“You, Mr. Crawford, are an avoider.”
Reclining on the kitchen bench, I note the way her eyes go to my arms. “No such thing.”
A humorless bark bursts from her lips. “There are thousands of psychologists that would disagree with that statement.”
“Are you one of them?” I ask, quirking a brow.
“Well, no, not a psychologist but?—”
“I’m not an avoider,” I cut in.
She steps forward as I continue to challenge her, but suddenly, I don’t care what the topic is. Bella standing between my legs, her arms crossed over her chest and her cheeks flushed with determination, is the most attractive sight I’ve ever witnessed.
“Why haven’t you gardened then?”
I shrug half-heartedly, loving the way her eyes flare at my lack of response. “Why did you stop drawing?” I throw back at her.
That makes her pause, those plush pink lips pursing as she levels me a look. “Touché, Crawford. Touché.”
Pushing my upper body off the kitchen counter, I place my hands between my legs on the barstool to stop myself from touching her. Her eyes widen with how close we are, just inches away from each other’s faces.
She didn’t realize she was slowly moving in inch by inch toward me. Just like how I am subconsciously drawn to her.
Perhaps this isn’t all in my head after all.
“I’ll make a deal with you,” I drawl.
Her chest rises and falls, growing faster the longer she gazes into my eyes.
“I’m listening,” she whispers, yet it’s more a rasp than anything.
My gaze flicks back and forth, searching hers for…something, anything, just a sign that what I feel right now, the pull between us, isn’t one-sided.
“When you draw again, I’ll garden.”
Her hot exhale fans across my lips. The simple feel of it sends a shiver down my spine. My hands curl around the bench until it’s a white-knuckled grip of pure determination to not reach out and slide my hand into her soft brown locks and kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her.
“Okay,” she breathes.
But her eyes are no longer on mine. They’re on my lips.
Her swallow is audible as her body leans forward a slight fraction. My heart leaps into my throat, blood roaring in my ears as I meet her that small movement.
Her breath hitches at that, and whatever is between us bursts with life, sparks like fireworks. Everything around us simply fades into the background.
“Looks like we have a deal, Blaze.”
“It’s Bella,” she corrects, yet her eyes are still sizzling with heat.
A lopsided grin spreads across my face. “I know.” Before I lose the nerve, I drawl, “What are you doing Thursday night?”
“Why?”
“Because you owe me a date, Miss Stratford.” My hoarse voice makes her eyes fall hooded and her breathy pants dance across my lips. “Once a week I get you to myself, remember?”
She licks her lips. “For the arrangement.”
“Mm-hmm,” I hum.
