My Cone and Only (King Family #1) - Susannah Nix Page 0,36

whole face with kisses. I might even have done it, if he hadn’t pulled away from me the last time I’d hugged him.

Enthusiastic hugs and sisterly cheek kisses had always been our norm. But lately I’d had the sense he wasn’t as comfortable with our displays of friendly affection as he used to be. And I wasn’t sure why. What had changed for him? Was it me? Or him? Either way, I didn’t want to make him more uncomfortable than I already had—especially after I’d just accidentally flashed him my tits.

So instead of hugging him like I wanted to, I stood there awkwardly clutching my robe closed. Without an easy outlet for the deluge of emotions swamping me, I felt jittery and unsteady. My breath hitched as I tried to think of something to say, but nothing seemed adequate to express how touched and overcome I was by this incredible favor he was doing me.

“You okay?” He arched an eyebrow, cocking his head so his hair spilled into his face.

I nodded and cleared my throat, trying not to cry in front of him. I hated crying, but I really hated doing it in front of people. “I’m just trying to think of a way to say thank you.”

He reached up to rake his hair back as he gave me a searching once-over. His concerned scrutiny made me more self-conscious than stripping off my bikini top ever had, and my eyes dropped to the floor as I fought the urge to hide under the coffee table.

Before I could embarrass myself by bear-crawling to the nearest piece of furniture, Wyatt set his clipboard down and folded me into a hug. I stiffened as his arms wrapped me up, but the familiar comfort of his body proved too strong to resist. I let myself relax into his embrace and slid my arms around his waist.

Instead of pulling away as I’d half feared he would, he held me even tighter, fitting my body against his. “You don’t have to thank me.” He spoke into my hair, one of his hands skating down my back as the other cupped the back of my head. “We’re family.”

The sweetness of the sentiment might have succeeded in moving me to the tears I was trying to suppress, if I hadn’t been distracted by something else entirely.

The very un-familial erection that twitched against my stomach.

I stilled, my heart thudding into overdrive as we hovered there, our bodies pressed together, my face in his chest and his lips on my hair.

Slowly, Wyatt loosened his hold and untangled himself from me. Shuffling back a step, he rested his hands on my shoulders.

Don’t look down, I commanded my eyes. Do not attempt to look at the bulge in his jeans.

Only by summoning every ounce of my willpower was I able to keep my attention focused on Wyatt’s face. Which revealed absolutely nothing—no awareness or acknowledgement of what we both had just felt.

He has to know I felt that, right?

“It’s going to be okay,” he told me. “I told you I’d take care of this, and I will.” It took me longer than it should have to realize he was talking about the house and not what was happening in his pants.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Afraid that if I opened my mouth, I might just offer to take care of that pants situation for him.

But that would be bad. Now was not the time to go throwing myself at him. Not when he’d just showed up to save my bacon—and by bacon I meant my house, which he was quite literally saving singlehandedly. He might think I was offering myself as some kind of thank-you or payment, which was definitely not the impression I wanted to give.

One boner didn’t necessarily mean anything except that Wyatt was young and horny and his body parts had reacted involuntarily to my body parts. It wasn’t proof he wanted me.

It was an interesting piece of evidence, however. One I definitely needed to think on some more before I decided what, if anything, to do about it.

8

Wyatt

Is it possible to die of blue balls? If so, I was in big trouble.

The last week and a half had been both the best and the most frustrating of my life. The best part was getting to see Andie every day, usually in the morning before she left for work and again in the evening when she came home. The frustrating part was seeing so much of her