Page 48 of Into These Eyes

Gavin

A lthough I’m out of bed and heading into the kitchen at the usual time, Jamie’s already dressed, travel mug in hand as she hurries over to the dining table.

“Morning,” I say to her back, taking in the deep plum dress that clings to her figure and stops a few inches above her knees. But it’s the zip traveling from the back of her neck all the way to her thighs that has my mind filling with all sorts of inappropriate scenarios.

“Hey.” She shoves her laptop into its bag, hooks the strap over her shoulder and picks up her coffee.

She’s leaving early. A jolt of disappointment spears through my middle.

I’ve missed our morning ritual. Missed the way we stand side-by-side, me purposely positioned in between her and the cutlery drawer.

The way she always touches me to get to that drawer.

The way she smells so warm and cosy straight from her bed.

How we gaze into each other’s eyes and reveal what we have planned for the day.

It might only last a few minutes, but it’s enough to make sure I’m out of bed on time every morning.

Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve never experienced a better start to the day.

Now, as pathetic as it is, a sense of deprivation washes over me.

“Gotta go,” she mutters as she hurries past the breakfast bar without glancing my way.

“Good luck,” I call after her.

Not even a glimpse of eye contact. Worse than deprivation, that feels like punishment.

And there’s only one reason she’s different this morning.

Because of a kiss that didn’t happen. Bit by bit she’s been letting her guard down, letting me see the real her, not just the woman who’s strong, but the woman who’s warm and vulnerable.

We’d connected on a deeper level last night and I fucking know she felt it too.

She’d wanted that kiss as much as I did.

When I hear the laundry door close, I turn to the coffee machine, check the bean situation, and press the button. While the loud rumble fills the kitchen, I try to shake off my irrational reaction to her cold shoulder treatment.

“Sorry.”

I whirl around to find her standing there, her coffee and bag nowhere to be seen, her hands clutching at each other as if she doesn’t know what to do with them.

“I … I meant to say thank you, for last night,” she says, her eyes just as indecisive as her hands.

My lips twitch. So, while I’ve been standing here thinking about her, she’s been busy thinking about me.

She cares. I do mean something to her. Otherwise, why bother coming back?

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” I tell her. “I enjoyed learning about your family, seeing how cute you were as a kid … and still are.”

I expect her to hurry off to work now she’s said what she came back to say, but she hesitates, her eyes flitting over my entire body before they finally land on mine.

She takes a couple of steps closer, allowing me to see what I couldn’t before.

Like always, she’s the picture of professionalism, but she can’t hide the heavy fatigue weighing her down this morning.

“That’s not why I wanted to thank you. And it’s not why I’m sorry.” Now her lack of sleep is coming through in the huskiness of her voice. As sexy as it sounds, it proves she can barely muster enough energy to speak.

I shake my head, and take a few steps toward her, aware that she no longer seems to be in a hurry to get to work. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. And whatever it is you’re trying to thank me for, I don’t need it.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you need it or not.” Her eyes flash with defiance. “You deserve it. So, thank you for putting me to bed last night. I feel like an idiot for falling asleep at the table, but I appreciate you checking on me. And—”

“Jamie—”

“Not finished,” she says sternly. “And I’m sorry … about the phone call.”

I’m stunned she’s mentioned it. Then again, maybe I shouldn’t be.

I hadn’t left any doubt in her mind about my reaction to that call.

I’d stormed off to my bedroom like a child.

In my defence, I’d been crushed when that hateful piece of technology interrupted us.

And I can’t tell her that the moment I entered my room, I threw open my sketchpad and drew the desire in her eyes, the heat that made me certain she wanted me to kiss her.

Before I can ask why she feels the need to apologise for that phone call, she sways on her feet. Actually sways .

That’s it. There’s no way in hell she’s driving to work.

I’m here to protect her. Whether that involves keeping her safe from an outside threat or from herself, it makes no difference.

She’s not going to like it. She’ll have to relinquish that control she holds onto like a barrier.

Too bad, because when it comes to her protection, I’m in charge.

“Give me your phone,” I demand, holding out my hand, waiting for her to flare up. I haven’t spoken to her like this before, but I need to make it clear who’s calling the shots right now.

Her tired eyes widen. “Excuse me?”

