Chapter 16

She was at it again. Her gaze dipped to his torso. Roamed over him with interest and fascination in the cornflower depths. Lips slightly parted, she drew a barely audible inhale and, with a flutter of her lashes, met his gaze once more.

The air crackled between them the longer they stared.

He'd never been particularly sensitive about his body, but the way she looked at him left him exposed and unnerved. And turned-on. Stranger still was the array of emotion in her eyes when she focused on what was above his neck. Half the time, he couldn't keep up. Right this second, he could've sworn she was shoving aside shadows in his mind and checking corners for secrets.

Finally, she nodded as if she'd discovered something. "You said earlier you've never been touched."

His heart puttered and quit pumping. She didn't have to use her hands for him to feel her. Her gaze was enough. And where was she going with this?

"You like it when we do. I can tell." Her eyes narrowed a fraction. "However, you claim you can't be with me. Logically, if you enjoy it, you should be curious. But you deny yourself the opportunity. What does never having been touched before have to do with refusing to try now?"

"I said that so you'd understand why I acted the way I did when we were close." And so she'd get it through her stubborn skull she hadn't done a damn thing wrong. It wasn't that he hated being near her. The opposite. He craved it.

"As far as non-answers go, I give that four out of five stars." Patience in her eyes, she lifted her brows, letting him know he wasn't off the hook.

"I told you before, Olivia. I'm not the right guy for you."

"Shouldn't I get a vote? Decide for myself?"

No. Because if she knew him at all, she never would've let him in her home, never mind close enough to share the few moments they'd had together.

He turned his face away and dug his fingers into his eye sockets. To give her even a shred of the truth would mean opening the door to a past he'd sealed closed. And revealing the detrimental issue of what was on the other sideher brother and the reason he was dead.

"I'm not a good guy." Nate forced himself to look at her, nail home the point for her and himself. "Everything I touch turns to shit. Getting involved with me will bring you down to my level and you'll never climb out. I'm not the hero or the white knight, and that's the man you should be looking for."

Unblinking, she stared at him. "When you say things like that, it makes me want to..."

"To what?" He knew a trap when he saw one, but he stepped in it, anyway. Common sense got drunk and giddy when Olivia was on the premises. Maybe he should just raise a glass, too, and dub reason a lost cause.

"Prove you wrong." She tossed the blanket aside, got on her hands and knees, and crawled across the sofa until she knelt in front of him on the cushion. "Sometimes the hero's a beast or a frog or an ogre. Maybe I'm not looking for a knight."

He couldn't fucking breathe, damn it. "Olivia"

She climbed on his lap and straddled his thighs.

Oxygen? Depleted.

His head hit the back of the couch. Panting, he stared at her, hands fisted at his sides and his dick throbbing to the jack-hammering beat of his heart.

And then she killed him dead. She set her hands on the top of his head and splayed her fingers. When he didn't move, she caressed his scalp like he was a cat, and he thought about purring to reward her. It was difficult to tell who was getting more pleasure out of the situation. Though her cheeks were flushed and her lids were heavy, she seemed more interested in his reaction.

Trying to swallow and failing miserably, he gave into temptation and dropped his gaze. The swells of her breasts were inches from his face and the nipples had peaked to hard little buds through the thin shirt. Her toned thighs had his caged, and the tent in his pants was within thrusting distance to her heat. If not for her clothes, he feared he'd have already taken her. Another time, place, or woman, and this would be a done deal. She'd be screaming with orgasm number two by now.

But this was Olivia. The proof was in their position and the basic, essential fact that she had her hands on him. He'd never ceded control a day in his life. Yet, for this tiny, fair-skinned, combustible redhead, he'd wave a white flag. Actually, he wasn't sure he had a choice.

Her hands descended slowly, skin shushing skin, over his ears to his jaw. She held his face and brushed her thumbs across his lips. Her lust-saturated gaze followed the movement and he groaned at the carnal interest blowing her pupils. Her fingers trailed lower and the urge to touch her became a feral warrior cry inside his head. Gently, she stroked his neck, his throat, and he nearly snapped.

Grabbing her wrists, he ceased her movement. "You have no idea what a dangerous game you're playing, baby."

Before he knew what hit him, she leaned forward and brought her lips to his. She stopped short of an actual kiss and they shared air, barely connecting. Hovering. Drifting.

"Game, you say?" Her warm breath teased his lips as she spoke. While he shook from restraint, she tilted her head the other way, brushing their noses. "Scrabble? Monopoly?" Her breathy whisper and the joking reply made him groan again. "I know. It's spin the bottle."

Screw this. A man could only take so much. She'd been rattling the cage of his restraint since the episode in her kitchen. She wanted to play? He'd play.

Grabbing the back of her head, he threaded his fingers in her hair, dislodging the knot, and held her millimeters from his mouth. "War, baby." And then, he plunged.

Except, instead of ravaging her mouth and staking a claim, he got confused by the softness of her lips and her tender response. Christ, he'd never been seduced before, but sure as shit, that seemed to be her counter offer. He could trace every red blood cell that swam through his veins. He was that hyperaware, that...lost.

Delicately, she parted her lips, swept them against his, and kissed first his top, then the bottom. Letting her lead, he pinched his brows together and held still. She didn't come at him with fire. She told him a story. And he'd be damned if it didn't start with once upon a time like she were proving he was some kind of hero. Specifically, hers.

Sliding her arms under his, she gripped his shoulders from behind. He inhaledhardat the overwhelming sensation of her warm hands on his bare skin. Her fingers moved across his biceps, tracing the dips and grooves of his muscles while she tilted her head and opened for him.

His insides incinerated to ash the moment his tongue stroked hers. A taunt and a coax. An endearment and a promise. She tasted like Bailey's and cocoa, and it was so sweet, he figured he'd grown an affinity for it after one sip. Addicted, he went back for more.

Christ, it was like she was everywhere. The scent of rain in his nose. A caress against his flesh. Lightning in his gut. Lava in his blood. He didn't normally care for kissing all that much. It was too intimate, too personal. No one had ever taken the time to show him they gave a damn, that he was worth the bother of learning. His body or mind. One kiss, and Olivia almost had him believing he could be a man worthy of her.

He wasn't.

He went to pull away, but she had other ideas. She pressed closer until she was all but lying on his chest, crushing her breasts between them. Out of instinct, he grabbed her hips, and immediately knew it was a mistake. Because now he had his hands on her. A saint would've committed several carnal sins to be in his shoes.

She amped the wattage and explored his mouth with languid, deep strokes of her tongue. He matched her best he could, sinking into the hot, wet cavern of her sweetness. A mind of their own, his hands settled low on her back and slid up the curve of her spine until his fingers were buried in her soft strands.

This kissing thing had merit. Fucking hot and more tame than what he was accustomed to. Foreplay. Seduction. He was utterly lost and heading for oblivion when she eased away. A lazy lift of her lids, and his fingers clenched her strands. Damn, but her eyes were a sucker punch. Especially saturated in longing.

"Tell me again we're all wrong," she whispered. "Try to convince me we shouldn't explore what's happening, that you don't want this."

He didn't know up from down and she wanted him to speak? Rationally?

Her smile was the be-all, know-all to an ultimate game of wits. "That's what I thought." She climbed off his lap, and he wanted to weep. "To be continued. Goodnight, Nate."

GoodWhat?

He glanced at his raging hard-on, then her retreating form as she disappeared into her bedroom.