Thick Love (Thin Love, #2)(76)
He didn’t move and I couldn’t speak and we stared at each other. Ransom’s blatant perusal of my body, the slick glide of his eyes moving over my wet skin, made me lightheaded, feeling like I was on display but finding it impossible to be upset by it.
Finally, when those black, burning eyes of his settled on my breasts and the single bead of water that meandered in the cleft between them before disappearing behind the wrap of my tight towel, I couldn’t take the silence.
“Me zanmi, you grosoulye bata, what the hell are you…”
“Did you know,” he started, like this was completely normal, like it wasn’t highly inappropriate that I was nearly naked and he was in my apartment uninvited, “that the storage room next door has an old lock?” I shook my head, a little scared to move, more than a little annoyed with myself that I wanted to rip away the towel and give him exactly what his look told me he wanted. “That lock is easy to trip if you know how to do it.” Ransom glanced once at the small access door inside my laundry room. “Tristian used to bring Becca Asbury here before you moved in.”
In my mind, I saw Ransom squeezing his impossibly large body through that access panel door and pushing through the small space that was my laundry room. Why was he going to so much trouble? One glance back at his eyes still focused on my breasts gave me one possibility, but I didn’t put too much faith in that. That was just blatant lust.
“Why didn’t you knock?”
He finally moved his eyes away from my chest, shifting his focus to my face. I found that more unsettling than a slow rake of his gaze over my body.
“I didn’t think you’d let me in.”
When he pushed away from the counter, I backed up, walking into the wall behind me before I managed to stop him. “That’s far enough.”
“Aly…”
“Non. Stop right there.” A small voice in my head, one that sounded a lot like my grann screamed at me for keeping him at a distance. But my body was too worked up just by him being in my small apartment again. Besides, I was still annoyed, still bothered by how everything had ended before it really began. “Turn around,” I told him, flicking my forefinger in a circle to demonstrate. The apartment was too small for more than one person. It was definitely too small for Ransom and me, especially when I was nearly naked.
I hustled to my dresser, grabbing a pair of clingy sleep shorts and my favorite, worn t-shirt. It was black, had a frayed hem and pink letters that read Boss Ass Woman. Another mantra that had gotten me through the stickiest of awkward situations. I’d need it if I was going to work up the nerve to kick Ransom out of my apartment.
He didn’t try to sneak a peek, just stood legs apart as always, hands resting in his pockets as he popped his neck once. My fingers shook and I gave up on my bra when the hook would not fasten, rushing to slip on my tee and shorts. Still, I didn’t move from my dresser, stupidly thinking that the small distance between me and where Ransom stood next to that tiny sofa would keep me safe from him. Or him from me.
“Okay, so you wanna explain why you’re here? I thought we’d said everything that needed saying downstairs.”
“No.” Head turned, Ransom looked at me again, and a small, barely there grin pushed up one corner of his mouth as he saw the logo on my shirt. “Not hardly.”
“I can’t go back to your folks’ place.” The thread from my loosened hem scratched against my bare leg and I fisted it, nervous when Ransom stepped away from the sofa. “I mean, I miss them, but there are too many reminders and I…” I felt stupid, like a mumbling idiot with nothing remotely sensible to say. Ransom hadn’t looked away from my face. I kept on stammering. “Sarah, the girl from the diner, she’s good. Help…helped raise her four brothers. Koa will like…”
“Over a year?” he asked moving so close to me that the fabric from his bunched up sleeve brushed against my waist. “You were the girl with the * father.” I flicked my eyes to his, a little annoyed that he’d finally figured that out, embarrassed that he’d remembered. “You should have reminded me, Aly.”
A small wave of heat ran up my neck, almost suffocating in its intensity. I couldn’t tell if the irritation I felt was at myself for managing to only move my gaze to his mouth, or at Ransom for stepping so close, for using what he now remembered to intimidate me.
“It…it doesn’t really matter,” I said, deciding to direct my annoyance at him. Chin tilting up, I raised an eyebrow, ready to challenge him with one gesture, but failed miserably when Ransom lifted his hand to my face.
“It matters to me.” I tried like hell not to close my eyes, but Ransom’s thumb was large and he moved it against my mouth, the pressure a tiny enticement, a challenge to take that thumb between my lips. He didn’t let me step back like I wanted, followed me as soon as I moved and kept his hand on my face. “You should have told me.”
“I couldn’t.”
Ransom’s gaze lowered, trained on the small shake of my chin, then he moved his head, squinting at me like he was trying to figure me out. “You scared of me?”
There are moments—the moments that define us, that settle our paths with just a word or a look. This was one of those moments. I could have backed away, asked Ransom to stop touching me. I could have pretended that every look he’d ever given me, every taste of his tongue on mine hadn’t been something I’d dreamt of, something I’d craved.