Enamor (Hearts of Stone #3) (16 page)

I take in the details of my surroundings in silence as Giles sets up the pool table. The only sounds in the room are the distant noises of the pool party happening above us. There are some people inside the house as well, their footsteps sounding from down the hall. Somewhere nearby a door closes, but the one to this room remains open.

I walk over to the rack of cue sticks and grab one, testing it out in my hand. It's been a while since I've played pool. After grabbing a second stick, I turn to hand it to Giles and the sight of him sitting on the edge of the pool table, watching me, catches me off guard.

He's still shirtless, wearing a pair of red swim trunks that fit him too well. I'm used to seeing him this way. He's always shirtless around the house. I've pretty much memorized every inch of his upper body. It's hard not to, when he's all compact and lean muscles under smooth skin.
 

I know he can't see himself. I know he didn't plan for the room's lighting to hit him in just the right way, casting shadows in the hollows of his shoulders, biceps, and abs, accentuating his build. He's set in a spotlight of sorts, which allows glints of the copper tones in his hair to make his eyes glow as if they're lit from within.

Damn it.

I stare for too long, but he pretends not to notice and reaches for the second cue stick in my hand.

"Ladies first." He gestures to the table behind him.

I pass him and, reaching the pool table, I rest my forearms on the edge of it. With careful aim, I lunge my cue stick forward and send the cue ball crashing through, balls scurrying in all directions, three finding their pockets.

"Impressive," he says, from somewhere behind me, though I could've sworn he was off to my left just seconds earlier. "You landed two solids. Looks like I'm stripes."

I move around to find my next target and as I lean forward to make a strike, a hand lays on the table, centimeters from my waist. The surprise makes me miss my shot, and though I hit the cue ball, it jerks forward only an inch or two.

My skin prickles with awareness as I turn to face Giles. He's standing right there, face barely six inches from mine. So close I swear he's about to kiss me. My breath gets trapped in my chest and I'm not sure if I'd stop him.

"Can I tell you something without you getting offended?" he asks, voice just loud enough to reach me.

I don't understand how he could say anything that could offend me when he's standing so close with that look in his eyes. But I swallow, and say, "Yeah."

His gaze moves down my face, to the space between us, to my body, and I hope he doesn't notice I'm breathing just a little harder than before.

"You have the most beautiful body I've ever seen."

He looks and sounds so genuine that I couldn't make a joke if I wanted to. Lost for words, I bring my lower lip in between my teeth. And now he's looking right at my mouth.
 

My head spins. The air is just so thick all of a sudden and my thoughts are too fast and too slow at the same time.

"Thanks," I say, looking down at the way his arm stretches out beside me, his grip closing over the edge of the table. If he set his other arm the same way, I'd be trapped between them.
 

And I realize I'd like that, a lot.

But he doesn't cage me in. Instead, he brings his hand up to my face and runs a finger over the edge of my forehead, collecting my hair and tucking it behind my ear. He's never touched me before. His fingertips grazing my face make my heartbeat go off rhythm.

 
"I came here for a reason," he says under his breath, almost to himself, "and now I can't remember what that reason was."

I feel the same way. My cue stick is still in my hand, the only reminder we came here to play pool, but suddenly the thought of that game isn't as enticing as standing here so close to him. His hand lowers from my face to my arm, caressing my skin along the way, triggering trickles of sensations that spread across me. His touch is foreign and yet strangely familiar, as though my body has imagined this moment even while my mind has refused to consider it.

"I get the weird feeling you're hiding your body," he says. "That you don't feel comfortable in your skin but…"

"But what?"

He shakes his head. "But I've seen your body, Julia. And I swear, I can't stop thinking about how it'd feel under mine."

Oh my God.
 

Did he just say that? The room warms ten degrees in an instant.

"Giles…" I trail off, unsure of what I want to say.
 

Stop talking. Keep going. Touch me.

My thoughts are turning me in a dozen directions, making it hard for me to know for sure what to say, what to do. My eyes are on his lips, despite not wanting him to spy just how badly his touch and proximity affect me.

"I keep wondering if the curiosity is mutual," he says, hopeful.

"I can't say I haven't thought about it," I hear myself respond in a voice I barely recognize.

I've never seen this look in his eyes. It's like he's been pulled under a spell, lids lowering, words slow. His hand comes up again and he brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, pulling it slightly down. I let him.
 

Desire, hot and thick, spreads wider across his face with each passing second.

"And this mouth? I think about it a lot, too. What it would taste like…what it would feel like..."

My lips part farther as I exhale in surprise.
 

Is this happening? I wait for the inkling to pull away from him, to stop this before it goes further. But no part of me wants this to stop. The heaviness between my legs makes every other thought in my mind seem so small and trivial. And Giles? I bet he's anything but.

He brings his face closer and I've resigned to let him kiss me. But instead, he leans into my neck, just behind my ear, and presses his lips there. I close my eyes, unprepared for the way my nerve endings go wild.

"Do you like this?" he asks, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin he just kissed.

