Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(45)

“Like your art.” His hand rubbed up, over my knuckles. When it settled, the tips of his fingers tangled with mine.

An electric hum buzzed between us at the small contact. I flexed my hand open until the pads of my fingers brushed his. Heat spread across my skin, warming every nerve ending in a spreading cascade. A low ache began to flare between my legs.

On a hard swallow, I struggled to focus on what he’d said. “My art?”

“Sure. You find beauty in rusted scrap metal.” He tightened his hand, trapping my fingers in his grasp.

“I do.” My quiet admission held conviction. I stared up into the dark rafters over my carved-out home in the middle of a warehouse. I saw the world with a different perspective. Always had. And it floored me that Darren saw me—the girl beneath it all.

The moment hung on that note, heavy and right. We stared up toward my roof and listened to song after song. On each successive one, he pointed out the drag.

“There, do you hear it?” He thumped the thumb of his free hand hard on his thigh, marking time with the lagging beat.

I nodded, watching his thumb snap the faded denim surface, mesmerized by that one beat made all the more intriguing because of how it nearly strayed off course.

Without thought, I closed my eyes, lulled by the intoxicating sensual rhythm.

Excitement charged the air around us. My pulse thrummed, heart nearly stalling with each drag beat. Our hands remained connected, fingers loose, barely touching. But something seemed to be happening between us, this thick unnamable thing growing more intimate with every heartbeat.

The playlist ended.

Only the sounds of our breaths remained.

His. Mine.

I swallowed hard, not opening my eyes. The anticipation, the unknown, the strange beauty of the unexpected filled my heart with a warmth I didn’t want to end.

A metallic ping echoed. Then another. In the next few seconds, a thousand tiny raps tinged out against the metal high above us.

“Oh, shit.” I bolted upright, blinking hard. “Is that rain?”

“Sounds like it.”

Heavier raps followed, like machine gun fire, and I flew off the bed and sprinted across the room. “I left my car windows and roof open!”

Bare-socked, I raced down the stairs. His louder footfalls clanged on the metal steps right behind me.

Blinding light flashed through the south-facing windows as I swiped my keys from the corner of my worktable. A second later thunder boomed, rattling said windows.

“What’s the big deal?” He nudged my shoulder once we’d cleared the last of my metal sculptures. “It’s just a little rain.”

“Says the man whose windows are up. Are you even listening? The sky just cracked open.”

I unlocked the bolt and opened my front door a crack. The wind caught it and tore it from my grasp, slamming it against the metal wall with an echoing clang.

He reached for my keys. “I can—”

Dodging his hand, I pointed my car remote. “So can I.”

Cold fat drops pelted my face as I watched for some sign that my remote had worked. “The signal’s worked from here before. Think the rain’s interfering?”

In a flash of movement, he snatched the key from my hand, then bolted into the downpour. I gaped, unable to say anything. He had no jacket. No shoes. Only a black T-shirt that plastered to his body in an instant, jeans, and once-white socks that browned as he ran through muddy puddles.

Halfway there, he held out his arm. My car suddenly blinked its lights. The glass began to close. He stood there, waiting until my car sealed up tight before he turned around.

Still shocked that he’d done that, I shook my head. “You’re crazy.”

“Better me than you.” He slogged past me through the doorway.

“Why’s that?”

“Because I’m bigger.” He dropped me a look, one that dared me to argue.

I scowled, closing the door. “How is that even an answer?”

“Bigger body mass equals more body heat. I’m good. You’d be a Popsicle by now.”

“You’re a dripping mess. And don’t tell me you’re not cold.”

“I am.”

“Well, c’mon. Let’s get you outta those wet clothes.”

“Exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

I blinked, then glared at him. “Underwear on.”

“What makes you think I’m wearing any?”

My heart jumped into my throat, mind flashing to images of his large feet and corresponding equipment lurking behind his fly. “Please say you’re wearing underwear.”

“I’m wearing underwear.” His reply was quick.

“Are you really?” My eyes narrowed a fraction.

“Yes.”

“Boxers or briefs?” My cheeks flamed at the bold question. But I wanted to prepare myself.

“Boxer briefs.”

I blew out a hard breath.

He didn’t move. Just stared at me. Dripping. Waiting. Like he wanted to see what my next move would be.

My breaths quickened as the seconds ticked by. My gaze drifted down from his intense stare to the pulse at his throat, then to the shirt stuck to his body, defining so beautifully every ridge and groove of the muscles beneath. The image before me would make an incredible sculpture.