His large hand cups my jaw and lifts my chin. I open my eyes, blinking dazedly at him. I wasn’t prepared for how his touch makes me feel. How I instantly crave more of it; want to lean into the warmth; to turn and trace his lifeline with my tongue. Tell him all the things I could discover just from reading his palm and looking into his eyes.
How can such a large hand feel so gentle, like it’s capable of treasuring, cherishing?
“Okay, Lotus,” he says, regret and reluctance woven around my name. “Simple. Friendship.”
He withdraws, and I want to seek it out again immediately. When I open my eyes, he’s pulling on the shirt I chose, buttoning it with quick, deft movements. I’m frozen to the spot, unable to look away from the intensity of his stare. He grabs the tie and extends it to me.
“What’s that for?” I ask dumbly.
“I suck at ties,” he says, his full lips quirking at the corners, some of his humor returning.
“Oh.”
I strain up to loop the tie behind his neck, and he bends so I can reach him more easily. He’s so much taller, and I feel like a flower growing along a great wall. Dwarfed. Sheltered. By sheer will, I keep my hands steady while I finish tying the tie. When I’m almost done, he leans forward until his nose aligns with mine and he breathes in.
“From one friend to another,” he says, his voice rough and husky, “you smell incredible.”
When he pulls back to look into my eyes again, we get hung up—caught in a net of longing. I don’t know this man and he doesn’t know me, but our bodies know. Our bodies already know, and it’s taking everything in me not to lean up and forward so our lips meet—so I can taste him again. Our breaths mingle. My hands curl into my palms with the effort required not to grab his jaw and take his mouth, make it mine. My heart clamors behind my ribs. The moment simmers with possibility.
“I could kiss you, Lo,” he rasps. “But I won’t.”
His words snap whatever thread linked us, and I step back, clearing my throat and fixing my face.
“Good,” I say, rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Because we did say a simple friendship, and that would complicate matters too much.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” he says.
“I don’t make deals with men I don’t know.” I even my voice out until it’s almost normal.
He pauses, a slight smile hitting his lips before he goes on. “Okay, I’ll make you a promise.”
“Promises mean nothing from men I don’t trust,” I say with a shrug. “And men I don’t know, I don’t trust.”
“Okay, I’ll make a prediction.” He lifts both brows and waits for my objection.
“Go on,” I say with a nod.
“I predict we will kiss again,” he says, and my wide eyes zip to his face. “But only when you want it. The next time we kiss, you’ll make it happen.”