Apparently, he can’t fight the sizzling tension between us either. He turns in his chair so that he’s facing me directly. Our knees bump against each other with the new position, his legs suddenly encroaching on my personal space. I don’t fight it. I don’t move. I can’t. Not with the way he looks at me. All protests of why it’s a bad idea to give in to my attraction to this man leave my mind the moment our eyes meet.
