Page 20 of How You See Me (You and Me Duology #2)

“Josie, you awake?”

“Mmm mmm.” She reaches a hand toward me, but it flops to her side, dangling off the old vinyl seat.

“Can you walk to the bathrooms?”

Her head rolls side-to-side, and she giggles. “Carry me.”

“Not happening.” But my body needs a lot less convincing. It remembers all too well how she felt in my arms.

The van creaks and groans as I climb out and open the passenger side door. Standing there, I will her to miraculously sober and save me .

No such luck. She’s sprawled in the seat with one leg falling out the opening toward me, her head tipped back and breathing steady. A thin gold chain lays crooked on her neck, bringing my attention to the smear of dirt across her collarbone.

Her cheeks are flushed from too much alcohol and the repercussions that got us here. I shouldn’t be looking at her like she’s mine to take care of. Mine to touch.

But she left me no choice.

My hand spans her right calf while the other trails down to the ankle of her boot. I tug it off—slow and careful, hoping the tension will break if I concentrate only on the task.

She stirs, mumbling something incoherent, and her foot goes limp in my hand.

“You’re going to owe me big for this,” I mutter, a few choice words following.

Her head lolls toward me, eyes opening a sliver. “You talkin’ dirty to my boots, Cowboy?”

I flinch at the sound of her voice. “Definitely not.”

“No. You’re too nice . . . a gentle- man .”

I can’t respond because I’m holding her bare leg and touching her mind-numbingly smooth skin.

“And a . . . boot whisperer-er.”

Moving to her other leg, heat blooms low in my gut when my knuckles graze her inner thigh.

“You know,” she breathes in and her back arches, the same way I imagine she’d look writhing under my touch.

I can’t stop my gaze from following along the rise of her breasts or my body from wanting to know how her skin tastes beneath that thin cotton.

Shaking out of the thought, I get back to work. My very innocent, non-sexual task. This shouldn’t feel intimate or charged with this much desire. I’m supposed to be caring for her—not fantasizing about kissing every inch of her.

“If you were a real cowboy,” she continues, “you’d be the polite kind. You’d probably ask your horse if you could ride her.”

I exhale slowly, glancing out into the darkness beyond. These comments are not helping. Not one iota.

“You’re drunk.”

“True statement.”

I get the second boot and sock off and drop them beside the others. Two bare legs, sinfully short shorts, and a tank top that’s bunching up her narrow torso as she stretches.

Damn it, Josie.

I don’t want to want her like this. But every movement, every piece of her I uncover, every sound, peels back something raw inside me.

And I haven’t even started washing her yet.

For a distraction, I grab a washcloth from the back and soak it at the water pump nearby. My hands shake as I wring it out. The water’s not cold. It’s her and the level of restraint I’ll need for what comes next.

Pressing the damp cloth to her thigh, she shifts in response with a breathy moan .

“Mmm . . . a sponge bath?”

“Not quite.”

I drag the cloth over her knee, careful around the scrape there. She exhales again, the sound invading my space like smoke. I shouldn’t be doing this. I should have left her here until she felt well enough to shower on her own. But I can’t stop now.

Her head tilts toward me. “You’re good at that. Guys don’t never touch me like you do.”

“Josie.”

She hums in reply, eyes heavy-lidded.

“I’m trying to be respectful.”

“You’re doin’ good.” Her hand waves vaguely in my direction. “Monk-level respect . . .a hot monk.”

I move to her other leg, attempting to ignore her rambles. Hopefully, she won’t remember any of this in the morning.

But I will. Every fucking second, and it’s going to haunt me every fucking second I’m with her.

Taking her hand, I run the rag over her palm until nothing remains but flawless skin.

“You smell nice.” Her nose wrinkles. “Should’ve told you that earlier.”

“Thanks.” This is torture. “And I should have told you how beautiful you looked tonight. More like she took my breath away, and I’ve yet to find a way to breathe normally in her presence. “The bartender beat me to it.”

“Is that why you were mad?” Her head lifts slightly to see me, wobbles, then lowers back to the headrest .

The rag freezes on her elbow. “I wasn’t mad. Why did you think that?”

“You got really big hands,” she slurs, the topic forgotten. “Big, soft oven mitts.”

“Don’t flatter me, Josie.”

“From hot monk to sexy chef. This cowboy spa is . . .” She blinks slowly then yawns. “Ever do this before? Cuz you seem to know what you’re doin’, Cowboy.”

“No, ma’am. You’re my first.”

She snort laughs. “Lucky me.”

I work quickly to finish her arm, pretending my heart isn’t a bouncing pinball in my ribcage. Her collarbone and face are next—God help me—and my fingers already feel clumsy as I hold them under the old iron faucet.

I dig my control out the fog she created only to lose it again at the first sight of her. She’s fallen back asleep, the strap of her tank slipping farther down her shoulder to reveal more skin, another smudge, and areas of her body I have no right thinking about. Much less touching.

Shoot me now.

“Josie,” I rasp, begging her to save me. “Can you finish up?”

No response. Just the faint moonlight covering every inch of her in temptation.

This is better, right? No magical sapphires daring me to cross invisible lines. No rum-driven, sensual words shooting desire through my midsection. No excuses not to complete the mission plan .

Gritting my teeth, I drag the cloth across her collarbone, her skin blooming pink in the wake of my touch. The smudge there disappears, and I wish the fire smoldering in my gut would follow suit.

When I reach the new spot on her chest, she pulls in a sharp breath. Her eyes crack open, pinning me in place. She sighs on the exhale, and it sounds way too much like an invitation.

At this distance, I’m close enough to change everything between us. But I don’t dare move since my mind is already three steps ahead in a direction I promised myself I wouldn’t go.

For a distraction, I move the cloth to her face, following the curve of her cheekbone to the dark streak just below her ear. She tilts her head, and I wonder how it would feel to kiss her there. To trail my lips up her neck and—

Her gaze falls to my mouth. Is she thinking about that too? Is she waiting for it? For me?

The pull of her bottom lip between her teeth untethers the trained discipline I pride myself on.

I’m now a loose cannon, leaning in and pretending I’m not memorizing the feel of her.

Closer.

My body begs to tilt her up and find out if she tastes as good as I think she will.

Closer—

This is wrong.

Damn it.

Dipping my head, I force air into my lungs and reality back to the forefront where it belongs.

Three stumbling steps take me away from her, my feet moving on protective instinct.

I can’t feel my limbs until the cool washcloth drops from my hand, the missing weight bringing me out of the stupor.

I lean against the side of the van to reunite with my conscience.

What in the hell am I doing?

She’s drunk and half-asleep. She doesn’t know what she’s asking for—if she’s even asking at all.

I shove a hand through my hair on the way to grab a blanket from the mattress. In those few seconds, she’s fallen asleep again.

Draping the blanket over her feels more like adding a shield to her. A shield protecting us both from me.

I’ve already gone too far. In my mind. In my want.

As I reach for the door, her hand curls around my arm.

“Don’t go,” she whispers.

And that’s all it takes to bring me back. She needs help and protection. And that’s exactly what she’ll get. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I retreat to the driver’s seat to shake off the battlefield-like adrenaline spikes bathing her caused. But even as I try my usual calming techniques—tapping my chest and controlling my breathing—I know a reset isn’t possible. Not tonight at least.

I hope I didn’t cross the line—do too much or not enough.

There will be no resting until two sober blue eyes tell me she’s okay.

Maybe then, I can reset and get back to normal . . . whatever that is now.