Page 583 of Summer Heat
His eyes close and after a moment’s hesitation, he turns into my touch. His warm lips press to the inside of my wrist and I feel a shockwave of tingling pleasure explode outward from the point of contact through my entire body.
My heart starts pounding wild in my chest as I timidly rise up on my tiptoes so I can slide my hands through his hair. Slowly, clumsily. I’ve never done this before, any of it, but he doesn’t seem put-off by my ineptitude.
Still, I can’t seem to take that last bold step…
Luckily, he takes it for me.
Our lips finally meet and it’s like I’m touching a live wire.
His hands flex into my hips, bringing me even closer to him as his tongue strokes the seam of my lips. The moment I give in to the sexy new sensation and part my lips for him, his tongue sweeps into my mouth, just once. Before he groans and tears himself away.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
“I need to,” he grates out, sounding torn, like a trapped animal struggling against his restraints. “I need to stop now or I won’t be stopping until I’m inside you, until you’re taking every last inch of me.”
He drops that bomb and stares at me, his eyes stormy, his jaw clenched tight.
I don’t know what to say. I’m sure there’s an appropriately sexy response to his admission that would show him how much I want him to do exactly that, but I’m out of my depths here. So, I simply go with, “Okay.”
A sad smile hits his lips. “Not okay. This…can’t happen.”
Oh, god. I feel my embarrassment burning hot across my cheeks. I practically threw myself at the man. And he’s turning me down.
I start to untangle myself from him.
“Summer, you have to know that I want you. With every fiber of my being. But we can’t do this. You and I…”
I do what he did to me the other morning and cover his mouth. I don’t want to hear the end of that sentence. I don’t want to be told how different we are. I already know. Probably more than he does. Me with a billionaire? With my past?
I pull out of his grasp fully and straighten my shirt. It takes me a second, but I manage to get my head on straight again. “Thank you for letting me come over and talk through my concerns with you,” I say, heading to the door.
He follows me. “Summer…”
I open the door and step into the hallway, my tone as business-like as I can make it. “I’ll see you at work on Monday, boss. And I’ll try not to bother you when you’re sleeping anymore.”
9
| SUMMER |
TUESDAY
(Time: 3:01 a.m.)
I’m exhausted.
Bone-deep, soul half-asleep tired.
And it’s all Jason freaking Steele’s fault.
The man went from avoiding me for most of last week to showing up seemingly everywhere I turned after our little kiss fiasco.
It started early Saturday evening when he came knocking on my apartment door. Routine landlord inspection, he’d called it. Which—he’d added when I’d tried to slip out and leave him to it—the tenant needed to be present for while he was in the unit.
He had a clipboard and everything.
So, I stayed. And for the next hour, he made me stay by his side while he checked the vents, the locks on the windows, the paint on the ceilings, even the frickin’ caulking on the baseboards. A whole hour I stood by as he treated me with kid gloves, shooting concerned glances my way whenever he thought I wasn’t looking, talking all gentle-like instead of in his usual voice.
It drove me up the wall.
