“Try to look pissed off and we’ll get season passes or something,” Michael says with a pained grin.
I glance up at him. “Do you actually want season passes?”
But he doesn’t say anything. He’s just watching as I undo his boots and slip them off, one after the other. Something shimmers in his eyes, and I can’t help but wonder if he likes having me down here, on my knees in front of him. I’m not going to say I mind it, although I’d prefer that we weren’t surrounded by throngs of tourists and that it wasn’t freezing. No, I’d rather we were indoors, with Michael reclining on a huge bed, and instead of a winter coat I’d be wearing a lacy—
“Okay!” Barnaby appears again, wrenching me from my daydream. Probably just as well.
We grab our shoes, following after him. He leads us inside to the underground concourse and over to a door marked “staff.” We head through and down a corridor and into a tiny room with some chairs, and he disappears again.
It’s not until then that I realize I’ve been clutching Michael’s hand in worry this whole time, as if my touch is somehow going to make him feel better.
I give him an awkward smile, dropping his hand as we take a seat. “Sorry,” I mumble, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s insanely warm in here after being out on the ice, and I stand, shrugging my coat off. “What would we even sue them for, anyway?”
Michael’s gaze travels down over my dress before returning to my face. It reminds me of that evening when he saw me in my Snow White costume, and I blush.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs, locking his gaze with mine. He has the same look in his eye as when I was down on my knees and it makes my heart thump a little harder.
“Righty! Okay, here we are.” Barnaby is back with an ice-pack and a clipboard, and he thrusts both into my hands. “You’ll need to complete this.”
He vanishes again and I glance down at the clipboard with a sigh. It’s all kinds of legal stuff about how they’re not responsible, blah blah blah. “You want me to fill this out?” I offer, handing the ice-pack to Michael.
“If you don’t mind.”
“You’re not going to sue?” I ask, half-kidding. I’ll never understand the American legal system.
Michael shakes his head. “It’s not that bad. Besides,” he adds, his face darkening ever so slightly, “I’ve spent enough time in court lately.”
I settle down on the seat and fill in the form. It only takes a few minutes and I can feel Michael’s gaze on me the whole time. He must be worried I’m going to do it wrong, or something.
Setting the clipboard aside, I turn to him with a frown. “Aren’t you going to…” I gesture to the ice-pack.
He gives me a sheepish look. “Would you mind? I can’t quite reach.”
“Oh! Right, of course.” I spring to my feet.
He gingerly slips his coat off and I step behind him, ready to put the ice-pack on his shoulder. But before I can do that, he grabs the hem of his sweater with his right hand and peels it off, until he’s just sitting there in a black tank top.
And—holy shit.
Saliva pools in my mouth as my eyes track over his gorgeous, sculpted shoulders and the muscular curve of his biceps. And when he glances back at me with those espresso-colored eyes, heat races up my body.
“Alex?” he prompts, and I blink.
“Yes. Sorry.” I shake my head, trying to stop the unfolding of a million dirty fantasies in my mind, and press the ice-pack against his shoulder. Believe me when I say it takes every ounce of strength in my body not to lean forward and run my tongue over his smooth, hot skin.
He flinches at the touch of the ice-pack, and I place my left hand on his bicep to hold him steady. That’s the only reason, I swear, because he keeps pulling away. There’s a painful little groaning sound from his mouth as the ice numbs his shoulder, but my twisted mind just hears a sexy groan.
That does it. I imagine myself down on my knees again, but this time I’m reaching for his zipper and making him groan again and again until he’s so overcome with pleasure that he forgets all about his shoulder—that he forgets his own damn name.
Jesus. How on earth have I ended up here, alone in this tiny room with half of Michael’s clothes off? And—for fuck’s sake—how am I supposed to keep it together now?
I feel his arm flex under my fingertips and my breathing goes haywire, molten heat pooling between my thighs. This man is so undeniably sexy and I’m losing it. It’s like I’m caught in a spell as I slide my palm over his bicep, the feel of hard muscle under silky skin making me quiver.
He turns to glance up at me again from under his thick lashes and suddenly the whole room is crackling with electricity. His eyes pin me in place as a flush creeps onto his cheeks, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think—
“How are we getting on in here?”
We both turn to the door as Barnaby comes sashaying back in, bright-eyed. He snatches up the form, nodding in our direction when he’s satisfied we aren’t heading straight for the lawyer’s. Then he spins on his heel and exits before either of us can say anything.
I suck in a breath, taking a step back from Michael. That was close. God knows what I might have done if Barnaby hadn’t come in right then. I think I was about three milliseconds away from climbing onto Michael’s lap.
I need to get a grip, before I do something to utterly humiliate myself.
Michael is quiet in the cab on the way home. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s in
