And then, just when I began to lower my suspicious defenses, he reached around me and pinched my butt, his finger and thumb quickly and sharply squeezing a generous portion of flesh. It had stung but didn’t hurt, and yet I squealed and trotted out of reach.
“Baxter! Stop.”
He rounded a corner, and I followed, and we were on a side street lined with trees, the branches waving in a cool breeze, the stars bright overhead, the bay and the docks behind us, boats clunking against the posts, sails clinking against masts.
“Stop? Stop what?” He tapped the underside of my breast, like he had before. “Stop that?” Then he pinched my butt. “Or stop this?”
Instead of reacting, I pretended not to notice, which was even harder than faking an indignant reaction.
He sidled close, so close I could smell him, feel his body heat. His lips brushed my ear. “Not answering now, huh? See, I think you don’t mind. Do you? If you did, if youreallymeant you wanted me to stop touching you, you wouldn’t let me get this close. I mean shit, babe, I’m so close I could bite your earlobe.” His breath was hot on my earlobe, and I tensed, my breath caught, and I quavered, anticipating. But he didn’t do it.
“Or, I could even sneak a little kiss, if I really wanted to.” His lips slid across my cheekbone, and I wasn’t breathing at all, now, and then his mouth brushed mine, his lips sliding gently across mine.
My mouth parted instinctually, and his tongue grazed the underside of my upper lip, and then he backed away a couple inches, and I was left off-balance and gasping.
“See what I mean?” he whispered.
I’d stopped walking, and my back was up against a wrought iron fence, and he was in front of me, shielding me from the world, blocking out everything except his enormous body, his hard muscles and his heat and his fierce brown eyes.
“Baxter…”
He wasn’t touching me, not at all. Yet I couldfeelhim. My heart was thundering.
“What up, babe?”
“You’re crowding me.”
“Yeah, and you like it.”
“Are you asking, or telling?”
“Which one is the right answer?”
I snorted in laughter again, shaking my head and finally looking up at him. “Seeing as all the other men in my life seem to think they can tell me what to do and think they know what’s best for me and expect me to do what they say, I’ll let you guess.”
He nodded, absorbing my statement. “Ah. Well, in that case, I’m asking. Evangeline, does my proximity bother you?”
“A little,” I answered. “You make me nervous.”
He backed up a bit, giving me space. “That better?” He wrapped a gorilla-sized fist around a spindle of the fence, just beside my ear. “Why do I make you nervous?”
I shrugged. “Just…everything about you.”
“The fight? That shit in the alley?” He frowned at me. “Hope you realize that just because I’m a fighter doesn’t mean I’m always a violent guy. Around you, I’m a big ol’ teddy bear, gentle as can be.”
I shook my head. “No, I get that. I’m notafraidof you, in that sense. You just…make me nervous.”
“Then I’m confused. You might have to explain that one.” He tipped his head to one side, thinking. “And you saidin that sense, meaning there are other senses you could be afraid of me, and that implies some of them might be true.”
I inhaled deeply, and as if drawn down by a string, his eyes fixed on my breasts as my chest swelled with the breath.
“Good grief, Baxter,” I snapped, and shoved a finger under his chin to tip his gaze up to mine. “My eyes are up here. And besides, they’re just breasts. You act like you’ve never seen them before.”
“Sorry. It’s just…you don’t see perfect tits every day, and yours happen to be kinda mesmerizing.” He shrugged. “Plus, I like looking at tits, yours most of all.”
“Could you keep your eyes on mine while we’re talking, though? I am more than a pair of mammary glands, you know.”
He met my gaze, now, intently. “I know that, Evangeline.” He leaned a little closer, his face once again kiss-close. “Don’t mistake lust for objectification, honey.”
