Hold Me Close - Talia Hibbert Page 0,27

so moody.”

Ruth gasped. She turned, either to get the milk or argue with him. He already had the milk, was somehow standing before her, holding it out like bait. And she could tell from the gleam in his eyes that he wanted her to argue.

He arched a brow. Just one. It was something he did often, and it made her stomach flip every time. “Why do you look so outraged? Aren’t you the woman who threw me out for preferring Ayo over Okoye?”

“I didn’t throw you out,” she muttered.

“Okay.” His massive shoulders lifted. “Let’s say firmly invited me to leave.”

She bit her lip to hide a smile. “Whatever. Dinner was over anyway.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “If you say so.”

She rolled her eyes and picked up the mugs. He deftly took them from her and carried them into the living room, as if she wasn’t capable of handling it herself.

True, she usually spilled tea everywhere. But her balance would never get better if she didn’t practice.

Evan lowered the mugs onto her coffee table with irritating grace before sitting on the loveseat. Not for the first time, she wished she owned properly sized furniture. But when she’d bought these things, she hadn’t expected visitors.

He lounged against the plush, purple loveseat, his arm slung over the back, one ankle resting on his knee. Usually, he didn’t take up this much space. Or maybe she was just imagining things.

Wetting her lower lip slightly, Ruth sat.

“I enjoyed starting X-Men,” he said, and she relaxed. This was normal; this was their routine. It was just Evan, after all. She knew him, as much as you could know anyone after… how long had it been? Three weeks? Four? It felt like more than that. Could it be more than that?

She shook her head and focused on the conversation. Time didn’t matter, and neither did her rather inappropriate attraction. As long as she focused on X-Men, everything would be simple.

Everything was not simple.

Ruth didn’t know exactly when she transformed from a normal human being into an embarrassing jelly of desire. Maybe it started when he reached out, mid-conversation, to pull on a tuft of hair that had somehow escaped her braid.

He pretended not to notice the fact that she stumbled over her words, that she licked her lips a thousand times in the space of a minute. And she refrained from asking him what the fuck he was doing, because whatever it was, it sent a delicious streak of excitement through her, and she liked it.

Then he touched her again, casually, bumping his knee into hers. He’d never done that before. How many times had they sat together, just like this, and he’d never done that before? Enough, she thought.

And yet, tonight, his knee brushed hers repeatedly. And, as if something drew her toward him, Ruth did the same. She forgot to be careful about avoiding him, forgot to hold herself stiff and apart. And when she let go of that tightly-wound control, they came together like magnets. Until she regained her senses and pulled back.

Only, she kept forgetting to pull back.

By the time he swallowed the last sip of his tea, she was almost frantic. Could he see her tightening nipples through her clothes? It was times like this she wished she could wear a bra without wanting to be sick.

What if he noticed the stutter in her voice, the way her gaze lingered on his big hands, on the ink winding over his forearms?

What would he do if she knew that she was sitting next to him, barely listening to word he said, underwear soaking wet?

“I’ll get you some more tea,” she blurted out.

He looked surprised. “I don’t—”

“It’s fine. I want more too.” She stood quickly, practically leaping away from the warmth of his body. Then, with a tight smile, she reached down to take his mug. He stared up at her, a bemused expression on his face. But something heavy and molten burned in his eyes. It was something she’d only caught flashes of before, something that made her heart pound.

She wasn’t afraid of him. She should be, but she wasn’t. Strangely, it was her own fearlessness that scared the shit out of her.

As he passed her the mug, his fingers brushed over hers. A surge of electricity shot through her, dancing along her nerve endings, stoking the flames between her legs.

She whimpered.

His eyes flew to hers. “Ruth.”

She ignored him. As if nothing had happened, she picked up her own mug and turned to