This time, she was the one laughing. “We touched for the first time five minutes ago. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to put my hands all over you.”
It wasn’t until the words were out of her mouth that she realized what she’d just done. With a handful of words, she’d thrown down the gauntlet. Firmly and undeniably in front of the man who had driven her crazier during the past year than anyone else ever had. And who would surely never let her walk out of here without taking up the challenge.
No surprise, then, that he responded by holding his arms wide. “Go ahead. Put your hands on me.”
Did his voice suddenly sound a little hoarse? Or was it simply that she had completely lost her grip on reality?
She had to lick suddenly dry lips before responding. “It won’t be a big deal if I do.” She forced a shrug. “You’re just a guy I work with, doing me a favor. Which,” she made sure to point out, “I will owe you for big-time to make us even.”
He lifted his arms slightly. “I’m still waiting for you to get over your revulsion to touching me. Better to face it now in private than tomorrow night in front of everyone.”
That was just the problem. She was anything but revolted.
CHAPTER FOUR
Zara had vowed to get over her fatal flaw of falling for guys who always ended up wishing they were with Brittany. At first, each of the guys had been so convincing. They told her how much they admired what she was doing with her business and how they liked that she didn’t dress or act like other women they’d known—only to inevitably fall head over heels for her stepsister, who ticked every “perfect girlfriend” box with her swishy blonde hair, her job in PR, and her fashionable clothes.
Zara’s ex was a paler, smaller, less-built version of Rory. Which only reinforced that she would have to be an utter fool to let herself give in to these strange new feelings for Rory.
Okay, then. It was time to buck up and touch him and prove that she felt nothing. Yes, that was her new mantra. She was going to feel nothing.
She gave him no warning before slapping her hands on his chest. The sound was loud enough to reverberate through the room.
“Sorry.” She winced as she added a white lie. “I don’t think I’ve fully got my balance back.”
“I’m tough enough to take it.”
Good thing one of them was. Because now that she could feel his warmth seeping through his shirt to her palms…now that she knew exactly how hard and well-built his pecs were…now that she was getting a lungful of that delicious wood-chip/cedar scent he had going…
She suddenly felt more wobbly on her feet than she had when she was drunk.
“Losing the grimace might help,” he suggested.
She worked to school her face into a smile. “How’s this?”
“If you want everyone to think you’re having a bad case of heartburn, it’s perfect.”
She made herself think of puppies and butterflies and every single person in the state of Maine wearing a pair of her glasses.
“Much more believable,” he said. “Although it would be better if you looked into my eyes, instead of at my shoulder.”
Shoot. She’d been hoping to get away with that. Because she really, really didn’t want to lift her gaze to his. Not when she was afraid he’d see the budding attraction that she was hell-bent on hiding.
Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his, all the while chanting her mantra in her head. Feel nothing. Feel nothing. Feel nothing.
Of course, he had to choose that exact moment to smile at her. Between the crinkles at the sides of his mouth and the light in his eyes, she couldn’t have felt nothing if she’d been anesthetized.
“No problems here.” It took everything she had to sound unaffected. “Any issues for you?”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “Nope, everything’s good for me too.”
She lowered her hands and stepped back, relief coursing through her that she’d made it through one of the hardest tests of her life. “Great. Then we’re good to go for tomorrow.”
“Not quite.”
She frowned. “What now?”
“You’ve gotten used to touching me, but I still don’t know how it feels to touch you, beyond helping you off the couch.”
Plenty of sexier things had been said to her over the years. Rory’s sentence clearly wasn’t meant to be at all seductive. And yet, her body had never responded this way to a couple of sentences strung together. As though she were a firework, and he a match.
“You’re really taking this seriously, aren’t you?”
“If we’re going to do this, we should do it right,” he countered. “Flinching at my slightest touch would blow the whole thing.”
Darn it, he was right. Only, it had taken everything she had to stay stoic while touching him. She wasn’t sure she had anything left to fight her next reaction. Clearly, she was going to have to dig deep.
“Fine.” She scowled. “Whenever you’re ready, go ahead.”
But instead of moving closer, he suddenly stepped back. “You know what? I’m being an ass. I shouldn’t have forced your hand with any of this. If you don’t want me to go with you to the party, I need to respect that.” He was clearly upset with himself as he said, “I’m really sorry I’m trying to convince you to let me touch you. My mother would rake me over the coals for my behavior.” He was careful not to touch her as he took her mug over to the sink and rinsed it out, along with his.
Zara was surprised by how disappointed she suddenly felt at the thought of his not coming with her, especially when she’d belatedly realized that he was right about her making an I’m-not-a-doormat statement to Brittany and Cameron.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she told him. “It’s just that I’ve never done something like pretending to be in a relationship. That’s why I’m a little prickly.” Normally, he would have made a cutting comment about how she was far more than a little prickly. The fact that he didn’t razz her was testament to his concern that he’d been acting inappropriately. “You’re in no way forcing me to do anything,” she insisted. “It might not have been my idea for you to come with me tomorrow night, but if I didn’t want you there, I wouldn’t have agreed. So…” She couldn’t believe how nervous she felt as she asked, “Are we still on?”
He dried his hands on a dish towel before replying. “We are. But I want you to promise me something from here on out. If I do or say anything that makes you uncomfortable—even if I’m just joking around like I was earlier—you need to tell me.”
“You won’t.”
“Promise me, Zara.”
His low, slightly demanding tone sent more thrill bumps racing over her skin. “I promise. But only if you promise me something too.”
“What’s that?”
“That you won’t worry I’m made of porcelain.” She held out her arms the way he had before. “I might have had a stumble this morning, but I’m tough.”
“I know you are.”
For the first time today, she felt like smiling. “In that case, why don’t you get that touching-me thing over with before we head back to the office?”