.” He needed to put the brakes on any thoughts about the exhibit and the sensual suggestive displays that had served only to spark his desire.
“His paintings used to be very different.” She rested her head against his chest. “Mostly they were of his village in India, people he knew, events from his past, things he missed. They were calm and soothing, and there was so much depth to them, so many layers.” Her chest rose and fell with a sigh. “He doesn’t paint like that anymore. Not since my parents got divorced. I was only eleven and it utterly destroyed me. I think it destroyed him, too. My mom tried to limit his access. She thought he was a bad influence, but it turns out we share the same ‘impulsive hot mess’ genes and no one is to blame.”
“From what I’ve seen, neither of you qualifies as a hot mess,” he said. “Indra hardly had a moment to talk because there were so many interested buyers clamoring for her attention. Elias even wants one for our office.”
She looked up, her head tipped back in the perfect position for a kiss. He saw desire in her eyes that reflected the need in his. “You like them?”
“You might be surprised what I like.” He was almost overwhelmed with the temptation to stroke her cheek and feel the softness of her skin. He wanted to kiss his way down her throat, feel the flutter of her pulse beneath his lips. Some secret part of him burned for her, wanted to capture her essence and drink her in. His heart pounded wildly. Christ. If he managed to leave this alley without kissing her, it would be a miracle. When had he last felt this rush of adrenaline? When had he last felt so utterly alive? So out of control?
He pulled away abruptly, breaking the connection between them. “Your dad will be wondering where you are. I’m sure Parvati has found some ice by now.”
“Yes, you’re right.” She drew in a ragged breath, her voice high and faint.
“Ready to face the fruit?” He held out his hand, needing that small connection before they left the intimacy of the alley.
“I’m just holding your hand out of an abundance of caution.” She slid her palm against his. “I don’t want to crack my head twice in one night.”
“Perfectly understandable.” He liked holding her hand, but more than that he liked the idea that she was relying on him to keep her safe. Liked it a little too much, considering what had brought them together.
“You’re smiling.” She fiddled self-consciously with her hair, pushing back the gentle curls as they walked toward the main road.
“I’m just glad you’re okay,” he said. “Let me know if you feel unsteady or if you need to stop for another hug, since I am a master hugger.”
“It was good,” she said stiffly. “Not great. Don’t get too cocky. I was, in fact, assessing your hug potential for future matches.”
He barely managed to choke back his laughter. It was getting hard to remember this was the same woman who had stolen his paintball victory and shot him in the ass—the woman who had turned his life upside down in two short weeks. “Like a test drive?”
She shrugged and looked away, but not before he saw the faintest quiver of her lips.
“What else do you assess during these test drives?” He felt electric, every nerve in his body firing at once, this attraction raw and unexpected. “Tires?”
As one, they slowed a few feet before the sidewalk, stopping in the shadows as if neither of them wanted to step into the glare of the lights.
She turned to face him, her gaze dipping to his shoes. “They do seem to be in good working order.”
“Suspension?” He took a step closer and heard her breath catch in her throat.
“A little bit stiff.” She licked her lips. “I think we’re in for a rough ride.”
“Acceleration?” Jay shoved the warning voice out of his head and cupped her jaw, brushing his thumb over her soft cheek. Her gaze grew heavy and she sighed. Or was it a whimper? He could barely hear over the rush of blood through his ears.
“A little too fast,” she whispered, leaning in. She pressed one palm against his chest, and in that moment he knew she wanted him, too. “Maybe I should test the handling.”
Dropping his head, he brushed soft kisses along her jaw, feathering a path to the bow of her mouth as he slid one hand under her soft hair to cup her nape. He felt like he’d just trapped a butterfly. If he didn’t hold on tight, she might fly away. “Or the navigation.”
She moaned, the soft sound making him tense inside. His free hand slid over her curves to her hip and she ground up against him, a deliciously painful pressure on his already-hard shaft.
“Navigation it is.” He breathed in the scent of her. Wildflowers. A thunderstorm. The rolling sea.
She turned her head before he reached her mouth. “I’m supposed to be finding your perfect match.”
“Indra wasn’t my type.” He groaned when she pressed cool lips to the heated skin of his neck, teetering on the edge.
“Who is your—”
“Zara?” Parvati’s voice echoed down the street. “I’ve got the ice.”
With a gasp, she stiffened. His mouth left her skin before she stepped away.
Her soft, wet lips and the heat in her dark eyes stoked his hunger. He drew in a slow breath and tried to center himself. Of course she was right to stop this. They were totally wrong for each other. His perfect match was someone like him. Someone who didn’t dance in restaurants or run into doors. Someone who wouldn’t threaten his self-control with one simple touch.