Heartbreaker (Unbreakable #1)(74)
“We pull some strings. Remember how Dino kept asking you questions about your art?”
“Yeah.” I took a deep breath. “That’s how I ended up at the gallery contemplating the heist of my own sculptures. He bugged me to send him pictures of my best pieces.”
Darren cast me an amused look. “Seems my rich new boss, Dino, is a major art collector. Art collectors have friends. Maybe the party can be to both celebrate my new job and showcase your art.”
“Okay. I like that idea. Makes me seem like less of a charity case.”
“You’re not a charity case.”
All the talk about my art and party planning made me restless. While clipping herbs earlier, I’d been zoned out listening to the playlist of drag-rhythm music he’d emailed me. I liked losing myself in uncomplicated stuff.
I picked up my herb-filled basket, looped an arm through the handle, then veered wide around him.
“Where are you going?” He blinked, turning as he watched me.
“Inside.” After I rounded the corner, I spun and walked backward.
He edged into view, curiosity in his expression. “What about the party?”
“What about that convincing you threatened?” A corner of my mouth curled into a smirk.
His eyes narrowed a fraction. “It’s not a threat if you’re looking forward to it.”
On the next step, I lunged toward the door. I barely had time to fling it open before his hand caught the edge with a deafening clang.
A stinging smack landed on my left butt cheek as I charged through the doorway.
Laughter rang out as we raced through the sculptures and into the living room. I darted toward my worktable, then rounded its far corner before facing him with the hefty piece of furniture between us. I flung my herb basket from my arm, and it spun across the table’s surface. It teetered then toppled over, spilling out its loose stems.
Darren slowed as he approached, tilting his face downward as he smoldered at me from beneath those dark brows. His chest heaved with labored breaths. His hands clenched into fists held low at his sides.
I drew in a slow breath as delicious warmth sizzled over my skin and settled low, between my legs. My body pinged to life from that heated look—the promise hidden there.
A loud noise echoed between us. From my stomach.
I held my breath, blinking.
Had he stopped breathing too?
We both pressed our lips together, shoulders shaking with muffled laughter.
His expression gradually hardened. “You’re hungry.”
“Famished.” But right now, not about food. At all.
“You’re gonna eat first.” He straightened, then walked around the other side of the table toward the pot of coffee.
“Won’t we get a cramp?” I let out a slow breath, trying to calm my rioting pulse.
“That’s swimming.”
Annnd…a picture of us naked underwater flooded into my mind. I swallowed hard, imagining water flowing over my body, his warm, muscular frame holding me, caressing me, gripping my hips as he plunged…
“This almond butter fresh?” He glanced up at me from where he squatted in front of my open minifridge.
“Um, yeah.” I blew out a hard breath, clearing out the unexpected fantasy. My mind rifled through mundane topics, trying to cool my overheated body. “You left your stuff outside. Coffees…and what’s with the gym bag?”
“Softball later. Thought I’d change here.” He pulled out the half-full container of almond butter and a jar of apricot preserves, then grabbed two spoons from a cup beside the coffeemaker.
“Oh.” I stared as he unscrewed the lids to both jars. “What are we, prisoners?”
An amused expression flashed over his face before he arched a brow at me. “You want to make a full breakfast now?”
I glanced at the spilled herb basket, then bit my lip and shook my head. “No.” Earlier, I’d wanted to make omelets. Upstairs. Too far away and too long from right now to contemplate.
“Good.” He dunked a spoon into each jar resting on the table. “Come here.”
The command rang into my ears but coasted through me like a whole-body caress. Without thought, I obeyed, closing the distance between us. The second I came within reach he grabbed my hips and lifted me.
I squealed as he plopped me onto the edge of the table.
“I like this,” he growled, lifting my dress hem up my legs until the blue gingham bunched at my hips.
“My dress?”
“Yeah. First time I’ve seen you in one.”
“I’ve been in skirts before.”
“Not the same.” He lifted a spoonful of nut butter.
“Hannah’s wedding: I was in a ball gown. Other part—”
He gently pushed the spoon between my open lips. Sweet crunchy nut butter hit my tongue. When he released his hold on the spoon, I grabbed it and continued to lick it clean.
“Not the same,” he repeated. “This” —he slid his index fingers under the shoulder straps and tugged, peeling the thin fabric down until my breasts were exposed— “you wore for you…for me.”
I had, I thought as I leaned forward, sinking the cleaned-off spoon back into the nut butter jar. I’d awoken in an amazing mood, partly because of the late-night intervention he’d convened outside of the art gallery; my heart still melted at the gesture. And the morning had begun all warm and sunshiny. Such a glorious day demanded my favorite sundress.