Pulse throbbing in my throat, with great reluctance, I push the bell. I will not run. No matter how terrified I am.
The door swings open.
He’s here, standing in front of me for the first time in weeks.
My throat dries up like a mirage in the Sahara.
He looks…imposing. He’s wearing a pair of faded Levi’s and has bare feet; he shouldn’t look dangerous. But he does.
My overactive imagination jumbles him together with the images from all my stupid research.
Maybe I should leave.
Indecision riots inside me, but I get distracted by his chest. He’s shirtless. Why does he have to be shirtless? He has such a beautiful body. He’s all golden skin and hard muscle. He’s mouthwatering, and I hate him for it. He makes me want to drop to my knees and lick him.
I scoff. Clearly I’ve been reading too many dirty books.
The women in those stories seemed to drop to their knees at an alarming rate, and now they’re infecting my brain. This whole thing is utterly ridiculous. No woman wants a penis in her mouth that much. It’s preposterous!
“You’re late.”
Those two little words rip me away from my thoughts.
I wasn’t.I sputter, but seem incapable of spitting out any actual words. Three minutes doesn’t count. I’ve been standing on his damn porch. He had to have seen me here, so technically I’m not late.
Spine snapping ruler straight, I open my mouth to explain, only my brain malfunctions and some sort of demon takes over. I jab a finger at his chest. “Mason Bennett, if you think for one minute I’m going to be locked up in some cage and treated like a dog, you’ve got another think coming.”
He laughs, standing back to allow my entry. “I’ve missed you too, Anna.”
To my surprise, the outburst eases the tension in my shoulders. Instead of waltzing in like I would have before, I peer into the foyer, heart beating fast. Nothing looks different—still the same old, heavy, dark-wood furniture as the last time.
I frown.
“Were you expecting me to turn my house into a torture chamber in preparation for your arrival?” The deep, rich timbre of his voice strokes over my skin.
I jerk my attention to him. His lips quirk at the corners as though containing his amusement.
Is he laughing at me?I toss him my haughtiest glare. “No, of course not.”
“I see.” He gestures to the foyer. “Are you going to come in or should I carry you over the threshold like some virgin sacrifice?”
I refuse to dignify his mockery with a response. I raise my chin. “I can walk, thank you.”
I squint at the space between the door and him, judging the distance. If I want to slink in without touching him I need to turn sideways. I nibble the inside of my cheek.
No.I will not be intimidated. I march forward like a soldier on the front line. Here’s hoping I’m not a casualty of war.
Warm skin brushes my forearm when I can’t avoid his hard abs.
I suck in a breath.
Oh, he smells good, that unique mixture of soap, spice, and Mason. Suddenly I’m overcome with how much I missed him. And I have. So, so much. The desire to melt into him edges out my fear of the unknown.
That is, until he speaks.
“We still have to deal with your late arrival, now don’t we?”
Aaannnddd…the pendulum swings right back.