Guarding Temptation - Talia Hibbert Page 0,17

fun. We will have fun.”

His expression softened into familiar exasperation. “Alright, Cupcake,” he snorted. “Keep your hair on.”

Brattiness always worked with James. Perhaps she should try pouting a little the next time she caught him with his dick out, and he might touch her or kiss her or say her name or—

No, no, no. There would not be a next time, because she had made the mature and adult decision to practice the fine art of staying her arse in bed for as long as she lived under James’s roof. The other night had been…

Well.

But it couldn’t be repeated.

Her heart was about as bruised as her pussy was satisfied. Because she couldn’t forget that James didn’t really want her—not properly. Not in the daylight, not in his right mind. There was no use letting that fact sting. She just had to be a grownup about it and stop leaning into the blade.

But damn, he made it so hard.

James was biting his lower lip in concentration as he strode—yes, strode, with impressive balance—onto the springy platform, his expression as suspicious as his steps were aggressive.

“I don’t think you can dominate the trampoline, James,” she called over the sound of her own tentative bounces.

He looked up at her, dark eyes gleaming as he arched a wicked eyebrow. “Can’t I?”

And God, that gravel voice and that solid jaw, and his shirt sleeves rolled up to expose those thick, tattooed forearms of his… She was dizzy. She was absolutely dizzy. She moved forward, everything about him hooking into her and dragging her closer. He was so goddamn sweet, this man, doing whatever it took to calm and entertain her. Ever since they’d discovered that the address shared as Nina’s… wasn’t, she’d wondered if his protection might disappear—or, at best, fade away. Clearly, she wasn’t in as much danger as they’d worried. But she was still anxious as hell—and without her ever saying so, James had done all it took to support her and keep her steady.

Maybe that was why he’d let them cross the line again, last night. Maybe he could tell she needed it. After all, James was protective enough to take his look after Nina mission really, really far.

She should probably be upset by that idea—that they’d essentially had pity sex. Or therapy sex. Or something like that. But whenever she thought about it, all she could focus on was how horrifically hot he’d looked: sprawled naked on that sofa like a huge, lusty god, his cock thick and near purple in his hand.

He was just as handsome now, too, even fully clothed. Watching her with a fading smile, awareness creeping into his gaze, resistance written in the curl of his fists and the regretful curve of his mouth.

Ah, that mouth. Gorgeous and infuriatingly responsible and so determined to reject her.

“Nina,” he said softly as she approached.

She didn’t need him to finish that sentence. Nina, don’t.

Shoving her clearly unwanted feelings away, she pasted on a smile—as if she could will away this electric tension by wanting it enough. James certainly seemed to think that was possible. “Alright. Time to stop stalling. Let’s do this,” she said, and then she bounced as hard as she possibly could.

Big mistake.

Nina wasn’t blessed in the boob department—hers could best be described as modest. But it became instantly clear that her everyday T-shirt bra wasn’t sturdy enough for the Tits on Tour: Bounce Nation Edition.

Her huge bounce resulted in an earthquake-level boob rebound that practically slapped her in the face. She yelped with more embarrassment than actual pain, grabbed the girls with both hands, then swung stricken eyes to James.

Who was doubled over with laughter, his section of trampoline shaking beneath him.

Just like that, Nina found herself grinning. She was giggling along, actually, even as she gasped with mock outrage, “Are you laughing at my pain, sir?”

This only made James’s laughter worse. In fact, for a moment, she was slightly worried he might be having some sort of fit. “Jesus Christ, Nina,” he finally said. “You looked so fucking surprised, anyone would think you’d just borrowed that chest for the weekend.”

“I didn’t think!” she protested.

“Clearly!”

“Stop laughing. For all you know, I’m suffering with frightful boob bruising as we speak.”

Predictably, James’s laughter dissolved into a concerned frown. He looked her up and down as if his eyeballs were capable of MRI scans. “Well, are you?”

“No,” she admitted, “but I think I’ll have to, er, hold on to these if I’m going to have any fun today.” She gave