Page 53 of Into These Eyes

Jamie

I stare through the laptop screen, seeing nothing but the movie playing over and over in my head.

I kissed Gavin Lake.

I can barely believe I’d acted so boldly. But I hadn’t given it any thought. For once in my life, I’d let my instincts take over. The intimacy of him opening up like that, the way he trusted me by unabashedly letting me witness his pain, touched something deep inside me.

When he broke, my heart cracked wide open, and I let him seep inside that fracture.

Knowing my mother hadn’t been alone, had been comforted when she died, gave my soul peace.

So I’d done the only thing that came anywhere near what he’d given me.

I’d held him and tried to show him how much that meant to me.

It had been effortless, and it worked.

Although I’d been disgusted with myself for never considering the profound impact finding my dying mother had on him, he’d gone and made that okay, too.

When he told me that his act of kindness toward my mother got him here, with me, something exceptional happened. Those wonderful words revealed his soul stripped bare. He’d taken the most negative thing to ever happen in his life and turned it into something positive.

So, I’d kissed him. It just felt right . There had been nothing sexual about the kiss. That’s not what the moment was about at all. He’d given me a profound gift. How could words convey what that meant to me?

But I can’t keep lying to myself. It’s been brewing since he held me so tenderly in that caravan.

I’ve been trying to hide from it, trying to convince myself it’s nothing more than attraction.

But it is. He’s chipped away at my cold, closed heart, finally breaking it wide open tonight.

Now he’s slipped right in, filled it with warmth and melded it back together. With him captured inside.

There’s no doubt anymore. I’m in love with Gavin Lake.

Unsure where he is, I shutdown the laptop, stagger over to the couch, and flop against the soft leather. Trying to get that affidavit done while my emotions are a tangled mess is futile. I’m in desperate need of sleep after last night, and tomorrow there’s that awful annual work dinner.

I sigh, grab the TV remote and click it on for some background noise.

Getting comfortable on my back, I tuck a cushion under my head and close my eyes.

My traitorous brain instantly replays the kiss, but it doesn’t stop there.

I can’t help wondering what it would be like to kiss him in an altogether different way.

How would he taste? What would his lips and tongue feel like moving against mine?

And just like that, a coil of arousal blooms between my legs. From imagining a kiss.

Ugh. How long has it been since I’ve had an orgasm? I haven’t dared do any such thing while he’s been in the house. But before that? Jesus, has it been months? Seeking pleasure hadn’t been on my radar with Dad’s decline and Anika preparing to leave for the Police Academy.

Pushing those thoughts away, I fill my head with memories of cradling his face, at how surprisingly soft that neatly trimmed beard felt in my hands. How it would feel against my skin, wherever he might choose to place a kiss.

Hearing his footsteps approach, then pause beside the couch, I crack an eyelid and peer up at him through the bars of my lashes.

He stares at my feet for a long moment, before beginning a slow perusal up my bare calves.

When he lingers on my thighs, I remember I haven’t changed out of my work dress like I usually do when I get home.

From the trajectory of his gaze, I’d say my hem has ridden up to just shy of my crotch.

I should pull it down. But I don’t move. Warmth floods my veins, but my skin seems to have the opposite reaction. It prickles with goosebumps, tightening my nipples to rock-hard pebbles.

It only takes a moment for his eyes lock onto my chest. Peering through my barely cracked lids, I’m captivated by the growing bulge in his jeans. Heat pools between my thighs at the sight of his arousal, at what just looking at me is doing to him. And to me.

Before he catches me, I close my eyes and remain completely still.

“You awake?” he whispers.

“Mmm.” I blink up at him, careful to keep my focus on his face.

“Mind if I watch something?” he asks, pointing to the remote in my hand.

After I pass it to him, he turns and looks at my feet. I instinctively bend my knees, making room for him as I ease the hem of my dress down to mid-thigh. He sits on the cushion my feet vacated and flicks through a few channels before settling on something.

Then, ever so casually, his hand lands on my foot and draws it onto his lap. I do nothing to stop him when he does the same with the other one.

He cups one foot and rests his other palm on my shin, his thumb ever-so-gently rubbing slow circles above my ankle. “So, what do you think your mother’s letter might say?”

“What we watched tonight is enough to think about for a while. I’ll just wait until Anika gets home to deal with what Mum had to say.”

