It's About Time (Blossom Peak #4)(76)

My smirk is instant. “God, I wish I could have witnessed that. It would have given me more to hold over your head.”

“More?” he asks, but I ignore his question.

“It’s actually more common than you think. I mean, I went on a date with a guy when I was nineteen, and we got a flat tire. I got down on my knees in the dirt while wearing a skirt and changed the tire because he had no idea what he was doing. Let’s just say there wasn’t a second date.”

Elliot pushes a hand through his hair, his hair that is normally combed back and styled without one piece out of place. But that’s when I notice that it looks like he might have been messing with it all day from how tousled it looks. “Yeah, that’s never happened to me, thank God.”

I round the hood of the Porsche and lay my tools inside my toolbox, the bright red steel container resting against the back wall. “There’s still time.”

“Maybe you can teach me,” he says, his voice low and much closer than it was before. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I feel him co me up behind me, not touching me, but barely a few inches from doing so.

“I’m sort of busy.”

His finger lands on my neck, stroking the skin and making goosebumps appear out of thin air. “I know. Too busy to even answer a damn text message.”

“I didn’t have anything to say to you.”

“Well, that’s a first,” he counters. “I bet if I got you talking about how to change a tire, though, I couldn’t get you to shut up.”

“That’s easy,” I say, resting a hand on the toolbox in front of me as his chest brushes my back. “First, you need to make sure you apply the parking brake. People usually forget that step.”

He brushes a few stray hairs along my neck that have fallen from my ponytail with his hand. “Good tip.”

“Then, you—you have to put the jack under the car, re—remove the hub cap and…lo—loosen the lug nuts. That’s the part people tend to struggle with the most.” My words are coming out broken because his proximity is clouding my mind.

I can feel his chuckle vibrate in his chest against my back. “Makes sense.” And then he groans as his hand comes down on my waist, pulling me into him. “God. Who knew listening to you talking about changing a tire could be such a turn on?”

“I mean, cars have always turned me on, so…”

“It’s not the cars, Dilynne.” He presses himself into my back again, dragging his nose up the column of my throat until he’s right next to my ear. “There’s something else that’s turning me on lately, and I—” His frustrated breath is heavy on my skin when he continues. “I don’t know what to fucking do about it.”

His admission rests between us like a bomb I’m too afraid to touch.

Slo wly, I spin around to face him, peering up at his eyes, finding his pupils dilated. “You should get that checked out. I think…well, I think you might be going crazy.”

“Trust me. I’ve been wondering if that’s what’s been happening for a while now.” He almost sounds as if he’s in pain, but then he continues, catching me off guard. “Do—do you feel like you’re going crazy too?”

I can hear my pulse in my ears. His eyes search mine for answers that I don’t have, at least not right now.

All I can focus on is this tension, this pull between us that I don’t know how much longer I can resist.

Blinking myself out of the trance, I manage to croak out, “I—I need to get back to work.” I turn back to my toolbox, but his hand comes down on mine, holding me in place against the metal.

“Dilynne…” My name comes out as a plea, and that’s when something in my brain snaps.

I push his hand away, he takes a step back, and then I face him head-on again. “What is this, Elliot?”

His brows draw together. “What is what?”

“This! You…me. You…” I struggle with what to say. “You freaking kissed me last night!”

His face transforms from confused to stoic. “I did.”

“And? You don’t see anything wrong with that?”

“You’re my fiancée…”

“Fake fiancée,” I correct him, watching him grow beyond irritated the more I turn this conversation into a battle. But damn it, I’m confused and frustrated, and this man is sending me all sorts of signals that I’m struggling to understand. “But there was nothing fake about that kiss, Elliot.”

His jaw clenches tight as he focuses on me. “What do you want me to say, Dilynne?”

“When were you going to tell me about The Charming Bull?”

His eyes widen with shock. “What?”

“Your dick. The Charming Bull. The bull riding contest!” I throw my hands in the air. “When were you going to tell me that I made you hard?”

“Never,” he answers honestly, but the fire in his eyes is getting easier to read.

“Really?”

His voice grows louder. “Yes! You never were going to know about that because it wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“But it did, and now it’s happening again.”

“What is?”

“You’re hard, Elliot. I felt your fucking dick on my back! And on my stomach, and in between my legs when you kissed me at the winery!”