As I move toward her with commanding purpose, she retreats from the kitchen until her back hits the hallway wall. I’m right in her space, bracing myself with a hand beside her head, my other still out, waiting. “Unlock it and give it to me. I’m booking you an Uber.”

“I can drive myself like I always do,” she states flatly.

“You’re fucking exhausted, Jamie. You shouldn’t even be going to work, but I know you won’t let your clients down, so there’s no point trying to keep you home. The best I can do is make damn sure you get there and back safely. Now give it to me.”

Her jaw tenses as she glares up at me. “It’s in the car.”

“You’re breaking your rule.”

“What?”

“About lying,” I remind her. “You’d never leave it somewhere you can’t hear the bloody thing.” I lean away a little, casting my gaze down her body. She needs to know I’m fucking serious. “I’m happy to search for it.”

Her sharp intake of breath draws my eyes up to hers, and defiance stares back.

“So do it,” she breathes.

Jesus .

Already feeling the effects of being this close to her, my dick swells. Do I want to put my hands on her? Fuck yes. Is it risky? Also, fuck yes. If I’m misinterpreting what she wants, I’ll be out the door before my dick deflates.

But as I gaze into her eyes, I see it there.

She’s daring me.

There’s no misunderstanding. She’s giving me permission to touch her. What sort of man would I be if I didn’t accept her challenge?

I sweep my eyes down her body and back up again. I have a pretty good idea where that phone is. A pretty good idea of which area to avoid if I don’t want to find it too quickly.

Leaving one hand braced against the wall, I press my fingertips to the curve of her waist. When she doesn’t flinch or tense, I flatten my palm there, enjoying the heat through the soft material.

Heart galloping, I meet her eyes again, confident they’ll tell me everything I need to know. And they do. That heat I saw last night is right there.

She wants this.

I have to stay in control, deny every instinct demanding I slam my body against hers and show her how much I want her .

Restraining myself, I slowly rub my thumb over the tight fabric. She blinks up at me, waiting, reminding me I’m supposed to be searching for her phone. I can’t keep her in suspense.

As I slide my hand from her waist to the small of her back, my knuckles connect with the wall. She wastes no time tilting her hips forward, making room for me, giving me permission to keep going.

I touch the cool metal of her zipper and follow it downward until I meet the swell of her backside.

Dipping a little lower, I skate my palm over her right cheek where a pocket might be positioned.

I know damn well this dress doesn’t have any.

It’s so damn tight, even if it did have pockets, nothing but a credit card would fit inside.

Somehow, I resist the urge to squeeze that firm, round, delectable arse. I’m not here to grope her like a fucking pervert. I respect her too much for that. She might want me to touch her, but it’s up to me how I do that. And I want to make her feel good. I want to leave her wanting more.

Moving on, I graze my palm down the back of her thigh. When my fingers reach the hem of her dress and touch bare skin, she shivers. I pause, holding the intense eye contact, waiting for her to give me any indication I should stop. After all, I’m not touching her where she can hide a phone.

Apart from that shiver and the rapid rise and fall of her chest, she doesn’t move.

With a featherlight caress, I leisurely trace her bare skin just beneath her hem. By the time I reach the front of her thigh, goosebumps rise beneath my fingertips. Her pupils dilate, her eyes widen, and her lips part.

Fuck. There’s no denying I’m having the same effect on her as she’s having on me. My cock’s so damn hard, I know it’s weeping with excitement. And I’m pretty confident that if I touched her panties right now, they’d be more than just damp.

Jesus. It’d be so easy to slip my fingers between her warm thighs and find out.

But she needs to get to work, not be fucked against the wall by a feral animal who’ll probably last two whole seconds.

If I ever get the privilege of sinking into her body, the last thing I want to do is remind her of her first and only experience.

I want to show her how good it can be. For her .

Unlike her first time, I want her desperate to repeat it.

The fact that she’s allowing me to touch her like this has my stomach fluttering. This isn’t just about how good she feels beneath my hand, it’s also about how good she feels inside my heart.

Trembling with the force of restraining myself, I slide my palm up to her hip, pretending to search for another non-existent pocket.

Her fast, shallow breaths match mine, and when I lick my lips, her eyes dart to my mouth and linger there.

Christ, she wants me to kiss her as much as I want to.