Damn.
Is that a rain gauge in his pocket or is he just that damn happy to be out of the storm?
His board shorts are plastered to his thighs, making the outline of his thick cock very apparent. He’s hard. Our bodies were pressed together a moment ago and now he’s standing in front of me, his dick at attention, or maybe begging for it.
He shuffles past me, clearing his throat again and reaching for his backpack. A minute later, he’s handed over my tote bag and laid out enough emergency supplies to keep us here for a week.
And based on what I just saw beneath the thin layer of his shorts, it could be a hell of a week.
But one glance at the stony expression on his face tells me the attraction I’m feeling is one-sided. Or if it isn’t, he’s not happy about it.
Well, that makes two of us. Does he think I like the way he makes me feel? Does he think I enjoyed listening to his hour-long lecture yesterday when every low rumble of his voice made my pussy ache? Because this isn’t fun for me.
“This isn’t fun for me either,” he snaps back.
Dammit. I’m always in need of a filter, but I really need one when Pete is around. Unfortunately, when he’s anywhere near me, I have the awful habit of blurting out whatever my brain has conjured up.
I brace myself for the shouting match that’s been nearly four years in the making. But Pete doesn’t unleash his frustration on me. He doesn’t even stand there like a statue while I let loose. Instead, he’s busying himself with some compartment of his backpack, mumbling as he messes with the zipper.
This man really thinks he’s going to ignore me? Now? Like fucking hell he is.
“What did you say?” I ask, stepping up next to him and leaning in close.
“Nothing,” he mumbles, his thick fingers still fighting with the zipper.
“Are you sure?” I ask, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in needling him. “I could have sworn I heard you say something about free beer. Or maybe you said to stay near?” I ask, deliberately invading his space.
Immediately he takes a step back. His hair is still dripping wet, so when he runs his hands through it in frustration—courtesy of me—his fingers get caught in the tangles. “I saidbe here,” he practically growls. “Or rather, that wewouldn’t even be hereif you weren’t so damn stubborn.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” I ask, my hands going to my hips. “You’re blaming this on me? Please, tell me how the fuck a freaking downpour is my fault?”
“Obviously it’s not,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face like he’s done with this day, done with the storm, and done with me.
But I’m not done with this conversation. It’s been a long time coming, and we’re having it out right here and now. “Then I’m confused,” I say, knowing damn well I’m poking Bainbridge’s biggest teddy bear. “If it’sobviously notmy fault, then how is it my fault?”
“You couldn’t just let me do my job,” he says, waging a war with his temper and losing the battle. “I was almost done loading the truck. I didn’t need any help. I didn’t ask for any help. I didn’t want any help. I just wanted to pack it all up and get back to campus. Instead, you had to fight me every step of the way and now we’re stuck all the way out here, our clothes are soaked, and it could be hours until the roads are clear enough that we can make it back.”
He's taken a step closer to me, or maybe I’m the one who’s crowding him. Either way, we are inches apart. I can feel the heat of his frustration rolling off him in waves as his eyes lock on mine. “Fucking hell, Claire,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, “why do you make everything so hard?”
7
Pete
Ican feel the blood coursing through my veins. The trouble is, it’s all headed to one place: my already rock-hard dick.
It makes no sense at all. Claire has been pretty damn clear that she doesn’t like me. She’s openly hostile toward me at every opportunity. Hell, she’s yelling at me right now.
So why the fuck does that turn me on?
I’m not the type to get hot over tension. I don’t like discord. I’m an even-keeled guy who craves an orderly environment. It’s why I work so damn hard to keep everything under control. My life is one giant game of Whack-a Mole and I’m a fucking pro at anticipating an issue and bopping the shit out of it.
Right now, my raging hard-on is an issue.
And I don’t exactly want to smash it with a foam mallet.
I want to sink my cock into the tight wet heat of the gorgeous woman who’s currently standing in front of me,balled-up fists on her hips, grey-blue eyes flashing with fire. It doesn’t matter that her clothes are soaked through, that tendrils of her hair have escaped the messy bun she always wears and are now clinging to her face and neck.
She’s so damn beautiful it’s driving me insane.
