Mindi shifted nervously. He put an arm on the back of the couch and the other on his lap. His eyes looked sharp, in control, and completely yummy. Like chocolate, not only in color, but in delectability.
“Ten o’clock is fine.” His gaze was like an undertow, sucking her in and pulling her under. She needed to come up for air.
She tore her eyes off him and looked toward Ben’s room. Mitch took off his jacket. His T-shirt’s cut-off sleeves accentuated his buff biceps and toned triceps. One muscle flowed flawlessly into the next. Stroking them with her eyes, heat rose between her thighs.
Standing, she looked down at the thin cotton tied loosely around her hips, then lifted her head. His eyes took a few seconds longer to travel up her body. Her mind was in the gutter. His heavy hoods told her his was, too.
She gulped. “I should change.”
“You’re fine.” He stood and gently grasped her arms.
She shook her head. “Ben. If you’re staying, we should go outside.” He released her and looked toward the back door. “Do you want some wine?” She walked to the half-wall, separating the kitchen from the hall, and pulled a bottle from a four-bottle rack.
He took it from her and asked for an opener, standing so close she could feel his pheromones. She hesitated. He put a big hand on her hip. Sparks ripped from his hand to her core, and common sense told her he should leave.
“Over there.” She turned and pointed, his hand slid across her tummy, her tummy toppled like breaking waves.
All work is copyrighted and cannot be used without written permission.
Barefoot and Breathless 