Read Online All Things Pretty by M. Leighton - Free Book Online Page B

seeing him each morning. And throughout the
day. For the first time in years, I’ve felt a little less lonely.
Despite my brother and my mother and Lance with all his goons, I
never feel quite like I’m not alone. Maybe it’s because the game I
play is a solitary one, whether anyone else knows it or not.
    After I drop Travis off, I pull back out
into the street. That’s when I see him. Sig, slumped down behind
the wheel of his big, intimidating truck. I have to resist the urge
to smile when I see him nod. I don’t know if he can see me looking
at him in my mirror or if he can feel it, like I often feel
him. Either way, he knows I’m looking.
    Even from this distance, I can see the
sparkle in his eyes. It’s like he has the inside track on a private
joke. He’s the first of Lance’s men who has had a shred of
personality, much less this much of one. Most people in his line of
work are very hard and unpleasant. Sig is anything but hard
and unpleasant.
    I study the big hand draped over the
steering wheel. I recall the long fingers and wide palm from when
he helped me on the side of the highway, the way he handled those
tires. I bet those hands could wreck a man’s face if he used them
in such a way. But I also bet they could be incredibly gentle, too.
On a woman’s body, for instance. I remember all too well the way
they felt at my waist when he lifted me into his truck. And then
the way they slid slowly from around me, like he didn’t want to let
me go.
    Of course, it won’t do me any good to think
of things like that. He was forbidden before. He’s flat out
dangerous now. He could ruin everything. Get people hurt, himself
included. And that’s a risk I can’t take, no matter how tempting he
is.
    I refuse to look behind me again until I
pull into the parking garage and find that Sig is no longer back
there. I get out and walk to the side entrance that leads to the
lobby. Just as I’m reaching for the door, warm fingers–the very
same warm fingers that I was thinking about only minutes
before–cover mine and I feel Sig’s big presence behind me. I stop,
turning to look over my shoulder, his palm still pressed to the
back of my hand.
    His eyes are dark and intense, belying the
half grin that tugs at his lips. The look sums up this man
perfectly. He’s playful and flirtatious, but at the same time
something about him threatens to consume me. He leaves me feeling
breathless and off kilter when he’s close like this.
    “Good morning,” he offers in his deep,
smooth voice.
    I don’t respond; I just attempt a smile.
Both of us remain perfectly still.
    “I trust you slept well.”
    “I did, thank you.”
    He watches me. I watch him right back.
Knowing I should move. Yet I don’t. I like being close to him,
breathing in his clean, manly scent, seeing the way the gold flecks
in his eyes seem to spray out from his dynamic pupils like lava
spewing forth from an active volcano.
    “Thank you again for the chocolate pie last
night. I went to sleep with that sweet taste on my tongue.”
    Oh god! Why does that sound so dirty?
    “I’m glad you liked it.”
    “It was delicious. Makes my mouth water just
thinking about it.”
    I catch and hold my breath. This is
why I should be glad he’s not near me more often, or that I’m not
with him more each day. It’s been two minutes and already I feel
like I might spontaneously combust.
    I exhale slowly. His eyes shift to my lips.
I watch him lick his own, like he’s wishing he tasted me there. I’m wishing the same thing.
    He leans in closer, the scruff on his cheek
scraping sensually across my own as he puts his mouth near my ear.
“Breathe, Tommi. Don’t forget to breathe.”
    Somehow, I’ve turned. I’m now plastered
against the building beside the door, my fingers still gripping the
handle, his palm still covering my knuckles. The concrete is cool
at my back, a stark contrast to the heat I feel emanating from Sig.
His body isn’t touching me, but it might as