Chapter 33 Blythe #2
We’re both lying on the blanket post-lunch, me on my stomach and Sam on his side propped up on his elbow.
I’m intrigued by the book, but he’s very distracting.
A burly man sprawled on his side reading Pride and Prejudice in the Highlands—it’s a Janeite’s wet dream.
The only thing that would make this better would be if I got to do it for the rest of the summer.
“You’re staring,” he says, the smirk evident in his voice.
He still hasn’t looked away from the book, so I don't know how he’d know. I mean, I am absolutely staring—it’s hard not to.
“Am not,” I deny halfheartedly, daring him to look up from the book.
He hums as he flips the page but still doesn’t look up. “Read your book, Rosie,” he says, a hint of warning in his voice that does nothing but make me want to keep pushing.
“I don’t feel much like reading anymore.” I drop the book and rest my head in my hands, watching him the entire time, and still he doesn’t turn his attention to me.
His lips twitch, and I’m not sure if it’s because of what he’s just read or if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. Probably a bit of both, I tell myself, picking my book back up.
“Giving up already?” Sam laughs, and my gaze snaps back to find his damn eyes still on the book.
Two can play this game.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I quip as I read the same word six times. “I’m reading my book, like you told me to.”
Reading the word “trotter” over and over again.
“Hmmm,” he hums, and I force myself to keep looking at the page because who am I kidding? I cannot possibly ingest the words right now. All I’m thinking about is Sam punishing me for getting lippy.
I wonder what he’d do if I dropped the book and took off across the rocky glen. Would he give chase or stubbornly sit here reading my favourite book?
The words on the page blur in front of my eyes as visions of a kilt-clad Sam hunting me down become uncomfortably vivid, making my skin heat to the point I have to sit up to increase air circulation around my body.
What if I take off after dinner? The sun will probably still be up since it never seems to set here in the summer. It would provide enough light to make the ground less treacherous, but it wouldn’t be bright enough to remove all the mystery from the chase.
A plan begins to form. After dinner I’ll excuse myself to go to the washroom, where I’ll slip a condom I’ve concealed in my purse into my bra. Then the second he pulls up to the cottage, I’ll jump out and make a run for it.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Sam’s voice breaks through my scheming.
I find his brown eyes narrowed in my direction, and I’m dragged back into my daydream except now he’s caught me and he’s holding me down, watching me react to the way he’s pushing my dress higher, his fingers skimming my bare thigh until they dance across where I’m—
“Rosie?” His book snaps shut, and the air around me heats as he moves closer.
Blinking out of my sex fantasy I practically go crosseyed because his face is so close, scrutinizing me.
“Did I win?” I ask, avoiding his earlier question.
His eyes search mine, and I hold myself in place, refusing to give into the need to lean forward, to get closer.
It feels wrong to be this close and not have his lips on mine.
The way his breath brushes across them feels almost like I imagine it, and the only way to prove this is real would be to kiss him.
“Did you win what?” His question is so quiet I almost don’t hear it, but I know I did because my body reacts again. Little flames of want lick across the surface of my skin, burning deep in places where his touch would be the only way to extinguish them.
I shrug and lean back, putting distance between us, hoping to regain some kind of control over myself and the situation. “Whatever game you were playing.”
He mirrors me. “I wasn’t playing a game. I was reading,” he claims innocently. “You were the one who couldn’t focus on your book. I’m shocked I’m still clothed by the way your eyes were undressing me.”
I glare back, stubbornness chasing away the flames. “How do you know I was even looking at you if you were so busy reading?” I challenge.
His grin is cocky and annoyingly sexy. It’s not something I usually find attractive. In fact, a cocky man has never done it for me. Confident, sure, give me a confident man any day, but cocky? Ew. Except I’m about ready to crawl across the blanket and make good use of that mouth and those hands.
“When you’re in the limelight, you get pretty used to the feel of people watching you.”
I’m suddenly a little jealous that people got to watch him week in and week out.
I’m surprised by the panic that wells inside of me because I only get to do that for a few more days.
Would it be weird if I got a poster of him for above my bed?
I wasn’t allowed to have anything like that on my walls when I was a teenager, but if it’s my house, I make the rules. Are there even still posters of him?
“Well, I hate to burst your bubble, big boy, but I wasn’t looking at you.” I push myself up and begin gathering our stuff. “We should get back. I want to shower before we leave.”
In the shower I spend more time reading the same word again and again. I thought reading the shampoo bottle would distract me, but the same thing is happening as it was outside. I find myself trapped on the word “repeat.”