Page 61 of Married in Michigan

An unexpected admission, from him. Oddly vulnerable for someone so obviously used to being in control, in command, taking what he wants and never thinking of the consequences.

“What to do next?” I breathe.

“With you.” He pauses. “With…us.”

“Us.”

“I’m trying to figure you out. What you want, what you don’t want.”

I sniff a laugh. “Yeah, well, makes two of us.”

He scrubs his stubble. “I guess that explains it.”

“I’m not playing games or intentionally trying to be confusing.”

“I know.”

“This is just…new. And confusing.”

“I know.”

I lick my lips. Alcohol-loosened lips let slip truths: “I’m trying to figure you out, too.”

“What is there to figure out?” he asks.

“You.”

He smirks. “I’m not hard to figure out.”

“Yes you are.”

“No, I’m not.” He sidles closer. “I’ve got nothing to hide, Makayla. My shit is all out in the open. Wanna know something? Ask. You may not always like the answer, but you’ll always get the truth.”

“So what is it you want from me?”

Closer. Until I have to tilt my head back to look up into his golden-brown lion’s eyes. Until my chest brushes his. “Everything.”

I gulp, swallow a lump of air and nerves past a dry throat. “What’s that mean?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not a tell you thing, that’s a show you thing.”

“I saw you. Some of you. In the hotel. Before you were awake. I saw…it. Not all of it, but enough.” I don’t have a single damn clue why the hell I’m saying this.

He doesn’t quite smirk, but it’s clear he’s holding it back, and only just barely. “Autonomic physiological response.” He does grin, this time, and it’s wolfish, mischievous. “Then, it was. Right now, not so much.”

I can’t help looking down at his zipper—something is happening, that’s for damn sure. “I haven’t done anything. We haven’t, I mean. I’m not even sure this counts as flirting.”

He nods seriously. “Exactly.” He presses closer, and now my breasts are flattened against the hard anvil of his chest, and his hips bump mine. “That’s the trouble with you, Makayla. You don’t have todoanything to get me hard as a fucking rock. You existing at all, you being within twenty fucking feet of me does it to me.”

I feel my body responding, and I step back from him. Thighs press together. Heat gathers low. Pulse thunders. Nipples harden—and this last one is obvious. And you can be damn sure Paxton sees it.

“I think I have a similar effect on you,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on my all-too-apparent headlights.

Even through the bra and the camisole, my nipples are prominent, and hard. It’s a fact of life for me, and part of the reason I wear sports bras so much—I get tired of the attention, and I can’t help my physiological response to temperature and whatever else makes my nipples hard. Which, to be honest, is a mystery to me. A strong wind blows, and my nipples stick out. See a hot guy on the street, think a dirty thought? Headlights. It’s so annoying. And right now, I’m turned on like crazy, and that’s making my nipples stand as tall and hard as cell towers.

He reaches out, and I flinch, but he only gathers a long curling wisp of flyway hair and twists it around his index finger. “Are you sober, Makayla?”

I stare up at him. At his lips. Wondering what he tastes like. “I…yes. Mostly.”