Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(44)

“Less?” He takes a purposeful step into my space, then leans in until his mouth is only a handful of inches away. Of their own accord, my thighs squeeze together as I watch that mouth twist into a smirk. “That mean you’re finally admitting you find me intimidating?”

“No,” I breathe, staring at his lips — God, why can’t I stop staring at his lips? — before I tear my eyes up to his. “Not at all.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

So fast I barely see him coming, he closes the distance between us until our bodies are flush together. I gasp as we collide, as every hard line of his body presses up against my curves in an electrifying impact. It’s a shocking invasion of privacy; an intimate, unsettling embrace.

I’m instantly furious.

Not turned on.

At all.

No matter that my weak knees and screaming nerve endings might suggest otherwise.

“So, when I do this…” Luca whispers, his hand landing on the small of my back in the barest of touches. I feel the callused tips of his fingers, light as butterfly wings, against my exposed skin. As with every other time he’s touched me, I find myself marveling at his ability to wield such brutal instruments with unparalleled gentleness. There’s something about a man like Luca, who could crush me without blinking, being tender that damn near kills me.

“This doesn’t make you nervous?”

“N-no,” I stammer.

Shit.

His index finger trails agonizingly slow up the indentation of my spine, sending shockwaves through my system. When he reaches the strap of my bra he stops, poised at the clasp. One skilled flick of his fingers and I’ll be completely exposed to him.

Back up! Move away, now! Somewhere in the back of my mind, my last sliver of common sense is screaming. Why aren’t you moving?

That sensible suggestion is quickly drowned out by a chorus of other voices. Voices that whisper dangerous things.

It’s been such a terrible week…

You’ve been so stressed…

His hands will feel so good…

He can help you forget…

You’ve wanted him for so long…

Luca’s mouth lowers toward mine, until we’re practically kissing. I feel my lips part in preparation, in anticipation…

Blessedly, the dog at my feet lets out a low whine, indignant at our lack of attention. The sound makes me jump. Common sense returns in a flash.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hiss, pulling out of his grip and backpedaling away, cursing myself for practically losing my mind. And maybe my bra.

Luca’s smirk gets even more pronounced. “Proving a point.”

“And that would be?” I ask, not meeting his eyes.

He shrugs. “I get close, you get squirrelly. You’re affected by me. Intimidated by me. Admit it.”

“I’ll admit no such thing.” Clinging to the shredded scraps of my self-respect, I walk stiff-backed across the room and snatch his sweatshirt from the box where I folded it away this morning. The puppy trails in my wake, a tiny red shadow, watching with glossy brown eyes as I slip the garment over my head and yank it down to cover my body.

“When did you get a dog?” Luca asks, dropping into a crouch and whistling softly. The puppy eyes him for a moment, considering, then charges in his direction at Mach speed. Luca’s big hands ruck his fur as the mongrel yips with pleasure and licks at his downturned face. He laughs, a low sexy sound. The puppy yaps, delighted to have someone to play with.

I’m not a saint. I will freely admit that, as separate entities, both man and puppy are practically irresistible. Like crack. Or white cheddar popcorn. So, when you pair them together… when you put that adorable ginger puppy alongside the smoking hot red-headed fighter…

Oh. My. Freaking. God.

At the sight, my ovaries literally pang, I kid you not. I can barely look at the two of them wrestling on my bedroom floor without melting into a puddle of estrogen. Motionless, I stare at them, not even realizing I haven’t answered Luca’s question until his eyes lift to mine. He’s grinning with more joy than I’ve ever seen him express which, in itself, is enough to make it hard to breathe.

“Babe? Still with me?”

“Sorry,” I say, shaking myself out of my trance. “He’s not mine. He’s my brother Duncan’s.”

“Your brother’s here?” The grin disappears.

“He was, earlier. He was gone when I came home. Probably back to California, or off the grid for good.” I pause. “I thought he took the dog with him, but apparently I was mistaken — a fact I discovered about thirty seconds before you arrived, when I laid down to take a nap and found I wasn’t the only one under the covers.”

“Ah. That explains the screaming.”

I nod and walk closer, crouching down so I’m on their level. My hand shakes a bit as I reach out to allow the puppy to lick my knuckles. He does so, with enthusiasm.

“Hi, buddy,” I whisper. “Guess I’m stuck with you, huh?”

His tail wags, as if he understands me. I couldn’t stop the smile that tugs my lips up even if I tried. Much as I might like to pretend otherwise, I am not immune to the canine cuteness factor.

“And you’re stuck with me,” I murmur, stroking his ears. “Sorry about that, in advance.”