Losing It Part 7

I felt my cheeks, certain that they were probably a mortifying shade of red. Nothing I could do about it now. I said, "Okay. Come in."

The door swung open slowly, and Garrick's head peeked around the corner, followed by the rest of him. He took one look at my rumpled skirt, and the jeans bunched around my knees.

Then he laughed. Raucous laughter, actually.

"This is so humiliating." How was I ever going to have s.e.x with him now?

He pressed his lips together to stop the laughter, but amus.e.m.e.nt still danced in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I know you're in pain. You just look so..."

"Ridiculous?"

"Cute."

I leveled him with a glare.

"Ridiculously cute."

His grin was intoxicating, and I couldn't help my begrudging smile.

"Alright. Now that you've had your laugh, help me take off my pants," I said with the same sarcasm I'd been relying on since he entered.

Either he didn't catch the sarcasm or he just didn't care because his eyes fixed on me in a way that I could only describe as downright predatory. Suddenly, much more than my leg was burning up.

He stared at me for a moment before dropping his eyes, and clearing his throat. Kneeling beside me, he took my leg into his hands.

I had already started to pull the capris down, so the burn was currently covered. His hand hovered by the zipper, which was now around the middle of my thighs. He cleared his throat again, and then slipped his hand down my pant leg.

HEART. ATTACK.

I was pretty sure I was having one.

Using his other hand, he pulled the jeans down as far as he could, just over my knees. He looked up at me, cleared his throat again, and said, "Can I borrow your hand?"

I couldn't speak, but I put my right hand forward, the palm of which was embarra.s.singly sweaty. He took my hand, and pulled it inside my pant leg to join his own.

"Keep your hand here, and pull the fabric as far away from your leg as you can. I'll do the same at the bottom, and we'll try to slip them off without touching the burn."

I nodded, my hand ten times steadier than my heart.

He slipped his hand up and out, his light touch sending s.h.i.+vers through me. He did as he said, pulling the fabric away from my skin at the bottom, and then together we tried to pull the pants off.

It wasn't the most successful mission. These jeans were indecently tight (thanks to Kelsey), and every once and a while the fabric b.u.mped my skin, and I cringed.

"Sorry," he apologized each time like it was his fault. I wanted to correct him, but I just loved the way he said "soo-ri" so much that I let it go.

After a minute or two of slow and careful maneuvering, my jeans. .h.i.t the floor.

We both laughed-the way you see people in movies laugh after they've just diffused a bomb. And when I stopped laughing, I realized that his hand was still on my leg. One hand was cupped around my ankle, and the other was brus.h.i.+ng softly against the skin around the burn.

If he kept touching me like that, I was going to melt into a puddle right here on the floor.

"Um, thanks."

He seemed to realize then what he was doing. His eyes flicked quickly to his hands. Instead of pulling back immediately, he grinned, brushed his hand slowly down my leg, and then let go.

"No problem. Now we need to cool it off. We could run it under cool water." I pictured my leg hiked up to the sink, or us both trying to maneuver in my bathtub. My face must have given it away, because he added, "Or just a cool damp cloth will work."

I handed him a washcloth from a basket behind me, and he turned on the sink, waiting until the water was cool before wetting the cloth.

I sucked in a breath as he laid it across my burn, but the cool felt good, enough that I relaxed for the first time since we came into my apartment.

"Better?"

I nodded, "Much. I'll never wear jeans that tight again."

He quirked a smile. "Now that would be a shame."

I was going to need a fan to keep myself cool if he kept saying things like that.

"Listen," He began. "I'm sorry about this. I never should have pushed you to get on that bike."

"It's not your fault I know nothing about motorcycles, and didn't realize it would be hot."

"I can't believe you've never been on a motorcycle."

"Yeah, well, there are a lot of things I've never done."

He quirked one eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Well..." I swear my heartbeat sounded like stu-pid, stu-pid, stu-pid as it pounded in my ears. "Um, until today I'd never met anyone who was British."

He laughed, combing his fingers unconsciously through his hair. It made me want to comb my fingers through his hair.

He said, "That's why you kissed me, isn't it? All you American girls seem to love accents."

I swallowed my smile and said, "I believe you were the one who kissed me."

He stood, and his messy blond hair fell over his forehead, framing those devilish eyes. "So I was."

He ran the cloth under the water again to keep it cool, but my body was too heated to really tell the difference when he placed it back on my skin. His other hand curled around my ankle again.

I kept my breath carefully steady, and said, "Your turn."

"Hmm?"

"What's something you've never done?"