Page 38 of Love… It's Wild
“Tara.” His deep baritone, mixed with the scorching heat radiating off his body, stops me from continuing.
He releases his hands from the counter and takes a step closer. A brief shiver ripples through me.
“My aversion to you has nothing to do with you being undesirable in any way. In fact, you’re too desirable.”
I can feel my pulse in my throat. “Too desirable?”
His eyes travel down to my cleavage, and he gives an appreciative lift of his brows, and then he looks down to my thighs that are showing from the hemline of my dress.
His eyes meet mine, and I catch my breath .
His rugged features reflect a life lived with determination and purpose while his intense, piercing eyes convey a depth of experience and resilience. Those eyes—warm brown, reminiscent of earth—seem to hold a world of heartache within them. Yet, from the darkening of his pupils and the parting of his lips, I know he likes what he sees. I’m sure of it. I fight the urge to touch him because I know this is not what this moment is about.
This is Rob. Raw. Honest.
“Good night.”
He stalks out of the kitchen, and I’m left alone with my thoughts.
Rob Bronson thinks I’m desirable.
Not gonna lie—that information gives me a little kick in my boots. I fling the towel into the air, catch it, and toss it onto the counter. My hips have an extra sway as I walk into my room and close the door.
“Too desirable,” I mutter to myself and then repeat, “Too desirable.”
Looking in the mirror, I take in my features. Dark blue eyes; curly, long, flowing black hair; and a complexion that even I know is crystal clear.
“What does that even mean?” I ask myself. “Am I a vixen? A temptress? Rob’s not the type to say things just to be nice. He doesn’t try to calm one’s feelings. He’s blunt, and he thinks you, Tara Parsons, are desirable. Obviously.”
I laugh at my own antics of talking to myself in the mirror. That’s another one of my grandmother’s tactics of self-confidence. Always tell yourself how amazing you are. If you won’t do it for yourself, why would others want to do it for you? I’m not ashamed to admit that I talk to myself in the mirror more than other adults do.
As I slide off my dress, I catch a glimpse of myself again. I know I’m attractive. I might not be the most beautiful woman in the world, but I have many things going for me. Even naked, I like what I see.
I slide off my bra and pose for myself. It reminds me of a quote I heard on the showSchitt’s Creek. Moira advises Stevie, the motel manager, to take all the nudes you can when you’re young because, someday, you’ll look back at them with kinder eyes and love what you see.
I’ve never taken a boudoir photo. I’ve sent sexy pictures of myself to men, but never in the flesh.
For myself, in this moment, with Rob’s admission on my brain, I’m not opposed to it.
I take out my phone, hold it in front of me and to the side, and snap a picture. I look at the mirror selfie.
“Not bad,” I say to myself.
Holding the phone up in the air, I spin the camera direction to face me, toss my hair to the side, lift my chest, and take a few more. I do a smile, a pout, and bite my lip. It’s just silly. After I’ve taken a dozen, I erase them from my phone, but keep one for myself.
I’ve seen too many documentaries on how hackers can get into your text chains and emails, so I open my laptop and AirDrop the photo to my MacBook. It’s just the one pic that I’ll store somewhere safe and possibly look back on someday when I’m old and gray and say,Damn, girl. You were hot.
I wait a few moments for the photo to come through. My phone says it’s sent, but the picture is not on my laptop. I go to AirDrop it again, and this time, there are two places I can drop the photo to. Two MacBooks. One is mine, and the other …
Oh my God.
The realization that I just AirDropped a topless photo of myself to someone in the house other than me has me absolutely freaking the hell out.
“Please don’t let it be Molly or Jesse,” I beg into the open air.
Honestly, I don’t know which one would be worse. Molly is impressionable and far too young to understand, and Jesse is a teenage boy, and the notion of him seeing me naked is just icky.
I toss on my pajamas and scurry out of my room and rush into the kitchen. Molly is in the snack cabinet. She looks at me with her hand inside a package of cookies and freezes like she was just caught red-handed, which she just was.