I realize we’re both standing in the hallway, and I’m glued to the spot, totally unsure of what to do or even say next.
“We could still go back,” he finally says. “To the reunion, I mean.”
It’s my turn to look taken aback.
“I didn’t want to go alone, really,” he adds thoughtfully, letting his eyes dance across my chest again before they move down to my hips.
He lets out a low sound. The sound of a man who’s satisfied and likes what he sees.
It’s not something I’ve ever experienced, but there’s no denying his interest.
If that pant bulge of his is anything to go by anyway.
Maybe it’s just the light.
“I’m all wet,” I tell him quickly, watching his brows lift with amusement. “I mean, I got all wet in the rain and now I’m wet from the shower still… My hair,” I explain.
He shrugs. “Dry it. Then you could change and we could be back at the reunion in time for the main course,” he says hungrily. Almost greedily as he catches my eyes moving over his body as much as his are still moving over mine.
I open my mouth to try and make an excuse, but the idea of saying no to Trent Latham is almost as frightening as the idea of being alone with him in the house in my jammies.
The feeling in the air between us is not my imagination, and I know that if I don’t go with him, he’ll have something else in store.
Something I can’t even contemplate right now without feeling like I need to lay down.
I stab a nod, telling him I’ll go get dressed. He nods with that satisfied look again, the same deep sound echoing through the hall as I feel him watch me walk into my room.
“Make yourself at home,” I call out over my shoulder, having to lean against my bedroom door once I close it, and feeling so wet down there I struggle not to too moan or make too much noise as I get dressed.
Each inch of fabric against my aching mound responds as though it was Trent himself down there.
It’s my body’s way of telling me that here’s a man who knows what he wants, and he’s found a girl who knows what she really needs too.
And I know Trent Latham is just the man to give it to me.
Chapter Eight
Trent
Thank god she’s safe.
But also, thank god she’s home.
I didn’t mean to startle her by just turning up, but when I heard her scream I was ready to knock the door from its hinges to make sure she was alright.
I’m glad too that she’s out of that dress. Not that there was anything wrong with it, but I can see more of her in what looks like her favorite jammies.
My new favorites too.
It’s ridiculous she could have imagined anything between me and that crazy woman hanging off me, who I still have no real memory of from college, but I can see how it would have made Brooke feel.
Confusing more than anything, given that we were getting on so well having just met ourselves.
I don’t want to dwell on it though. That woman and any others mean nothing to me. What I want is right in front of me.
I only suggest going back to the reunion because it’s a little less forward than just asking her to come home with me.
Glancing around her dad’s place while she goes to get changed, I can see he’s provided for them both but not much more than that.
Yeah, I know. I hear it sometimes from a certain caliber of person.
What would I know, how would I know what it takes to make ends meet?
Well, the truth is when I started out I had nothing either. Nothing but my wits and my god given athletic ability. I put all my efforts into that to give me a start.
Everything after that was hard work followed by more hard work.
I think I have a fair idea about what it takes to make it in the world as much as I’m still in touch about the price of gas, eggs, and everything else that still costs money, no matter how much I have.
But seeing Brooke here, in this little suburban house. It’s not right.
She deserves more, she’s worth a million times more than this place.
Maybe she likes it here with her dad. I don’t know, yet. But I intend to get to know Brooke a lot better before the night’s through. Even if we do end up missing half of the reunion dinner.
“Is this okay?” she asks, breaking my little daydream as I look up from the couch in her lounge room.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her without having to think or even look at what she’s wearing.
She blushes and looks away, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater.