That without Luther nearby, I wouldn’t feel so… riled.
I wouldn’t be drenched in sexual tension.
Wouldn’t be distracted with thoughts of ripping his clothes off.
But then I turned my head. And he was there.
Luther was there with his eyes locked on mine.
And my body lit up.
Inhaling, I focus on the spot where his thumb is touching the bare skin of my back. And I focus on not tripping.
I reach for the door handle, but Luther leans past me, wrapping the fingers of his free hand around the pull.
I watch his forearm flex as he pulls the sliding door open, and I drag my eyes away from the sight as I step into the house.
The kitchen is empty, and when Luther shuts the door behind us, silence fills the room.
I turn to face him.
“Thank you for the succulent.” I lift the little pot. “You really didn’t need to.”
“You’re welcome.” He takes a step toward me. “It reminded me of you.”
I lift a brow, glancing down at the interesting plant. “Oh?”
He dips his chin. “Matches your nails. Kind of.”
I look at the pale blue ceramic and then at the periwinkle paint on my fingernails.
I smile. “It kind of does.”
The shade is close enough. In the same color family, at least. And honestly, it shows that—in the two times we’ve met—he’s paid closer attention to me than… well, all my past boyfriends combined.
Not that he’s my boyfriend.
And not that I want him to be.
No. I just want to fuck him again.
My inner self rolls her eyes at me. But I ignore her. What does she know?
Luther takes another step closer, putting us inappropriately close. But his size hides me from anyone outside looking in.
“Luther,” I say quietly.
He lifts a hand toward my cheek. “Baby?—”
Down the hall, the bathroom door opens.
I step back.
Luther drops his hand.
“Thanks for the plant.” I speak louder than necessary. “I’ll put it on my desk.”
“Ah, yes, your new work-from-home office.”
