Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(43)
Author: Monica Murphy

Yeah. I’m being ridiculous. I can’t help it.

“What happened to me last night just proves once and for all I need to get out of here. I hate this place.” I drain my coffee cup, feeling his intense gaze on me. Uh-oh.

“Gimme a break. Like it couldn’t happen to you somewhere else? Sacramento has a higher crime rate than here,” he points out.

“Yeah, and it’s a much bigger city, too. We live in Podunk-ville.” I shrug, getting up and going to the coffeemaker so I can pour myself another cup. I keep my back to him, not wanting to have this conversation any longer. Afraid of what I might say if he pushes too much more.

“Does this have anything to do with me? Are you upset with me for some reason? Because you’re acting like it.” He pushes his chair out and I hear him approach, feel his body heat when he draws near. “Are you blaming me for what happened?”

I whirl around, startled when I find him standing much closer than I’d originally thought. Being faced with acres of naked masculine flesh leaves my mouth dry and I eat him up greedily with my gaze, marveling at all of that gorgeous muscly goodness. Jerking my eyes away from his chest, I look at him, finding him watching me with a look on his face that indicates he can read my every thought.

How freaking embarrassing! I’m supposed to be angry and indifferent, right?

I am so not indifferent. And he knows it.

“Of course I don’t blame you,” I say. “I’m the idiot who wasn’t watching where she was going.”

“I should’ve picked you up at the door,” he throws back at me.

“I should’ve texted asking you to pick me up at the door,” I throw right back.

Briefly closing his eyes, he breathes deep, as if he needs to search for the right words to say. “I’m the one who should’ve watched out for you. I’m your employer. Your friend. Your . . .” His voice trails off.

Stepping toward him, I place my fingers over his mouth, silencing him. Not that he was necessarily going to say anything else. He looks like he’s at as much of a loss for words as I am. “Stop talking. We’re nothing beyond the word friend, right?”

He nods, his eyes shooting daggers at me. But he doesn’t say a word.

“Friends are there for each other. And you were there for me last night.” I trace his lips with my index finger, the plump lower lip, the finely curved upper one. He has such a beautiful mouth. One I thoroughly enjoy watching when he talks, when he smiles, when he kisses me. I’m tempted to kiss him right now. Just so I can forget for at least a little while that I’m leaving and that I was robbed and that he feels this stupid obligation to me.

I’m not his burden. And that’s what it’s like—I’m an obligation to take care of in place of my brother watching over me. At least, that’s how it started out. He became my hero. Rescuing me when I thought I didn’t want to be rescued. Saving me from a life of crime, though he didn’t realize that part.

Our relationship has certainly gone beyond the brotherly-sisterly type . . .

“Jen.” His voice is deep and rumbling. I feel it reverberate through me all the way down to my bones. He touches me, places his hand on my hip, and pulls me closer to him, our chests brushing. Just like that, my skin is on fire, my braless ni**les hardening against my tank top. I want him. Inside me, kissing me, pushing me toward that oblivious, blank space where I can forget everything at least for a little while.

I rest my other hand on his chest, right at the center, and I can feel his heartbeat. It’s a rapid, rhythmic pace. Reassuring and strong. Unable to resist, I lean in and brush my lips upon his flesh, right above my fingertips, and he closes his eyes, his expression agonized.

“I want you,” he whispers. “But you’re hurting from that ass**le pushing you. And I can’t push myself on you. Not right now.”

“You won’t hurt me. I’ll be fine.” I kiss him again, my lips lingering on his warm, hard skin. I settle my hands on his hips, slip my fingers just beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, and touch him, my hands meeting nothing but bare, hot skin. I feel the thrust of his erection through the fabric of his pj’s, pushing against my belly, and I know he wants me.

Probably even more than I want him.

“I don’t want you to go to work today,” he says, abruptly changing the subject.

I can’t believe he’s talking about work at a time like this. “I already told you, I’m fine. Really.” Standing on tiptoe, I kiss his neck, licking him, tasting him, savoring the sound of his moan. I want to distract him, distract both of us. Talking tends to lead us into trouble, especially lately.

Having sex leads us straight into pleasure. And that’s what I want right now. Mindless, delicious pleasure with Colin.

“No.” He pulls away from me, his expression and body language downright tortured. “I’m not going to do this. Not when you’re still recovering from what happened to you last night.”

Frustration rips through me, making me angry. “I’m not some delicate doll who needs to be handled with care, Colin. I fell and scraped my knees last night. Big deal.”

“You were f**king attacked, Jen. You suffered a tremendous shock. I think you might still be in shock. There’s no other explanation for why you’re acting so odd.”

Jackass! I am so done with him diagnosing me all the time. “So you’re not going to have sex with me because of what happened last night.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“So are you,” he throws back.

We stare at each other, all sorts of tension swirling between us. I both want to jump him and smack him.

Jump him . . .

Or smack him?

Colin

I want to both jump her and smack her, which is the craziest thing ever because I have never had violent thoughts toward a woman before in my life. And hell, she was just mugged, for the love of God. The very thing I should be thinking is how much I want to shake some sense into her.

Those few weak moments when she was touching my mouth, touching my chest, kissing my neck, I was more than ready to cave. Just give in to that uncontrollable urge I feel whenever she’s with me. Where I’m desperate to tear her clothes off and make her mine. Brand her, mark her, demand that she say my name when I make her come. Then she’ll know who she belongs to.

Me. And no one else.

“You’re not working tonight and that’s final,” I finally growl out because holy shit, I have no idea what else to say to break this almost unbearable tension brewing between us.