I don't think. I just nod. Because I'm breathing him in and he smells like sun and salt and things that would melt on my tongue. He's never come at me this way, so direct. And I find I have no weapons in my defense. Every inch of my body surrendering in turn to the idea of letting him touch me.
 

He continues to lay kisses along my neck, leaving behind an ache that grows increasingly hard to ignore. His fingers play with the end of my shirt, hiking it up to reveal the top of my shorts as his hand slides under my shirt and across the skin of my back, holding me.
 

His other hand moves up my side, fingers grazing the lower edge of my bra before heading down again. Between his touch and his kisses on my neck, I can't take how desperately I want him. The sparks of energy shooting through make it difficult to stand.

He unbuttons my shorts and cool air brushes my lower abs as my underwear becomes visible. I should feel exposed, vulnerable, but he's holding me close to him, with just enough room for his rough, warm hand to flatten against the exposed skin of my lower stomach and slide downward, over my shorts and between my legs. His palm hooks there, holding me firmly. The delicious pressure from his hand makes me bite down hard on my lip.

"Fuck," he whispers, resting his forehead against mine. His eyes are closed but his expression is strained and tortured. "Please," he says in a tone I've never heard from him before, a feral sound that tugs between my thighs. "Tell me what gets you off and I swear to God I'll do it. I'll give it to you in ways you never knew you wanted. I'll reach you in places no one else will. You'll scream things you never knew you could."

He says these things as his palm strokes me over my shorts and I can't stop the moan that escapes my lips, can't help but tilt my hips forward in invitation. The thought of where this could lead no longer fazes me. All I know is how badly I'm aching, how strong the burn is.
 

"Please," I murmur, "don't stop. I want this so bad."

He freezes, like someone caught in a realization. My eyes open in time to see his lips come closer. I wait for his kiss, willing, but he stops a millimeter short and whispers, "I guess you're not immune, after all, sweetheart."

His tone is cocky and triumphant. My stomach plummets and I'm instantly nauseous. I've turned to ice from the inside. The word he just used crawls over my skin.
 

I push against his chest, trying to shove him away. He doesn't yield right away, not realizing what I'm doing until I say, "Get the fuck off of me."

He staggers backward a few feet and as he takes in my expression, his own fills with a guilt that confirms my suspicion.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Giles

S
HE
BUTTONS
HER
PANTS
in an almost panicked frenzy.
 

"Is this the final trick in your hat?" she asks, a low tremble betraying her defiant tone. Her eyes, they're glassy and…shit. I didn't expect this to go so damn far.

"Answer me," she demands. "Is this your prank?"

"I shouldn't have said that," I say, my voice the softest I've ever dared to make it. "I didn't mean it to sound like that—"

"Answer my question," she says through clenched teeth, pulling her shirt down over her shorts.

"It started out that way," I confess. "But I didn't plan for it to go this far—"

"You fucking asshole," she whispers.

Would she believe me if I told her I stopped thinking about the prank the second I touched her face? The look in her eyes tells me she won't. I waver too long to respond, which she must take as further evidence of my guilt because she says, "Fuck you, Giles." But her typical bark is gone.
 

She looks embarrassed, so embarrassed I want to look away.
 

Goddamnit. I run a hand over my face, not knowing how I could've been so recklessly stupid to think even a kiss could be part of some prank. This did start off as a way to get her to admit she wanted me, but it ended up making me realize how badly I want
her
. I always knew to some extent, I've lusted after her since seeing her naked.
 

But I didn't think feeling her skin melt between my fingers would bring me to my knees. She was offering herself to me and all I had to do was keep my goddamn mouth shut. My ego couldn't resist those words. Couldn't resist gloating at her plea, something I'd wanted to hear for a long time. I hadn't thought of the prank again until that very second. But I didn't anticipate the hurt in her eyes, the betrayal. The stripped embarrassment.
 

I try to come close to her again, but she pushes me back, harder than ever. For a second we just stare at each other.
 

She throws the cue stick at me, hard. I catch it and fling it aside, grateful that at least she didn't lunge at me with it. She tries to walk past me but I step in front of her.
 

"Just listen for a second."
 

"Move out of my way or I'm going to kick your nuts into your fucking throat."

Her cheeks are still pink from when I was touching her, but her eyes? They're dark with anger. I've never seen her this angry and it's not something I ever want to see again. I don't try to stop her again when she pushes by me. She stops at the door and shoots me a disgusted look.
 

"Guys like you? You don't just want sex. You want power. You want a woman stripped and used. All of this womanizing, God's-gift-to-women bullshit? I've been there before and I'm sure as hell not going to let another—" She cuts off sharply and her expression falls a fraction before she recovers, smoothing the end of her shirt and bringing her posture up like someone erecting their self-esteem from the floor.

There's something about her hesitation right when she cut off, the sliver of self-consciousness that fell over her, that makes regret squeeze my chest. For the first time since I met her, something reminiscent but just short of vulnerability cloaks over her. I want to convince her to stay, get her to talk to me a little longer. Really, talk. But instead, I let her go out of the door without another word.