Page 26 of Over the Limit

“Whatever I was, I rocked that damn tutu,” he says with a definitive nod of his head and a chuckle. It’s low and unassuming but damn if it doesn’t wreak the best kind of havoc on my nerves.

A yawn pulls at my mouth and sleep calls to the far recesses of my mind. A subtle reminder that I’m ignoring how long we’ve been out here, talking, getting to know each other, sharing silly stories that I honestly can’t remember the last time I told someone.

But nothing puts the time lost into perspective until I look over Lachlan’s shoulder and see Paolo talking to the front desk clerk.

Awareness hits me as I glance to the windows on the far side of the hotel and see daylight.

“Lach.” I gasp his name out as I grab my phone. “It’s six-thirty.”

“No fucking way . . .” But then he looks toward the lobby and sees a crew member dressed in an Apex polo shirt and his eyes go wide. And then he throws his head back and laughs in a way that has the panic that suddenly hit me abate into curiosity.

“What?” I ask.

“I can’t remember the last time I stayed up all night and just talked.”

“Me neither.”

“It was nice.”

“More than nice,” I say.

His smile softens much like his eyes do as he stands and extends a hand to me to help me stand. I stare at it for a beat, almost as if I know that taking it will start the ball rolling on something I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.

But that’s a shit thought.

We’ve done nothing wrong here tonight other than talk and get to know each other. There was no blatant flirting, no particulars given of Rossi’s and my relationship or of his own dating situation. It was just plain, old-fashioned communication. The kind where our cell phones were on do not disturb and face down on the table between us. Where I know I remembered odd things about my life and had no problem sharing them with him. Where we laughed at each other and with each other.

And even long after the warmth of the champagne wore off, there was zero expectation of anything more than talking.

I think that’s why I reach out and grab his hand. Why I let him help me up from my seat. And why when we’re face-to-face, a few inches apart, does a thought cross my mind that I immediately chastise myself for.

Kiss me.

It’s there and I can’t erase it. I’d never act on it though. Because of Rossi. Because of my job. Because . . . just because that’s not who I am.

And yet it’s there and I know for a fact he’s thinking it too. He has to be by the way his eyes keep flickering down to my lips and then back up. By the bob of his Adam’s apple and the lick of his tongue to wet his bottom lip.

“Blair,” he murmurs as he takes half a step closer and reaches out to tuck my hair behind my ear. I freeze at his touch. At the way his fingers curl around the shell of my ear. The way they trail down the curve of my neck. At how his hand rests there and his thumb reaches over to brush against my bottom lip.

It’s the briefest damn moment before he jolts back like I’ve shocked him.

Before I realize how damn much I’m affected by his touch. Or that Paolo and who knows who else could be watching us.

“I’m sorry.” Lachlan shakes his head and takes another step back. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m tired. I’m—”

“It’s fine. It was nothing. Just . . . tired.” I struggle to get the words out around the guilt I feel and the desire simmering just beneath it.

A ghost of a lopsided smile paints his lips. “I have a confession,” he murmurs like we have all the time in the world. Like members from both of our teams won’t be trickling down soon and see us standing like this in the same clothes we were in last night.

“What?” I barely whisper.

“My plants? People help me take care of them. Keeping something alive is much harder than you think.”

“And yet you keep yourself alive every time you go around that track.”

“With the help of others.”

I give the slightest of shrugs, our eyes still locked. “Both are impressive.”