Perfectly Imperfect(30)
“It’s time to start that life, my little creature of comfort. Just jump right out of that zone you’ve been stuck in.” She winks, and I want to throttle her for throwing Eddie’s words back in my face.
I look back and forth between the two cars and take a deep, steadying breath. Okay, enough of this scared Willow. It’s time to live your life and live it for yourself. It’s time to stop worrying about what others think of you. Time to stop living in the fear of upsetting someone because you’re your own person and to hell with what anyone thinks.
One step in front of the other.
I give Cam a smile, one I actually feel with the lightness in my step, and move toward the second vehicle. He follows behind and opens the back door, offering his hand to help me step up onto the shiny metal step before I place my bottom down and move to swing my legs inside.
“Thank you, Ca— oh, crap.” The smile I had dies and the calm I had been feeling packs up and says to heck with this.
“Hello, Willow.”
I close my eyes. Crap. Crap. Crap.
He laughs, the sound deep and rough. I feel that sinfully dangerous sound all the way between my legs, causing me to push my knees together and bite the inside of my cheek.
“Do I make you nervous, Willow?”
“Yup,” I answer, the end making a loud pop in the silence around us.
“I promise I won’t bite,” he jokes then adds almost as an afterthought, “That is, unless you ask me to.”
My eyes snap open, and I look into the crystal blue eyes of Kane Masters. The dark stubble dancing across the sharp planes of his jaw don’t mask the laugh lines around his thick lips or the small, almost inconspicuous dimple in his left cheek. His thick hair is unruly, as if he’s run his fingers through it a few dozen times.
He’s utterly perfect.
And I’m sitting in front of him rumpled from travel, sweaty from hustling through the busy Atlanta airport, and just a big, hot mess.
I’m the imperfect to his perfect.
“Crap,” I grumble.
SHE’S STUNNING. I STUDY HER as we travel down the interstate and leave her to her silence for the moment.
That familiar spark started zapping between us the second her eyes connected with mine. Hell, it started before then. When I watched her walk through the sliding doors and toward the vehicle I was forced to wait in, I felt it. Everything I had once again started to wonder if I made up with the hopefulness of finally finding someone who I felt was worth pursuing was confirmed the second she pulled her body into the truck. Her scent, sweet … peaches … wraps around me like a drug I feel in the tightening of my pants.
Exquisite.
And she has no clue.
“Willow?” I question, hoping I can get her eyes back on me.
I watch as her shoulders straighten and her gaze leaves its study of the busy traffic on I-85. She visibly collects herself before turning and finally giving me those eyes.
“Kane,” I tell her and hold my hand out toward her.
She jumps, looking back and forth between my hand and my face for a few beats before timidly placing her palm against mine with a small laugh.
“Will—” Pausing, she clears her throat before continuing. “Willow. As you obviously already know.” She offers a little sass I wasn’t expecting, betraying her unease.
“Yeah, that I do.” My fingers rub the inside of her wrist and a fire-like whisper burns up my arm just from that small contact. Not unaffected herself, I watch her body shudder slightly.
Nice, Kane.
We don’t speak, and I don’t make any moves to release her hand. It doesn’t take long for her pale cheeks to start turning pink and for those eyes to drift from mine. Embarrassing her again is the last thing I want to do, the very last. I release her hand, feeling the loss of her touch instantly.
“I apologize for not being able to meet you in the airport. It would have been a disaster had I stepped out of the truck.”
I get her eyes quickly before she looks down at her hands now resting in her lap. “I understand. It wouldn’t be good to be seen with me … I mean us,” she softly says.
What was that?
“I’m afraid you have the wrong impression of me, Willow. It’s me not wanting to start a madhouse when I’m recognized. It has nothing to do with being seen with anyone. Have no doubts that being seen with you wouldn’t cause me the least bit of unease. We should probably clear that up right now. You’re going to see a lot of me, Willow,” I tell her. Unwilling to be bereft of her touch, I reach out to pull one of her worrying hands from her lap and grasp it between mine again. I notice the difference as I turn her hand over to study how delicate her tiny hands look between my rough, long fingers. “I can tell you’re nervous, but at the risk of making you more uncomfortable, I’ll just lay it out there. I want you, Willow. And I intend to have you, so you should probably get the thought that I don’t want to be seen with you right out of your head. I will be seen with you.”
She gasps and moves to pull her hand from mine, but I don’t let go.
“I can tell you are either not used to men being so blunt or you are genuinely unaware of the spell you’ve cast on me. I know you feel it too, Willow. A connection that strong can’t be a fluke, nor can it be one-sided.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she evades.