Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(29)

And the way Graham looked at her, she had no doubt he wanted to become very intimate with every nook and cranny of her body. God, how she wanted that, too.

“Are you cold?”

She blinked, and realized she’d become mesmerized by the touch of his fingertips, to the point she’d blocked out all conversation. “I’m sorry, my mind just . . .”

He smiled a little, then used the palm of his hands to briskly rub at her upper arms. “You’ve got goosebumps. I’ll get you a sweatshirt.”

“No, I—” But he was already up and heading to the back where she knew his bedroom was.

Do not follow him like an eager puppy. Do not follow him.

“Here we go.” He handed her the sweatshirt, but when she just stared at it, he rolled it up from the bottom and carefully slid it over her head. He dressed her like she did Zach when he’d still been too little to figure out where the arm holes in his shirts were, guiding her along the process until she was enveloped in fabric that smelled like him, and—if she were being ridiculous—was warm, like him. It was like being wrapped up in his arms, surrounded by him.

Stupid.

“This is the second sweatshirt of mine I’ve put on you,” he said mildly, sitting in his chair again. “You get cold a lot over here. I’m going to have to start keeping the heat on, or else I’ll be out a lot of hoodies.”

Oh, boy. Might as well be honest. She glanced down at her plate and pushed at her pasta with her fork. Her appetite for food had dried up. “Uh, yeah, I’m sorry about that. I meant to wash it and bring it back.”

“I assumed Zach stole it from the hamper. It’s no biggie.”

“Confession time.” If he could be upfront about things, so lacking in mystery, so could she. He liked her son, and he respected her. She could be honest, even if it pinched her heart a little. “He didn’t steal it. I’ve been wearing it around the apartment.” At his satisfied look, she narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“You’re wearing my clothes. Stealing my stuff and wearing it around your place.”

“Not stealing. Just . . . delayed returning.” She stabbed at a piece of broccoli, which rolled off her plate. She nudged it back on.

“It’s a total girlfriend thing to do.”

That made her head snap up. “What is this, high school? I don’t need to steal your sweatshirts. I have my own.”

“You like mine, apparently,” he pointed out, crossing his arms over his chest. “I like it.”

“You self-satisfied male.”

“Guilty.”

“Thanks, counselor.” Wanting to get the conversation back on track, she cleared her throat. “Now that we’ve completely gotten off topic, let’s try again. I can’t date you.”

That took a little wind out of his self-satisfied sails. But he straightened and leaned forward, forearms on the table, a determined glint in his dark eyes. “I know you’re a truthful sort of person, Kara. I believe you when you say you’re not using Zach as a reason to not date. And I believe you believe you can’t date me. But I need you to tell me why.”

“Does it matter why?” she asked, feeling miserable now. She’d let this happen, somehow. She hadn’t shut down the flirting, the anticipation soon enough. She hadn’t prepared Zach enough to not get so attached to the handsome, helpful Marine. Her eyes stung, and to keep from crying she started mentally listing all the reasons she despised Henry.

“Yeah, it does. Because if it’s something negotiable, I’m open for it. In fact, I love negotiating.”

“Your lawyer’s showing.”

“I’m not a lawyer right now. I’m a man, who wants a woman, who says not that she doesn’t want to date me, but that she can’t. And I’m a determined son of a bitch, so let’s find out the ‘can’t’ so we can move on to the ‘will.’”

Her mind twisted that around a bit, and she gasped when he grabbed her calves and pulled her feet into his lap. “What—what are you . . . wait, what? That made no sense.”

He quickly pulled her sandals off and let them drop to the floor, then started rubbing her ankles. “I’m a big fan of full disclosure, so I’ll go first. I want my hands on you, Kara. I want them all over you, and inside you.”

Her entire body clenched at that blatant statement. At the heat in his eyes, the tight readiness of his own body. But his hands were gentle as he started to massage. She couldn’t quite hold back the pleasured moan when he hit the sweet spot of her arches. Rubbing your own feet was nothing compared to having someone else do it for you.

“Your turn,” he added, amusement in his voice.

She glared at him, but didn’t want him to stop. “I want you, too.”

“Then the rest can wait.” His thumbs pressed hard into her instep, and she almost melted into a puddle on the kitchen floor. “There’s nothing wrong with living in the moment. We’re both adults, right? Both mature, productive members of society. By spending time together, it’s not throwing off society’s delicate balance. It’s simply two adults, getting to know each other better.”

He paused, and she sensed he wanted her to say something. Her eyes slid shut. “I hear you speaking words, but all I can hear is my own blood and this vague Charlie Brown teacher sort of voice. I’m in foot rub heaven. Don’t kill the buzz.”