Page 43 of Into These Eyes

What is she doing? Since when has eating a peach been so sensual? So fucking provocative? I want to kiss that sweetness from her lips until all I can taste is her.

“Forget it,” she says, as if she’s read my mind.

My eyes shoot to hers. “Sorry?”

“You look like you’re about to attack me. Which, of course, would be the only way you’re getting any more, since this is the last one.”

As she takes another bite, her eyes shine with a teasing challenge. A challenge I can’t resist. Playfully, I lunge at her. She lets out a little squeal as she flees, her footsteps pounding down the hallway.

Chuckling, I turn back to the remaining lasagne, knowing without a doubt that if I chase her and catch her, I’m going to fuck up everything, because I won’t be able to keep my hands off her. And I need to know with one hundred percent certainty that she wants me to touch her.

Right now, I can’t figure out if she’s completely oblivious to how seductive she is, or if she’s deliberately driving me crazy. Either way, I refuse to do anything to screw this up.

When she returns a few minutes later, I’m in the middle of scrubbing the lasagne pan in hot, soapy water.

“Guess you lose,” she says, wandering up beside me, her head tilted. “You gave up way too easy.”

I stop scrubbing the pan, my heart thudding. “What do you think would’ve happened if I’d caught you?”

She blinks, her cheeks darkening, as if it’s only just occurred to her that her little challenge would require physical contact.

Her eyes dart away, the corners of her lips twitching. “I suppose you would have … eaten my peach.”

Jesus . There’s no way she’s talking about fruit. She’s not only surprised me with her cheeky subtext, she’s pushing me to my limit. And I fucking love it.

“But,” she continues, “I won. I’m the one with the lingering taste of that peach on my tongue. Not you.”

Wild images of my head between her legs rocket through my brain, making me grateful I’m already leaning against the cupboards beneath the sink so she can’t see my growing hard-on.

Grinning at her, I can’t help but tease, “If I had the taste of that peach on my tongue, wouldn’t that make us both winners? ”

Her eyes widen ever so slightly before she lets out a huff of a laugh. “I don’t see how.”

As I watch the blush creep down her slender neck, I’m damn sure she knows exactly how. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“You know, seeing you happy like this,” she says, her voice dropping to a softer tone, “I … well, it’s wonderful. I hope living here is helping with that.”

When she pushes away from the counter, I mumble under my breath, “It’s all you.

Later, as we sit side-by-side at the breakfast bar, I notice her stealing glances at me while we eat. Or is she noticing me stealing glances at her? Hard to say, but the next time our eyes meet, I decide to confront her, my curiosity too damn strong to contain.

“Did you see me?” I ask. “Before I got in the pool?”

Her eyes skitter back to her food. “Sure. You were mowing the lawn.”

“And?” Staring at her profile, I swivel my stool in her direction and wait until she looks at me. “No lying, remember? Your rule.”

Our eyes lock just before her gaze drops to the left side of my chest. Damn. She definitely saw me.

I should be angry. I’m sure she would be if it were the other way around. Problem is, my dick seems to think the idea of her hiding inside, checking me out, is pretty hot. I’d love to know what she thought.

Still staring at my chest, she says, “You have a tattoo.”

Clever little diversion on her part, steering me away from the fact she saw me naked to the one thing I don’t want to talk about.

Swivelling back toward my meal, I let out a dismissive humph, hoping that’ll discourage her from further questions on the subject.

“I could only see that you have one, not what it is.”

“Good,” I say a little sharper than I intended. From the corner of my eye, I see her open her mouth, but whatever question she had doesn’t come. Instead, she concentrates on jabbing different salad ingredients onto her fork before adding a bite of lasagne.

Eager to leave that topic behind, I ask, “You working for the rest of the night?”

“Until I can’t keep my eyes open, yeah. I’ve got a few cases to work on and … Liam’s affidavit disappeared from the server, so I need to re-do that too.”

She said it so offhandedly, I almost missed it. “ What? ”

“It’s fine,” she sighs. “I recorded the whole thing, so I just need to retype it. Obviously, I won’t make the mistake of saving it in only one place again.”

“Has that happened before?”

“Well, no. But there’s a first time for everything.”

I don’t like the sound of that, especially since it means taking more of her time when it’s clearly stretched thin already.

“Anyway, what’re you up to tonight?” she asks.

“I was planning on reading something, but I haven’t spotted a bookcase around here. You don’t read? For pleasure, I mean.”

