“Emily?”
I just knew if he kissed me with those perfect lips that it would be the single best experience of my life. Okay, I was only twenty, but still I’d been kissed by guys, and I couldn’t imagine them being better kissers than Sculpt. Not that he’d even consider kissing me. “The Sculpt” as the women screamed when he entered the ring, could get any woman he wanted. And from the blonde I’d witnessed, they’d be nothing like me. They were prime rib, and I was pork chops.
“Lego building.”
I jerked at his words. “What?”
“You think too much.”
“So? I have a lot on my mind. And what does Lego have to do with it?”
His dark eyes narrowed. “You build up blocks in your head in techno color.”
He was right—I did. I knew I was way out of Sculpt’s league, but I couldn’t help imagining him doing more than knocking me onto my ass time and again. Since we’d spent two to three hours a week together I thought I’d get over this little infatuation, but I didn’t. It was getting worse, and it was getting worse because we were going for ice-cream after practice, eating our cones while sitting on the curb beside his bike, and he was texting me every day. I really had no clue why he texted me; it was just a quick check in, and it pissed me off, because now whenever my phone vibrated my heart went on a hundred-mile run.
“Did I hurt you?”
I shook my head and met his gaze. He was staring down at me with hooded eyes; they were dark because he was still a little pissed, and his brows lowered over them. And he had these great eye lashes, black and a little long for a guy, but it totally suited him. No wonder I couldn’t concentrate. He was the ultimate distraction.
“You need to pay attention.” He gripped my chin with his thumb and forefinger. “And you should be out shopping, not in this filthy abandoned barn with me.”
I’d chosen a place just on the outskirts of Toronto. I often came here when I managed to snag Matt’s car. I’d sit up on the hill just north of the barn and watch the horses. I’d been coming here for two years, and the herd had grown to thirty-two horses; most of them looked like quarter horses—palominos, pintos, and my favorite the appaloosa—like wild mustangs.
Besides, I’d take a filthy barn with Sculpt any day over shopping. When Kat managed to bring me to the mall with her it was like being dragged slowly across gravel on a sweltering day—naked. Pure torture. She had to try on everything then hum and haw over whether it fit right or if the price was right or if she actually needed it. More often than not, Kat put it back on the rack after spending fifteen minutes trying to come to a decision.
I was feeling pretty confident with the self-defence moves Sculpt had taught me, even though he’d laid me flat on my back a few thousand times without even blinking. It hurt. I had bruises to prove it. But if some guy attacked me again, I at least had some clue as to how to defend myself instead of trembling like a washer on spin cycle.
His thumb stroked back and forth across my chin. I swear he had no idea he was doing that delicious, small movement. But my body new it, felt it, and it was pissing me off. I hated that he could do that to me. I felt out of control, and he was no doubt completely unaware of how he was making my insides burn, my heart race and my skin tingle with shots of electricity.
The last time we were eating ice-cream after our practice, a drip of vanilla escaped the corner of my mouth. Sculpt gently wiped it away with the pad of his thumb before I had the chance to use my napkin. He went back to crunching on his sugar cone while I tried to get control of my body’s reaction to his intimate touch. My only saving grace was that Sculpt never seemed to notice my response to him.
“Eme?” His tone was sharp and agitated.
“I’m paying attention, okay?” I snapped. His brows rose with surprise, and my heart stopped dead then dove into a racing force of beats. “But you sitting on top of me, your hands holding me down, and you looking at me like that . . .” His eyes smoldered, and his lips parted. “Damn it, I’m not fucking immune, okay?”
“Emily.”
I knew he had no interest in me; I was younger by four years, and he could get any girl he wanted. There was no sexiness about me. God, I didn’t even own a pair of high heels. Plus I was a brunette.
His head lowered as he leaned forward. Eyes watching me. Hands on my wrists sliding over my palms until our fingers interlocked.
“Eme.”
I turned my head to the side, not wanting him to see my glistening eyes. “It’s fine. Just get off me.” And then I lied—big time. “It’s not like I’m interested or anything, cause I’m not—at all. You have a shitty track record, you’re cocky, and I hate guys that fight.”
“You know nothing about me.” His tone was harsh, and I quivered beneath him.
“Well, you’re hot. And I’m sure you know it, which is so unattractive.” I’d purposely avoided going to see Sculpt’s band play at Matt’s bar, because Sculpt singing on stage would be my kryptonite.
I certainly didn’t need another reason to drool over him; it was already embarrassing. “I bet you have girls hanging off your every word. Probably after a fight you walk down a row of girls and pick the one you want for the night. How many have you slept with? A hundred? No, you’re a lead singer in a band, so I’m betting more.” Was I blabbering? Damn, I was. Where was my dry mouth when I needed it? God, I sounded absolutely ridiculous. “Listen, I don’t care what turns you on. I need to get home.”