Page 47 of Harbor Me

The air in the workshop is cool against my wet skin and my nipples are hard. I don't cross my arms over them. I don’t want to hide.

Aiden hasn't moved from the door.

So I cross the floor.

My body makes the decision while my brain is still standing by the door composing a sensible sentence about towels.

My hands land on his chest. Wet cotton, hot skin underneath, his heart banging against my palm. He goes completely still.

"Don't." His voice is demolished.

"You've been ignoring me for days."

"There's a reason for that."

"Tell me the reason."

"You know the goddamn reason, Vanessa."

My hands are shaking. Everything about me is shaking. This is where I usually fall apart. Where my voice goes sideways, or I trip on something, or I say stupid things that sound like they belong in a pitch meeting, and I watch my credibility with this man leave the room.

Yet here I am, standing in front of him in my wet shirt that I may as well not be wearing, with my shaking hands and he's looking at me like I'm the most dangerous thing in this workshop. A man who has to duck through half the doorways in this town, who intimidates everyone he meets with his fierce scowl and imposing physique.

Staring at me wide-eyed.

"I don't want you to ignore me." It comes out smaller than I mean it to. "I don't want to pretend the dock didn't happen."

"It shouldn't have happened."

"But it did."

His hands come up and wrap around my wrists. Not pulling me off him. Holding me there. His thumbs press against my pulse points, and I know he can feel how fast it’s thrumming.

"You work for me," he says.

"I know."

"This can't-"

"I know that too." I flatten my palms against his chest and feel his breath stutter. "I know all of it. I don't care."

Something shifts behind his eyes. Something he's been holding in place since the dock, maybe even longer, cracking down the middle.

He kisses me.

I’ve been thinking the doorstep kiss was wild. The most intense I’ve ever had. Turns out the doorstep was careful, his hands in my hair had been holding back. This is his mouth on mine hard enough to push my head back, one hand on my jaw tipping my face up to him, the other at the small of my back hauling me in until there's nothing between us but wet clothes. I can feel every inch of his cock against my stomach, hard and insistent through his soaked jeans.

I make a sound that leaves no room for pretending. He swallows it. His tongue finds mine and I stop shaking and start burning.

He lifts me. Both hands under my thighs, no effort, and sets me on the workbench. The wood is cold through my wet jeans and I don't care. His hips are between my knees, and his mouth is still on mine and I wrap my legs around him and pull.

He groans against my lips. Low, rough, dragged up from somewhere he doesn't let people see.

"I can't think straight when you do that," he says into my mouth.

"Good. Stop thinking."

His hands find the top button of my shirt. He pops it open, then the second, then the third, slow, deliberate, spreading the wet cotton apart with both hands, and the air hits my bare skin while his eyes drop to my chest and his jaw goes tight.