“Sorry,” she said when he caught her staring. God, she was exhausted. She’d zoned out there for a second, gazing at him. Creep alert.
“It’s fine,” Clark handed her a pile of her Post-its. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
“Wait. Embarrassed about what?” Almost falling asleep at his table?
“Being attracted to me,” he said, as if that were obvious. “We’ve spent a lot of time together this afternoon, in close quarters. And it’s only been a few days since we . . .” His gaze slipped to her mouth. “It’s perfectly understandable.”
“Excuse me?” Riley fought not to choke on her own spit. “I am not attracted to you!”
Of all the asinine, bigheaded, ridiculous things to assume. Just because he was objectively, face-meltingly hot, and probably had people swooning all over him constantly, did not mean she was sitting here with her tongue hanging out. She wasn’t completely shallow.
“Hey, it’s not a big deal.” Clark had the nerve to pat her hand. “I know it doesn’t mean you’re fond of me or anything. Anyone could get confused—”
Riley snatched her hand away, flexing her fingers to rid herself of a sudden shock from his touch. “No, it is a big deal. Did you think I was sitting here mooning over you? Because I totally wasn’t.”
“Okay, fine.” He shrugged. “I guess you’re not attracted to me. My mistake.”
“You don’t believe me.” His tone had placation written all over it.
“If it makes you feel better,” he said, “I believe you don’t want to be attracted to me.”
Riley could feel a hot flush spreading across her chest, climbing up her neck.
No. Fuck that. She couldn’t afford for either of them to have an ounce of doubt that she was in control of her feelings about him.
“When I look at you, all I see is someone selfish and uninspired. In fact, there’s no one I could desire less.”
“All right, love.” Clark scoffed. “Go ahead and tell yourself whatever you need to.”
“I’m serious.” She racked her brain. How could she display how completely unaffected she was? “You could go full Magic Mike—XXL—right here on this table and I wouldn’t even blink.”
“Well, you’ll have to excuse me. I’m afraid I’m not up for gyrating at the moment.” Clark rubbed at his neck, once again making a show of how sore he was after his gallant rescue.
Hey. There was an idea. If he wanted to blame her for his back pain, Riley could give him something to really whine about.
“Why don’t I give you a massage?” There! Why would someone attracted to him offer to do that? Of course they wouldn’t! They’d be nervous and uncomfortable and awkward. Unlike her.
Clark looked at Riley as if she’d sprouted an extra head. “I don’t want a massage from you.”
“Aha! Exactly.” She pointed at him. “See? Because you’re attracted to me. And you’re worried you might get overcome.”
“I’m sorry.” Clark recoiled. “You think you have better self-control than I do?”
“No.” Riley smiled sweetly. “I know I do.”
“Fine.” His nostrils flared. “Give me a massage, then, if it’s that important to you.”
“Fine!” Was she shouting? Riley didn’t mean to be shouting. She lowered her voice to a normal decibel. “I will.”
“Great.” Clark reached for the hem of his sweater.
“Whoa. Hey. Whatcha doing?”
“Taking off my jumper,” he said, his voice deceptively harmless. “That way you can access the muscles more directly. Since you’re not attracted to me, I’m assuming that won’t be a problem for you.”
Oh ho ho. He thought he was so slick. As if she would lose her mind at the sight of his bare chest. Or go to pieces because she had to slide her hands down his hot, naked shoulders. Please! Bring it on.
“Of course I don’t mind.” Riley made a pshh sound like a tire with a puncture. “I feel completely neutral, bordering on negative, about your body.”
“Great,” Clark said. “Glad we’re clear on that front.”
Riley made herself watch as he yanked his sweater off, two hands at the back tugging it over his head. She made herself not blink, not look away, from the dark hair below his navel, the mouthwatering cut of the muscles that arced from his hip toward his groin, a single vein jumping just above the top of his jeans.
Riley took a breath, a totally normal, not-at-all-shaky breath, as he revealed the smooth, hard planes of his stomach, the broad expanse of his pecs, small brown nipples, more dense hair, and a collarbone that begged for her teeth.
“Riley?”
She snapped her eyes to his face. “Yes?”
He was done, holding his sweater and staring at her expectantly.
“I mean, yep.” She waved a hand toward his body. “Just as I suspected. You look . . .” Why did her tongue suddenly feel big in her mouth? “。 . . bleh.”
“Thanks,” he deadpanned. “Do you want me on the couch?”
Okay, he had to be doing the innuendo on purpose. But that didn’t stop her from picturing laying him flat on his back. Riding him at a gallop. Hands pressed to that chest, holding him down as she carved her initials over his heart with her fingernail, as he panted beneath her, teeth gritted, asking for more.
Jesus. Get your head in the game, Rhodes. This is about showing him you’re stone cold—or better yet, making him sweat!
“That works.” On only slightly unsteady legs, she got into position, kneeling on the seat behind him once he sat down.
She started with her thumbs at the base of his neck, pushing firmly up and out toward his ears. His skin was pink under her hands, almost red and so warm.
Riley inhaled sandalwood and orange and something spicy like black pepper. His soap probably cost more than her weekly grocery bill—he probably tasted like potpourri. But underneath was the salt of his skin, the base of his hairline just a tiny bit damp.
Clark sat stiffly under her hands, back ramrod straight, his breathing low and noticeably slowed—controlled. Good. She hoped he was nervous.
Riley massaged the sides of his jaw with her knuckles. With the way he constantly ground his molars, she figured he needed it. Strange to think that just a few days ago, she’d had her hand on this same skin with completely different intent, melting against him, opening for him, yielding.
She had to work to knead at the thick slabs of his shoulder muscles, calling on the strength in her hands and wrists and forearms. See? She was totally chill. Clark’s was just a body, like any other. Just the body of a man who had thought he could take her down with a few words, an arrogant demand. She dug in her knuckles.
“Is the pressure okay?” He really was tense—his muscles wire-taut instead of supple.
His smooth skin was starting to glisten under her hands. Riley had no idea if he was enjoying this. Or if she wanted him to, even a little.
Clark grunted, the sound rough and guttural, making her belly flutter.
She pressed her thighs together where she knelt, closing her eyes for just a second. It was heady, having permission to touch him, knowing she might grant him some degree of pleasure or relief even as he resented it.