Free Limerence by Claire C Riley Page B

the side, but his arms are there to catch me. Of course they are.
    He takes my keys and opens the door, swiftly picking me up in his arms and carrying me up the stairs into the apartment before I can protest at his manhandling. I can feel his muscles straining beneath his clothes, and a flush of heat and desire runs through me. He unlocks the inner door and carries me over to the sofa, gently laying me upon it, and wanders off. I keep my eyes closed whilst the world spins and I curse myself again for drinking so much on an empty stomach. I will never drink again!
    “Mia,” his voice is right next to me, his sweet breath blows on my cheeks and my eyes flutter open. “Drink this.” He hands me some water and I gratefully take it. I push myself up into a sitting position, slipping my shoes off as I do.
    I take a sip and then another, swilling it around my mouth and swallowing with a grimace. He is kneeling by me, his face expressionless as he watches my every move, his arms folded across his body. He is not in his typical suit, but jeans and a short-sleeved T-shirt. I can see the edges of a tattoo on one of his arms and his strong muscles under the material. My fingers twitch to stroke his skin and trace his tattoos; heat surges through me. He notices me staring at him and his lips twitch in amusement and I blush again and look away.
    “I’m fine now, thank you.” I need him to leave. I can feel my pulse racing as he looks me over, my body quivering at the thought of him holding me again.
    “That was a very dangerous situation you just put yourself in, Mia,” he says. “You never know who could be out there.”
    My mouth takes over from me before I can think about what I’m saying. “What, like you? And I wouldn’t have been in that situation, as you put it, if my fiancé would have been with me like he was supposed to be,” I snipe back.
    His eyes flare at my ungrateful response. “It’s my fault that he is not with you?” he asks.
    I nod stubbornly.
    “Mia, if he cannot get his work done on time, then that is not my fault. Maybe he should have a word with his employer. I am just the customer; a customer who is paying handsomely for his skills. And I am a businessman, looking at businesses in the area. Don’t flatter yourself, love.”
    There is no response to that. I know he’s right, and I have just embarrassed myself further, and leapt to ridiculous assumptions. I set my glass down and stand on unsteady feet.
    I look up to his gorgeous face. His expression is neutral, and I wonder what he is thinking. Does he feel the tension between us or is it just me? He holds my gaze; my breaths seem shallow and I feel a warmth emanating from him. I don’t know what to do with myself and feel suddenly awkward.
    Awkward and aroused.
    I take a step away, needing some distance between us, but I slip on my shoes and begin to fall backwards. His strong arms are around me almost instantly, supporting me before I fall. His breath washes over me like sweet vanilla and I breathe him in. My heart feels like it’s going to bounce out of my chest as we stay poised in our position.
    Me: bent backwards over his arm in a dramatic dip, like a scene from some old black and white movie. Him: staring deep into my eyes, his strong arms holding me in place. He licks his lips, his eyes roving across my full chest and then back up to my face, pausing momentarily on my lips before meeting my gaze and taking my breath away.
    I swallow, and am about to say thank you and pull away when the door opens and Oliver walks in, looking tired and pale. He looks over at the scene in front of him, his eyes widening in anger.
    I look from Oliver to Mr Breckt in horror, realising what this must look like, and notice that Mr Breckt is grinning widely. His strong arms pull me up to standing, pressing me against his hard chest.
    “Ollie, this isn’t what it looks like,” I stammer the typical cliché.
    However, it makes no difference what I say to Oliver