His thumb pauses. “You still haven’t told her about your father … about me, have you?”

Our eyes meet as I tense beneath his hand. “She’ll know before she comes home. I promise.” Unable to bear the disappointment staring back at me, I rise onto my elbows in a weak attempt to escape. “I should get back to the affidavit.”

“No.”

“No?”

“There’s only one thing you need to do. And that’s relax,” he says firmly, his thumb grazing my skin again.

“Gavin, I should finish—”

“Actually,” he interrupts, squeezing my foot, “I don’t want you even thinking about that affidavit until next year.”

“But I want to get everything—”

“No. I catch you working on anything to do with me, I’m firing you.”

I feel like such a fraud. He’s making it way too easy to keep Pete’s promise without ever having to tell him I’m purposely delaying what he wants most in this world. After all, the longer it takes, the longer he’ll stay here.

“Fine,” I grumble.

With a satisfied smirk, he tilts his head. “Good. Now that’s settled, you need to unwind. Can I please help you with that?”

He thinks he’s getting everything his own way? “I don’t need—”

As he applies pressure to the bottom of my heel with his thumbs, he drags them into my arch and up to my toes.

“Oh, God …” I groan, letting my body drop back to the couch.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he says matter-of-factly.

Smug bastard.

My eyes flutter closed, and a sigh of pleasure escapes my throat as his fingers work their magic. “Deeper,” I murmur.

He digs into my arch, the pressure painfully delicious.

“Mmm … yessss … that’s it. Right there,” I groan. “Oh God, that feels so … good .”

“Quiet,” he orders.

My eyes snap open at his sudden sharpness.

His hands betray nothing, but the rapid rise and fall of his chest and flare of his nostrils tell a different story.

He’s worked up. A surge of heat burns my face and ignites between my legs as the reason for his abrupt command dawns on me.

My verbal reactions to his wonderful fingers sounded like …

well, I suppose what I imagine I might sound like during sex. Great sex.

“Just relax. Close your eyes, J.” That same thick raspiness I heard in his voice this morning turns my insides to mush.

As he begins working on my other foot, I do as he says, relinquishing all control. Literally putting myself in his hands.

He knows I’ve never been touched like this, and I’m sure he hasn’t touched anyone this way either. Damn, he’s a natural. I sigh, careful not to let it turn into a moan, even though that’s exactly what my throat wants to release.

As he alternates between my feet, working them from tired nubs to clouds of nothingness, I’m lulled into a deep state of relaxation.

Wait. Did he call me Jay?

Then those hands slide under my calves and begin kneading the tired muscles. My eyes spring open, my lips part, and my breath catches as I hold back the sounds wanting to escape my throat.

He won’t meet my gaze, his concentration firmly on my bare legs as his fingers glide and grip and knead, never venturing higher than my knees.

I close my eyes again, focusing on the sensation of his skin against mine, the way my body reacts to his touch.

Another wave of arousal floods to my core, turning my mind to dirty, carnal thoughts I’ve only ever fantasised about with a faceless man.

But now that man’s face is crystal clear.

I know if I move a millimetre, I’ll feel how wet I am, how ready my body is to take him.

His touch is turning me into an aching, flaming mess.

No wonder the one and only time I had sex was a disaster. My response back then had been fear, nerves and a hope that the physical pain would take me away from the hurt in my head and heart. And it had. For all of ten seconds.

This is something else entirely. That faceless man of my fantasies can get me worked up enough to orgasm when I need to relieve some stress, but it’s nothing like this. Instinctively, I know that this sort of craving can only lead to an orgasm that’ll leave me shattered and changed forever.

As if sensing my arousal, the pressure of his palms lightens as he reaches my ankles. When his fingers glide along the outside of my calves with a featherlight touch, my skin puckers with goosebumps, heightening every sensation.

I open my eyes and meet the same intense gaze I witnessed this morning.

Watching me, his sensuous touch rolls beneath my calves until he reaches the sensitive skin behind my knees. His progress stops there, but he continues caressing that velvety, delicate skin, driving me crazy.

My thighs tremble with need as I dig my fingers into the couch, trying to remember the me I know, the one who only acts rationally, who’s always in control. But I’m spiralling, losing all sense of who I am. Is it possible to embrace a new me? One who’s capable of fully letting go?