I nod, knowing what he’s talking about. They used to leave the house around seven in order to drop Jackson off at Wes’s parents’ before Wes went in for work.
“Are you cold?” I ask him, swinging my legs over the side of the couch and offering to share the blanket.
“I’m okay,” he says and kicks his feet back up on the coffee table.
“Really?” I ask dubiously and reach out—against my better judgment, of course—and press my hand against his bicep. “You are warm.” I push up and eye him suspiciously. “Are you really a shifter?”
“Huh?”
I shake my head and laugh. “Shifter. Or werewolf. In paranormal romance books, any sort of were or shifter is always described as being warmer than normal humans.”
Wes raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “I didn’t know that.”
“I’m a little weird, maybe I should have warned you.”
Slowly, he angles his body toward me and brings one arm up, resting it on the back of the couch behind me. “I like weird.”
“Well, you’re in luck.”
Our eyes meet and my heart flutters. This is the most real I’ve seen Wes, and this is the most real he’s seen me. Because right now, I’m not Scarlet, the con-artist, scourge of the South Side. I’m just Scarlet, the quirky blonde who reads smutty vampire and werewolf romance novels in her spare time and gets way too wrapped up in scary TV shows.
Wes’s fingertips brush against my shoulder, and I shiver. I tip my head towards his, lips parting. He moves his head down toward mine.
He needs to stop.
I need to look away.
But I don’t.
And he doesn’t.
Our eyes meet, and I know he’s feeling the exact same thing as I am. My heart flutters in my chest, like it’s taking flight before it starts flapping its wings as hard as it can, beating away like a drum inside my chest.
He sweeps his hand down, and his fingers trail along my arm. His touch is gentle, making me want to lean in and feel more. He’s doing it on purpose, knowing exactly what kind of reaction he’s going to get from me.
I don’t know if I should be mad at him for it or not. Swallowing hard, I take my bottom lip between my teeth and slowly lean in. He brings his hand up again and pushes my hair back behind my ear.
He’s going to kiss me.
The little bit of logic that hasn’t left me is screaming to stop, because if he kisses me, things won’t end there. I’ll climb into his lap, press my core against him and feel his cock harden beneath me. I’ll wrap my arms around his neck and buck my hips back, rubbing his cock against me once, maybe twice, before going in for another kiss. His hands will settle on my waist, pushing under my T-shirt, feeling the soft skin on my back. He’ll shift his weight, rubbing himself against me until the top of his boxers dampens from the glistening tip of his cock.
He’ll press his lips to mine again, and I’ll push my tongue into his mouth. We’ll fall back on the couch, kissing with fervor as we peel off each other’s clothes. He’ll want to carry me upstairs, but I’ll be too impatient to wait even half a minute to feel his big, rough hands sweeping over my body, moving down my thighs, parting my legs, and rubbing over my clit.
If I let him kiss me, I’m going to end up sleeping with him. And nothing good ever comes from sleeping with your boss.
My heart flutters again and the little bit of logic dissolves into nothing.
He’s going to kiss me.
And I’m going to let him.12WestonIf there was ever a rational part of my brain, it’s now dead and buried six feet under. My cock has taken over, and right now it’s screaming at me to kiss Scarlet. To take her in my arms, feel her breasts crush against my chest, to put my lips to hers and see if she tastes as good as I think she will.
It plays out before me, and I imagine her in my lap, legs wrapped around my waist, pulling my shirt over my head. My cock jumps at the thought, and I inch in closer and closer.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know this is a bad idea. She’s Jackson’s nanny and hasn’t even been here that long I’m already trying to make a move on her. But it’s not like she’s uninterested, and I can tell by the way she’s biting her bottom lip and is moving toward me that she wants this too.
We shouldn’t. We really fucking shouldn’t.
But dammit, I’m tired of holding back, of going to bed alone. I’ve spent the last four years convincing the world that I’m not lonely, but you can only lie to yourself for so long before the smoke and mirrors gives way for the bullshit it really is.