I watch him haul the heavy tool bag into the master bedroom, immediately tearing the cardboard box open and pulling out bed frame pieces.
His hands are broad. When I watch him lay the plank of wood out on the floor, I imagine how it would feel if he were to run those calloused palms over my body. Would the roughened skin feel good as it swept over me? Would his stubble scratch my chin if he leaned over to kiss me?
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can’t think like that. The man is just being nice, for once. I should accept his kindness and move on.
He’s not here because he likes me. He’s probably just here because his sister invited us over.
Whatever it is, I appreciate the help. We don’t speak much as we build the first bed frame. I hold the pieces as Benji tightens the screws. I can’t stop watching the thick ropes of muscle on his arms flex as he twists the screwdriver, the thumping in my heart growing louder.
Can he hear that?
When we put the slats down across the bed frame, I pinch my finger between two pieces of wood, dropping my side with a yelp. Benji’s beside me in an instant, turning my hand over between his.
Calloused. Strong. Rough.
I want to feel those hands everywhere.
My heart is racing. My mouth is dry. I stare at his chest, not daring to look up. My hand feels so small between his, and finally, with a shallow breath, I force myself to drag my gaze up to his.
“You okay?” he growls, the timbre of his voice rattling against my ribcage.
My chest constricts, making it hard to breathe. I nod. “Fine. Thanks.”
He drops my hand, and I miss it. I can feel exactly where his fingers brushed against mine, like he branded me with a single touch. My body screams for him, needing more, more, more.
I stand there, turmoil raging within me.
Sawyer would kill me. He’d never speak to me again if I acted on these desires.
So, life as normal, then?
I brush the thought away. Bad.
Benji clears his throat, nodding to the plastic-wrapped mattress. “Give me a hand with this,” he says before tearing the plastic open with his bare hands. I don’t even care that he’s ordering me around. A part of me likes it—a lot. More than I’d admit out loud.
My eyes are glued to his back. He’s sweating, and the thin fabric of his shirt clings to his ropey muscles. They flex as he moves, and my heart is beating like a maniac again.
Thumping against my ribcage. Banging. Wanting to be heard.
I do my best to ignore it.
Benji isn’t my friend. He’s not more than a friend, either. Yes, he’s attractive. Yes, it’s been a long time since a man has made me feel this way.
Alive.
Excited.
Wet.
But I take that feeling and stuff it into a tiny, locked box in the depths of my heart. Then, I sink it down to the bottom of the ocean and forget it exists.
Or at least, I try.
Benji lifts his eyes to mine, nodding to the mattress as it rests against the wall.
I move to help him, nearly tripping over my legs. My body isn’t cooperating. My mind is doing its best to sabotage me. My whole world is tilting on its axis, and the only thing I can see clearly is Benji.
His brawn. His strength. His undeniable, rough essence of man.
He’s everything my ex-boyfriends haven’t been. Rugged. Unaffected by me. Unimpressed by my last name.
But still, when he gazes at me from the other side of the mattress, his shoulders straining with the effort of carrying it, his eyes are hooded. They sweep over my body, lingering on my chest, my lips, my neck.
I like the way he looks at me.
We haul the mattress onto the bed frame, and I take a deep breath.
“One down, two to go.”
“You’re lucky I’m feeling charitable.” Benji’s blue eyes flash.
I meet his gaze. “I know.”
Benji’s eyes drop to my lips again. He stares at me from the other side of the bed, his gaze darkening. My body runs hot. Nipples pucker. Thighs clench.
Bad, bad, bad.
I break away from his gaze, rubbing my hand on the back of my neck as I walk toward the bedroom door. I can still feel the heat of his gaze on my skin, though, and I glance over my shoulder.
In his eyes, I don’t see the hatred that’s burned there since I met him. I don’t see the downturned lips and the fire-spitting gaze. I don’t feel venom burning against my skin with every word, and I don’t need to build a wall around myself to defend against his hostility.
In his expression, from all the way across the room, I see exactly the thing I’ve been trying to deny since the moment I laid eyes on him.
Desire.
Red-hot, unwavering, and completely inappropriate.
Clearing my throat, I turn away from Benji and move to Roman’s new room. I can sense Benji following me. His presence behind me only makes my body feel more alive. Every drop of blood in my veins is singing for him. Begging me to listen. Hoping I’ll turn around and act on my irresponsible, inappropriate lust.
When we enter the smaller room, it feels almost claustrophobic. Benji’s chest is right next to mine. His eyes are low.
The energy that surrounds us is dangerous, and I know I should fight it. I should turn my back to him or walk away—or even better, I should run.
Nothing good can come of this. I should listen to my brain and stick to my plan. Think of my family. Work on bringing my siblings back together again, then address my parents. Stitch the pieces of our lives back together again and try to mend the broken relationships. Be the adhesive that makes everything stick.
Stay away from the man