Finishing her mouthful, she nods. “I do. When I’m not stacked up with briefs.”

She slips off her stool, hurries into the living room and comes back with a thin rectangular object. Placing it between us, she opens the cover. The screen comes to life, showing what looks like a page in a book.

“This is a Kindle,” she explains. “I don’t have a bookcase, because this thing can hold about a thousand books.”

I stare at it in astonishment. “A thousand?”

Her eyes sparkle. Clearly, she enjoys showing me everything I’ve missed out on, and I love that she wants to.

After giving me a quick tour of the device, I ask, “So I can read anything already on here?”

She snaps the cover closed. “No. I’ll have to get you one and set up an account for you.” Grabbing her phone, she taps away at the screen.

“Maybe I can pick one up at the shops?”

She snickers as she puts her phone down. “There is no shop. It’ll be delivered tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Sure. We don’t live in the dark ages anymore.”

“Unbelievable,” I mumble as I take another bite, eyeing the device she won’t let me use.

I hadn’t missed the numerous book covers displaying half naked men during her little tour.

“But for tonight, I could just read something you already have, right?” When I reach for it, she slides it out of reach.

“I don’t think so.”

I raise my eyebrows and smile. “What’ve you got on there?”

“What’ve you got under here?” She reaches out and taps the tattoo through my t-shirt. Without thinking, I grab her hand and press it to my chest, the warmth of her palm seeping much deeper than my skin. Her eyes widen a little, but she doesn’t try to pull away.

“It’s a heart … You feel it beating?”

Our eyes hold for far too long before she pulls her hand free. “Smartarse.”

Eager to change the subject, I complain about having nothing to read.

She soon solves that problem by demanding access to my phone and moving her stool right up against mine.

Naturally, my arm finds its way to her backrest, allowing her to lean in close while she shows me how to get all the books I want for free.

I’m not sure how much I take in. It’s difficult to concentrate on anything other than the closeness of her body, her scent, and the occasional brush of her bare leg against mine.

I’m sure she’s paid for something, but she’s not letting on.

Which makes me believe she understands how it feels to be a man who can’t even support himself, let alone someone else.

The thing is, she’s having so much fun, is so enthusiastic and animated, I don’t want to be the one to take that away by rejecting her kindness and generosity.

When we begin eating again, I say softly, “This is nice.”

“It’s more than nice. It’s delicious.” She raises her fork and takes the last bite of lasagne.

“I didn’t mean the food. I meant sharing it with someone. Other than criminals. You don’t eat with your mouth open and you’re much easier on the eye.” She stiffens beside me. Shit .

“Wow,” she says, the change in her tone putting me on alert. “I give you praise, and you give me … what was that?”

She’s lost me, her mind ticking over into thoughts I can’t grasp. “I was giving you a compliment.”

“Is being called better than a criminal a compliment?”

I’m an idiot. She’s right. My life experience and hers are worlds apart. I can’t change that, but I can change my compliment.

“Jamie?” When she looks at me, the vulnerability staring back stops my heart.

I’m starting to realise her self-assured confidence and strength only seem to apply to her professional life.

When it comes to what’s deeply personal, she’s painfully, exquisitely insecure.

“I’ve already told you, but I have no problem saying it again. You’re gorgeous.”

She lets out a sharp scoff, her gaze riveted to the empty plate in front of her.

“Jamie … look at me.” When she refuses, I gently touch her jaw. After a moment, she peers at me from beneath those dark lashes.

And I see it. She doesn’t believe me, and I find that absolutely astounding. Has no one told her how beautiful she is? How there’s a light that shines from her eyes that’s dazzling? There’s no way she’s been able to avoid being the object of a man’s desire.

“How do you not know this?” I ask.

She stares at me, utterly confused. “Know what?”

“That you’re the most striking woman I’ve ever seen … ever imagined. You can stop a man in his tracks and make him forget where he’s going, what he’s doing, and make him wonder why he’s doing anything at all other than trying to get to know you.”

Now she’s blinking fast, her eyes brimming with water. I may have overshot, but as long as she heard me, I don’t give a damn.

“Your rules. No lying,” I remind her. “Tell me why you don’t know that.”

She closes her eyes. I’m not sure if she’s trying to avoid mine or trying to invent an answer. Either way, I have all the patience in the world.

Taking a deep breath, she mumbles, “I’ve never really put any thought into it.”

“But you must have had men tell you, show you?”