Stone Cold Heart (Tracers #13)(59)

His gaze met hers, and her pulse picked up again.

She moved away from him and shifted her attention to the tackle box. She poked through the contents, looking for ointment for the cut on her leg.

Nolan turned and opened the fridge. “Can I ask you something?”

She shot him a wary look. “Maybe.”

He popped open a Sprite and set it beside her, then leaned back against the counter and watched her.

“Why are you nervous around me?”

“I’m not.”

His eyebrows tipped up.

“I’m not nervous, I’m just . . . I don’t know. Worried, I guess.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know.” She tried to select the right words. “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression.”

“What’s the wrong impression?”

Her throat felt dry, and she reached for the Sprite. It tasted cold and sweet, but he was still watching her and waiting for an answer.

“I don’t want you to think . . .”

“Think what?”

“That I want to start something right now. A relationship.”

He smiled. “And you think I do?”

Her stomach knotted. Damn, this was awkward. She was so out of practice with dating.

“Sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t make assumptions.”

“Hey, I’m not denying it.” He stepped closer, and her skin suddenly felt hot. “But why are you so worried about giving me the wrong impression?”

“Because.” She cleared her throat. “You seem like a stand-up guy, and I want to be up-front with you.”

“A stand-up guy?” He sounded amused now. “That’s what you think?”

“I don’t know.”

But she did know. He was totally a stand-up guy. He was practically a Boy Scout. He did chores for his neighbors and rendered first aid and looked out for everyone in his town. He had roots here. He was a freaking pillar of the community, and he had to be one of the most eligible bachelors in Springville.

Her stomach did a little dance. To distract herself, she found a tube of ointment and several bandages and took them to the breakfast table. Sinking into a chair, she tugged up the leg of her pants.

“Damn, Sara.”

“It’s fine,” she said, cleaning the gash. It was long but not terribly deep.

He stepped over, and her heart thrummed as she felt him watching her movements. He knelt in front of her.

“That looks bad,” he said, and all the amusement was gone from his voice.

“It’s not.”

He gently took her ankle and straightened her leg. Then he tore open a new wipe with his teeth and started carefully brushing dirt from the cut. The wound stung, but she was too focused on his hands to care. His gaze met hers. He opened a bandage and applied it to her shin, and she slid the torn pant leg over it.

“Thanks.”

He didn’t respond. He kept his eyes on hers as he knelt there in front of her. Slowly, he reached up and feathered her hair away from the cut on her face. Her heart was thudding wildly now. Her chest felt tight. He was kneeling between her legs, watching her with that look again, and there was something so carnal about it she could hardly breathe.

“Relax,” he whispered.

“I can’t—”

He leaned in and kissed her.

Every nerve in her body sparked. He moved into her, sliding his palms over her thighs and resting them on her hips. She kissed him back, and he tasted just like she remembered. She combed her fingers through his soft hair as she tangled her tongue with his.

She’d missed him. Which made no sense, because he’d only kissed her twice. But she’d been thinking about it, craving his taste and his scent and his hands.

Taking her hips, he slid her to the edge of the chair, parting her thighs with his body, and she gripped his sides with her knees. He was so warm and solid, and she felt like she was falling into him as he pulled her against him. Sliding his fingers under her T-shirt, he tugged it up over her head and tossed it away. His heated gaze landed on her black lace bra. She didn’t want him to notice her bruises, so she dragged him close for another kiss, brushing her fingertips over the stubble along his jaw.

Dipping his head down, he trailed kisses over her throat as he reached around for her bra clasp. He deftly unhooked it, then slid his hand around to cup her breast. He looked up at her as his mouth closed over her nipple, and she nearly shot off the chair.

Sara arched against him, moaning. This was crazy. They were in his kitchen, practically on the floor, but all she could do was tip her head back and enjoy the intoxicating heat of his mouth on her skin. Just a moment ago, she’d called him a stand-up guy, but he flatly rejected that, and now he was on his knees in front of her, proving her wrong. He was setting her on fire with his mouth and his hands, banishing every worry, every logical reason not to do this, as he slipped her bra from her arms and dropped it to the floor.

He kissed her neck. “Mmm. You smell good.”

“I do?”

“Always.”

His breath felt warm against her skin as he slid his lips to her collarbone, and she shivered. Everything he did was so sensual, so hot. And it had been so, so long since she’d felt anything like this. His palm glided over her knee and came to rest at the top of her thigh, and she squirmed closer.