Hook Shot (Hoops #3)(27)

“Lotus,” Kenan says, jarring me from my torso trance. “Should I go ahead and put this shirt on? Or did you need a little more time?”

I snap a glance up to his face, embarrassed to find him laughing at me. Oh, God. I’m as bad as Amanda. I turn to leave, but he catches my elbow with a gentle hand and turns me back around, walking us behind two of the racks. He bends until he’s almost eye level with me.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says, searching my face intently. “I’m glad you like my body.”

“I didn’t say I . . .” My words trail off at his knowing grin. “Okay. So you have a nice body. I work in fashion. Do you have any idea how many great bodies I see on a daily basis?”

“I’m sure many,” he says, his smile still firmly in place. “I can’t speak for any of them, only for the way you looked at me.”

“And how do you think I looked at you?” I ask defensively, forcing myself not to look away.

In the quiet that follows, his smile fades, and heat replaces the humor in his eyes. “You looked at me the way I bet I’ve looked at you every time you walk into a room,” he says, the timbre of his voice rolling over my sensitive skin like a caress. “Like I would eat you if I could. Head to toe, everything in between.”

“Kenan,” I protest, closing my eyes on a groan. “We said friends. We said simple. This is not how you start a simple friendship.”

His large hand cups my jaw and lifts my chin. I open my eyes, blinking dazedly at him. I wasn’t prepared for how his touch makes me feel. How I instantly crave more of it; want to lean into the warmth; to turn and trace his lifeline with my tongue. Tell him all the things I could discover just from reading his palm and looking into his eyes.

How can such a large hand feel so gentle, like it’s capable of treasuring, cherishing?

“Okay, Lotus,” he says, regret and reluctance woven around my name. “Simple. Friendship.”

He withdraws, and I want to seek it out again immediately. When I open my eyes, he’s pulling on the shirt I chose, buttoning it with quick, deft movements. I’m frozen to the spot, unable to look away from the intensity of his stare. He grabs the tie and extends it to me.

“What’s that for?” I ask dumbly.

“I suck at ties,” he says, his full lips quirking at the corners, some of his humor returning.

“Oh.”

I strain up to loop the tie behind his neck, and he bends so I can reach him more easily. He’s so much taller, and I feel like a flower growing along a great wall. Dwarfed. Sheltered. By sheer will, I keep my hands steady while I finish tying the tie. When I’m almost done, he leans forward until his nose aligns with mine and he breathes in.

“From one friend to another,” he says, his voice rough and husky, “you smell incredible.”

When he pulls back to look into my eyes again, we get hung up—caught in a net of longing. I don’t know this man and he doesn’t know me, but our bodies know. Our bodies already know, and it’s taking everything in me not to lean up and forward so our lips meet—so I can taste him again. Our breaths mingle. My hands curl into my palms with the effort required not to grab his jaw and take his mouth, make it mine. My heart clamors behind my ribs. The moment simmers with possibility.

“I could kiss you, Lo,” he rasps. “But I won’t.”

His words snap whatever thread linked us, and I step back, clearing my throat and fixing my face.

“Good,” I say, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Because we did say a simple friendship, and that would complicate matters too much.”

“I’ll make you a deal,” he says.

“I don’t make deals with men I don’t know.” I even my voice out until it’s almost normal.

He pauses, a slight smile hitting his lips before he goes on. “Okay, I’ll make you a promise.”

“Promises mean nothing from men I don’t trust,” I say with a shrug. “And men I don’t know, I don’t trust.”

“Okay, I’ll make a prediction.” He lifts both brows and waits for my objection.

“Go on,” I say with a nod.

“I predict we will kiss again,” he says, and my wide eyes zip to his face. “But only when you want it. The next time we kiss, you’ll make it happen.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” I retort with borrowed confidence.

“Mark my words, little millennial.”

“Lotus, you back here?” Chase calls from around the corner. He stops as soon as he sees me with Kenan, frowns, and runs a hand over the back of his neck. “JP’s looking for you.”

“Yeah, okay,” I say hastily, speed walking around him.

“I’m ready for you,” I hear Chase tell Kenan.

I’m glad one of us is.

JP has averted the crisis with the silk shipment and looks like a pleasant, reasonable man again. We’re talking through a few things we’ll probably work on when we get back to the office when Kenan walks in.

I chose well. The cool green pops against his skin. He’s the portrait of rugged, beautiful masculinity, but once the shoot actually starts, it looks like we caught him in the middle of a root canal. None of the coaxing, coaching, and cajoling Chase typically uses to get the best out of a subject is working on Kenan.