I towered over most people at 6’3 and daily runs and a slight addiction to lifting weights added solid muscle to my lean frame. Although the paparazzi hardly bothered me since the woman that made this R&R trip a necessity was no longer on my arms, eyes still perked in our direction nonetheless. Melissa squared her shoulders, still giving me the silent treatment after our tense discussion in the car, but questions were all over her face. I knew I’d promised otherwise, but my fingers skated down her spine, hand resting on her lower back. Fate worked in mysterious ways – if she would have obeyed me and wore the dress, I would have missed the delicious shudder of her breasts as she reacted to my touch. But in her T-shirt I had a perfect view of her arousal as her peaks pebbled behind the cotton fabric. She let out an indignant huff and crossed her arms against her chest. But she didn’t pull from my touch. This woman was an enigma, so wrapped up in being right, being in control that her little shows of defiance only made me want her more.
