Free Blank Slate by Tiffany Snow Page A

face.
    “I
can’t get it. Can you?”
    Erik
cleared his suddenly dry throat. “Ah, yeah, sure,” he said. Undress her again? Yes,
please.
    Erik
brushed her ice-cold hands aside as he leaned over her. She fell back to rest
on her elbows, allowing him better access.
    His
fingers brushed the skin of her abdomen as he worked the button free. He
tried not to take longer than he should, but he couldn’t pretend that his pulse
hadn’t leaped, the blood heating in his veins as the button sprang free and he
slowly lowered the zipper.
    O’Connell
didn’t protest when he began to peel the wet denim off her. She lifted her hips
slightly, allowing him to push the stiff fabric down her thighs. Erik tried not
to think of what immediately sprang to mind when she lifted her body that way.
    He
worked assiduously, pulling the jeans off one leg, then the other, her sodden
socks going as well. O’Connell’s skin was cold and clammy. After a moment’s
hesitation, he began rubbing her legs, knowing his hands were warm.
    “Need
to get the blood circulating,” he said in a voice much too rough for his
liking. Yes, that was the reason he was touching her. Absolutely. It wasn’t at
all because he couldn’t resist the temptation her body was to him.
    Erik
didn’t dare look up at her, didn’t want to see if she was looking at him with
anger, or worse, amusement. She didn’t speak, and she didn’t pull away, so he
continued.
    Soft
was too inadequate a word to describe her skin. Erik’s hands massaged her
calves, easing the tight muscles there. Shivering made the entire body tight as
a bowstring, and while her shivers had subsided, the muscles were still in
knots.
    The
backs of her knees were silken to the touch, and he lingered there, the
delicate curve of her bones fitting into his palms while his thumbs stroked the
area behind the joints. The pressure he exerted nudged her thighs, and they
parted easily under his hands.
    Erik’s
gaze lifted. O’Connell was watching him touch her. Her eyes were bright, her
lips slightly parted as she breathed. He could see the pulse beating under her
jaw. The smooth column of her throat moved as she swallowed. Her chest rose and
fell, her breathing more rapid than it should have been, and Erik’s gaze fell
to her breasts. Their plump fullness seemed to strain against their confines. What
he wouldn’t give at this moment to see her bared to him.
    Abruptly,
Erik jerked his hands away from her skin. “It’s warm enough. I better turn the
engine off,” he mumbled, climbing into the front seat. “You should probably get
those dry clothes on,” he said, fiddling with the keys once the engine was off.
    “Yeah,”
he thought he heard her say, but her voice was too low to be sure.
    O’Connell
moved around, the sound of fabric and rustling in the back telling him she was
doing as she’d been told. Erik squirmed in his seat, his jeans suddenly much
too tight.
    “I’m
dressed now,” O’Connell said.
    Erik
told himself he was glad of that as he climbed into the back again.
    Bullshit,
his body argued. He ignored it. Now was not the time to be thinking with his
dick.
    Clarissa
nervously brushed her hair back from her face. She had no idea what had just
happened. One minute she’d been shivering uncontrollably, trying not to let the
panic of being closed in again consume her. The next, she was being undressed
by Langston, the look on his face as though she were torturing him.
    Then
he’d touched her.
    Clarissa
hadn’t been able to tear her gaze away from his face. His intense concentration
as he’d massaged her legs mesmerized her. As did the feel of his hands on her,
the rough calluses abrading her skin in a way that had made her heart pound and
completely distracted her from the claustrophobia.
    There
was something between them, no matter what he did for a living or who she was. And
Clarissa didn’t think she was the only one who felt it, not by a long shot.
    The
tension was still high when