face had me freezing in place, my pulse pounding, liquid pooling between my thighs.
My gaze dropped to the erection pressing against the denim of his jeans, the hard length I could see outlined as it lay on top of one powerful thigh.
I licked my lips.
I couldn’t help it, not when it had been so long since I’d been with someone besides my vibrator, not when I’d wanted Garret from the moment I had first laid eyes on him, not when I’d been trying to ignore the draw for just as long, not when—
He was staring at me just as intently.
Heat on his face and in his eyes, jaw tight, breaths coming in short, rapid exhalations.
Fuck, I didn’t think I’d ever wanted anyone more.
But—
I didn’t even get to finish the thought because he shot to his feet.
But instead of coming toward me, yanking me against his chest, and pressing his mouth to mine, he spun away and stalked down the space separating the artists’ workstations, disappearing into the back.
I stood in his station for a few seconds, debating whether to follow him or if I should give him the space he so clearly wanted.
Except . . . I didn’t want to leave.
Except . . . he hadn’t told me to go.
Enough.
No more thinking.
I followed him.
Garret had his back to me, his gloves discarded somewhere along the way, his bare hands resting on the counter of the newly installed vanity cabinet.
I watched him silently for a few moments, his rib cage expanding and falling against the tight fabric of his T-shirt, head hanging, fingers clenching and unclenching, before I moved forward and rested my hand on his back.
His head shot up, eyes meeting mine in the mirror.
We stayed frozen like that for a long moment, both waiting, both sizing each other up, both perched on the edge of a precipice waiting to see which side we fell over.
Or maybe that was just me.
Because then Garret turned, knocking my hand from his back, arms coming up, and yanking me against his chest. One moment I was by myself, a solitary creature who’d been pushing beyond my fears to reach out and the next I was enveloped, pulled close and cradled tightly, fully encased in a set of arms that didn’t belong to me, but still felt like they could be mine.
God, I’d missed this.
Being held, touching another person.
“Last chance, baby,” he murmured, arms banding tightly around my middle.
I rose on tiptoe. “Just kiss me already.”
He grinned and his mouth dropped to mine.
Fuck. It was everything I’d imagined over the last week—soft lips, firm pressure, and heat. So much fucking heat. His tongue slipped out, flicking against my mouth, and I didn’t hesitate in opening, allowing him in.
One hand slid up my spine, tugging out the elastics securing my pigtails, then weaving his fingers into my hair, tilting my head back, arching my spine so he could kiss me harder, deeper. Then his mouth was slipping from mine, drifting down my throat, nipping at my collarbone, nuzzling into my throat, inhaling deeply.
“Works all fucking day and still smells like pineapple,” he growled.
I shivered, my hands slipping under the hem of his T-shirt, wanting to stroke that bare skin I’d seen that morning.
Garret released me.
“Wh—” I didn’t get to finish the protest because he’d already shucked his shirt and then pulled me back into his arms by the time the words even began to form.
Then he was kissing me again, and I forgot about everything except how good his lips felt against mine, his tongue dancing into my mouth and then away, coaxing mine to tangle with his. I thought of nothing except how incredible his hot skin felt under my palms, how safe I felt cradled against his hard chest, how perfect this moment felt.
He lifted me, plunking my ass on the counter and tugging my shirt over my head, tossing it over his shoulder. “Okay?” he rasped against my shoulder, lips dropping there, tongue tracing down my arm, carefully avoiding the tattoo. “Not hurting you, am I?”
Since that was about the last thing I’d been thinking, I laughed . . . and yanked his head back up to mine.
But when we broke apart for air, Garret stopped me from reaching for him again. “Hang on,” he said when my face fell. He left me on the counter and reached for the cabinet on the back wall, pulling out a large white square and a roll of wrap. “Your sweat, fine,” he murmured, dropping