What if after the way I treated her, she never wanted to see me again?
“Max.”
Shit.The fork stopped, my heart stopping right along with it.
Daisy stood at the base of the stairs wearing one of my MaineStems tees over a pair of leggings. I couldn’t help the quick detour of my gaze, raking over those legs that had been spread wide for me last night, before I braced myself for the worst and lifted my eyes to hers.
She could put on a front like the very best showgirl, but her eyes would always tell me what she was really thinking, how she was feeling. I met her stare, and my gut clenched. I’d prepared all morning—and all night—for what I’d see when she looked at me, but somehow, I hadn’t prepared for this. And I wasn’t sure if that was worse.
Instead of finding regret or embarrassment or anger, Daisy looked at me with the same expression she wore when she slid her cum-soaked finger into my mouth—the one that told me she wanted more.
Fire chewed through the marrow of my bones. She wanted more.
And then her hand came to rest on top of her stomach, pulling the shirt taut to her fuller breasts. Instantly, my cock thickened, having a memory instead of a fantasy to feed it. And then I saw it. The ring still on her finger.
An arctic chill seared through me, making me feel as brittle as a bomb.
She looked at me like she wanted more of me, more of us, yet she still wore another man’s ring, knowing it would stop me every single time.
“Good morning.” I couldn’t hide the shredded tone of my voice.
“Morning.” She came into the kitchen but stuck to the far side of the island, her eyes roaming over the food. “It smells amazing down here. Where did the food come from?”
Turning away from her, I whipped the eggs roughly with the fork, the most paltry vent for my pent-up frustration. “My dad dropped it off earlier. I texted him and asked if he could bring over some food.”
She let out a small hum, the sound sinking straight to my groin.Christ. I gritted my teeth. Would I ever not be turned on by even the smallest of things about her? Probably not, came the whisper again. Hell, I hadn’t even been turned off by the ring on her finger, let alone the biggest of things when she’d been my best friend’s fiancée.
“Do you want some orange juice?” I asked, dumping the eggs into the hot pan.
“He brought orange juice?”
I looked for her because she didn’t sound close anymore. I was right. She stood at the window on the other side of the living room, staring at the ocean.
She turned, and our eyes collided, a pop and crack echoing through the room. It came from the bacon grease erupting in the pan, but it felt like it happened between us, because of this tension combusting between us, heating dangerously close to igniting.
“He brought everything,” I grunted and returned to the stove. “Is that a yes?”
“Please.”
My family—and extended family—didn’t do anything in half-measures. Maybe that was where I got it from. A blessing and a curse. I traded the egg carton—because Dad had brought over a whole dozen—for the orange juice from the fridge and poured Daisy a glass, setting it on the counter for her as she came over.
“This…your house is incredible.”
I stiffened. I didn’t want to talk about my house, but there were other topics hanging between us that I wanted to avoid more.
“Thanks.” I turned the eggs over in the pan and then staggered the bread into the toaster.
“I can’t believe you’re selling it. I’d never want to leave if I lived here.”
“I know,” the reply came unbidden, and I swallowed down a curse. Maybe she hadn’t?—
“What do you meanyou know?” She’d heard. When I didn’t answer right away, her bare feet padded closer. “Max…”
“‘I don’t know how anyone could have a house next to the ocean and not want to spend every waking moment here. Not even something big or fancy.’” I cranked off all the burners, the food finished cooking. I shouldn’t say anything else, but I couldn’t stop myself. “Something peaceful. Big windows to watch the waves. A back porch to sit on and watch the sunrise. A yard to lie in and count the stars. Somewhere…to stop and just be.”
I grabbed the frying pan and turned to split the eggs between the two plates on the counter. In my periphery, Daisy’s brows pulled together, the words tugging at something buried in her mind.
Her words.
