“Don’t bother sugarcoating it.”
“I never do.” Wells cursed beneath his breath. “Josephine, I need to know you’re mine, so I can concentrate.”
Her vision split into two, before swerving back together. “Yours?”
“My teammate,” he clarified in a low voice, after a moment. “The last thing I need is to worry about you defecting to some other camp.”
Josephine whirled around—and it was a huge mistake.
Huge.
Wells towered over her, his arms caging her against the railing. And his mouth, his body, all of him, was very, very close. So close that her breasts dragged across the hard ridges of his stomach when she turned around, her head tipping back automatically so she could meet his gaze. A firework lit his face and she saw exactly how heavy-lidded his eyes were as they watched her breasts press up against his chest, a low rumble emitting from his throat.
Oh dear.
As quickly as possible, she twisted back around, grateful he could no longer see how the contact had affected her. So much that she struggled to locate the things . . . the . . . what were those things called you said out loud? Words?
“Is that what you’re worried about? Me ditching you?” Frankly, after years of rooting for him on the sidelines, that hurt a little. “I guess I haven’t made it obvious enough that I’m the sticking around type.”
“I’ve made that assumption about someone before,” he said near her ear.
Wells was referring to Buck Lee, right? After seeing them together inside, that didn’t even feel like an assumption, just fact. “Well, I guess I’ll just have to prove I’m different.” The hard heat of his chest against her back was making her mouth dry, so when she spoke again, her voice sounded a little scratchy. “I won’t give up on you as long as you don’t give up on yourself again.”
Did the pace of his breathing pick up slightly in response to that?
She watched as his right arm dropped away from the railing.
It remained at his side for three fireworks, four, until his fingertips brushed—just once—over the pulse of her wrist and she shivered. That small but deliberate touch made her so light-headed, she would have pitched sideways if Wells’s body wasn’t propping her up from behind, his pecs against her shoulder blades, her butt dangerously close to his groin area.
Could he see the goose bumps on her neck? Was that low rumble in his throat an appreciative one? She didn’t know, but when his thumb pressed hard into the small of her wrist, she nearly liquefied into hot oil, ears ringing—and it was almost galling that she could no longer pretend she found him attractive in an objective way. Her body rioted when his came close—and it wasn’t letting her ignore that very inconvenient fact. A thumb on her wrist was giving her that down-deep pretzel twist that begged to be unknotted. No doubt, if they were alone, she would have taken that final backward step by now, fitting herself to his lower body.
Teasing her bottom side to side.
Oh no, you don’t. That’s not why you’re here.
The fireworks had hit their finale now, an explosion going off every millisecond, and despite her mental warnings, her pulse matched that frenetic tempo. Maybe something about the magnolia had dosed them with romance-laced air and this gravitational pull was just a side effect. It was almost like she could feel the night, the atmosphere, their closeness roping them together, along with her vow that still hung in the air. She’d meant it. His heart beat at a fast pace against her back, letting Josephine know without words that the sentiment had meant something to him. Maybe even a lot.
Her head seemed to tip to the left all by itself. Consciously or unconsciously showing him her neck? No idea. But when that sensitive area was bathed in a warm breath, she stopped caring and started wondering what his mouth would feel like. His teeth.
Wells’s chest dipped and rose dramatically, once, twice, and his hand found her hip, squeezing where no one could see, slowly beginning to draw her back . . . back—
As suddenly as they started, the fireworks cut out. As one, the crowd ebbed, their attention dropping from the sky, and reality roared back. The guests receded, heading indoors with a lot of excited chatter, giving Wells no choice but to step away from Josephine.
Clearly trying to get his breath under control, he stared at something in the distance beyond her shoulder. “We’ve been here long enough. Let’s go.”
“Yuh . . . yeah. Yup, okay.”
Smooth.
Wells jerked his chin at the ballroom, indicating she should go first. The movement was so flippant, especially after what had almost just happened—right? Had she imagined the whole thing?— she laughed under her breath a little, but the sound died in her throat when he leaned in as she passed, inhaling the air just above the slope of her shoulder, his elbow brushing against the curve of her side.