Drive Me Wild - Melanie Harlow Page 0,25

the stairs, she turned around and faced me. “So? Are you going to?”

I stood close. Ridiculously close. So close I could smell her—vanilla and lemon—and she could probably smell me—sweat and motor oil.

“Am I going to what?” I asked, looking at her lips.

She licked them. “Listen to me.”

“Oh. Yeah. I am.” But at that moment, I was pretty sure I was going to do something else to her too.

Suddenly she stepped back. “Good,” she said, her cheeks flushed pink. “On second thought, I think I’ll wait outside. I’m a little warm, and there’s a nice breeze.”

“Okay. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Nodding, she turned and descended the stairs so slowly, I wondered if she was dizzy. I watched her hand sliding along the wooden rail, thinking dirty thoughts.

On the landing, she pushed the door open and disappeared from view, but I still couldn’t breathe right.

What would she have done if I’d put my mouth on hers like I’d wanted to just now? Would she have kissed me back? Would she have welcomed my hands on her skin? Or would she have kneed me in the balls and told me to keep my filthy fingers to myself?

She wasn’t like any other girl I’d ever met, which was both the problem and the allure. I didn’t know how to read her.

But damn, I wanted her something fierce.

I took an ice cold shower, hoping it would help.

It didn’t.

Six

Blair

I pushed the door open at the bottom of the stairs, thankful for the soft breeze that cooled my skin. Griffin had a way of making me feel hot and bothered just by standing next to me.

Was I imagining the flicker of interest in his eyes? The chemistry between us? The way it sometimes felt like he was fighting the urge to put his hands or his mouth on me? I sighed, dropping onto a wrought-iron bench on the sidewalk and slipping my sunglasses on. It had to be in my head.

If he wanted to kiss me, he would have done it a minute ago. Our lips had only been inches apart. But he hadn’t, and I’d felt stupid standing there waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.

To distract myself, I looked at my phone and saw I had new messages from my mother demanding to know where on earth I’d run off to and when I was coming home, peppered with words like childish, tantrum, absurd, and unsafe. Too angry to write her back yet, I stuck my phone in my purse again and took some deep breaths.

Griffin came out a minute later. “Hey. Ready to go?”

“Yes.” I got up and followed him around the back of the garage to the alley, where a white pickup truck was parked. He opened the passenger door for me, closing it once I’d hopped in.

While he walked around to the driver’s side, I looked around the front and back seats. The truck was as nice as his apartment inside—the beige leather interior was perfectly clean, the dash was free of dust, and no trash littered the floor mats. It even smelled good.

So did the driver himself. I caught a whiff of cologne as Griffin slid behind the wheel, and I kind of wanted to bury my face in his neck. He looked so cute all cleaned up, with his damp hair, dark jeans, and fitted black T-shirt.

But he was frowning again as he checked his phone. “Fuck.”

“What?”

“My sister,” he said. “She said she couldn’t wait any longer at the shelter and she had to bring the kitten home. Which was against the rules, so she’s making me feel even shittier about it.”

“So can’t you pick it up from her house?”

“I can, but we’ll have to deal with my mother.”

“Is she that bad?”

“She’s just . . . intense.”

“I can handle it.”

He gave me a disbelieving side-eye.

“Listen, my major was French, but I should have a PhD in grace under pressure. I can handle anybody.”

He laughed a little. “You probably can. And I guess we can use the opportunity to ask her if she knows anyone renting a room in town.”

“That would be great.” I reached over and laid my hand on his forearm. It was warm beneath my palm. “Thank you.”

His eyes dropped to my fingers against his skin and stayed there so long I grew self-conscious and took my hand back. Maybe he didn’t like to be touched?

He started the truck without another word.

On the ten-minute drive to his mom’s house, he remained silent except when

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