When her body stops trembling, I stroke away the loose hair, pushing the wet strands from her face. Her breathing steadies, her fist curling in my damp shirt.
“We’re in the shower with clothes on,” she murmurs, humor and sadness coating her tone.
Smiling, I kiss her forehead. “Yes, we are.”
“I cut my hair off.” She covers her face with her hands, embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
A gentle laugh rocks our bodies. “It looks great. A new trend.”
Dropping her hands, she lowers her eyes. “Thank you. I know you must think I’m unstable.”
“I think you’re perfect,” I assure her, moving her from my lap and standing. When I lower my hand to pull her up, my chest constricts. She peers up at me with raw beauty, vulnerability trembling her bottom lip. Amber flecks dance in the depths of her eyes. Her hand slips into mine, pulling herself up with my aid. The water has soaked her shirt and panties, but it’s her gaze that leaves me in awe. Curious eyes search my features. I suck in a breath when her hand touches my cheek.
“You’re beautiful. Do you know that?” she implores.
Covering her hand with my own, I smile into her touch. “I think you mean rough and manly,” I tease, but her expression remains intense, focused.
“You’re beautiful.” Her other hand moves to my chest, covering my heart. “Not just outward, but inside too.”
I fucking hate what she’s been through, that we didn’t meet under better circumstances, and I hate questioning myself for noticing how strikingly stunning she is. Funny, cute, warm, caring. I’m fucked.
Sitting in a pair of my sweatpants and a t-shirt, Willa holds a mirror using scissors to even up her hair the best she can. “Maybe the knife was a bad idea.” She winces, looking at me over the top of the mirror.
“I don’t know. You could be onto something.” I shrug, drinking a mouthful of beer to help wash down the steak dinner we just finished.
The front door opening has my hackles rising. Willa freezes, her eyes expanding in panic as the floorboards creak. My grip tightens on the steak knife as I move to stand.
“Yo,” a familiar voice calls out. Rolling my eyes, I slump back down. “Gabe, where you at?” Willa closes her eyes briefly, her hand clutching the scissors, turning her knuckles white.
“It’s just Jameson,” I assure her. His tall frame comes into view, creating a shadow over the table. A grim expression mars his features, sending apprehension coursing through me.
“You smell the steak from your house?” I joke, trying to cut the tension, not wanting Willa to worry. Jameson rolling up here without a call means it’s shit he can’t talk about over the phone.
“Looks cozy.” He raises a brow. “I’ll pass.” He jerks his head, signaling for me to follow him into the other room.
“I’ll just clean things up here.” Willa smiles, but it’s tight and uneasy. In a rush to get to her feet, she almost knocks over the mirror.
I reach out for her arms, clasping gently. “It’s okay. Relax, okay?”
“He makes me a little nervous,” she admits, looking to the door and back at me.
“He’s a gentle giant. Trust me, okay? You’re safe here.”
“I know. I’m being stupid.” She blows out a breath,
I clasp her cheek, stopping her from pulling away. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Her pupils dilate, and her breathing becomes heavy. Turning her cheek into my palm, craving contact. The air thickens, a surge of energy pulsing between us. There’s something happening no matter how much I know it shouldn’t be. It’s undeniable. If she keeps looking at me like she’s starving for my touch, I may fucking die trying to keep myself from her.
“Gabe,” Jameson barks, breaking the spell she conjured. Fuck.
“I better…” I point to the door like a fucking idiot, my other hand still against her soft skin. Taking my wrist, she pulls my hand to her lip, kissing the palm. My dick reacts, throbbing with a desperate need to be buried inside her. My heart pounds in my chest.
“You better go.” She licks her lips and drops my hand.
It takes me a few seconds to gain blood back into my brain. She’s staring at me like I’m a fucking dumbass. You are.
“Right.” I shake my head to clear it. Jameson’s waiting.
Eleven
Gabe
Walking into the living room, I seek Jameson out. His tall frame stands in the window, looking out at the tree line boarding the property.
“What’s with the home visit?” I cross my arms over my chest, frowning when he looks over his shoulder at me, his jaw clenched.
“Have news on Milo.” He huffs, running a hand through his hair. Going to the couch, he takes a seat. I do the same on the couch opposite him, resting my elbows on my knees.
“Talk to me. You look like you need a stiff drink, which means you’re not here to deliver good news.”