Page 57 of Twisted Temptation

I can’t hear anything, but I feel him.

Oh God, get a grip.

I head toward my room with my glass of water but walk smack into a half-naked wall of muscle.

I freeze.

He freezes.

We stand in the dark kitchen with our bodies mere inches from each other, and neither of us moves.

He’s dressed in nothing but boxer shorts that cling to his body and do nothing to hide his size.

"I’m sorry if I woke you. I just wanted a drink of water," I say, looking up at him.

One half of his face is lit by the moonlight, the other half swallowed by shadow, and the effect is devastating.

My mouth goes dry.

I nervously lick my lips, and his gaze drops to them.

The movement is so slight that I could almost convince myself I imagined it.

My heart gives a hard, painful beat.

Neither of us moves.

I can feel his warmth against me now. I can smell him. I’m suddenly conscious of my own breathing, of how shallow it has become, and I wonder if he can hear the frantic rhythm of my heart.

His eyes lift to mine again.

Something in that look makes every thought in my head scatter.

It feels as though his mouth is already on mine, even though inches of darkness separate us.

I want to close them.

The thought arrives so quickly and so intensely that it frightens me.

I want to close those inches.

I want him to do it.

I want...

He raises his hand.

My breath catches.

His fingers brush a strand of hair from my face and tuck it gently behind my ear. The tenderness of the gesture affects me more than it should. I go completely still beneath his touch, afraid that even the slightest movement will break whatever this is between us.

His fingertips linger against my skin. I feel their warmth long after he moves them, trailing slowly along the side of my neck.

A shiver travels through me.

His touch is barely there, but every nerve in my body seems to have gathered beneath his fingers.

His gaze drops to my mouth again.