He still didn’t like it. Even if it was her mother, but he wasn’t gonna start an argument with her over it. Closing his eyes, he expelled a long slow breath. “I have to go to the water.”
“I figured. You had an eventful day too. I set out a towel and a beer on the back porch; beer should still be cold, but I’ll switch it out before you’re back on shore.”
Santiago simply stared down at her.
If he did what he wanted to do, he’d pull her into his arms; just to hold her; maybe just to feel her resilience, her softness, her warmth. He breathed her in then took a step back.
“Thank you.”
He walked toward the back of the house and she called out, “Disregard your office! I’ll put it back in order after dinner.”
His office was pure chaos, papers all over his desk, papers pinned to his evidence board. Again, he remained silent.
After opening the back door, he stripped.
There was a small metal bucket—which hadn’t come from his house—filled with ice and two beers. Folded over the handrail was one of his large towels.
Santiago didn’t stay in the lake for long, turned out he didn’t need to. Yeah, he was tired as shit, but his energy meter slowly seemed to rise when he was within Lauren’s orbit, and suddenly all he wanted to do was be close to her again.
After five minutes he waded out of the water. He didn’t use the towel but opened the beer and took a few swigs before heading back into the house and up the stairs to shower. Stepping inside the shower, he turned the knob to its coldest setting and bowed his head into the spray of water. Placing both hands against the wall he closed his eyes and let the water flow over him.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, but when he reached for the shampoo bottle he opened his eyes to a figure on the toilet. The shampoo bottle dropped from his hands.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I had to go. When you didn’t respond, I thought I could get in and out without you noticing.” Lauren said over the spray of water. Her pajama bottom shorts around her ankles. The way her eyes perused his body made him believe she’d been doing it since she entered the bathroom.
“What’s your thing with water anyway? I’m no professional but it seems excessive.”
He picked up the shampoo and began to wash his hair vigorously.
“Like you entering my bathroom and sitting on my toilet while I shower isn’t excessive?”
“I’m working on boundaries.”
His bark of laughter was automatic because the fuck she was.
When he opened his eyes after washing the shampoo from his hair, she was gone.
Putting on a T-shirt and boxers, he went back downstairs, his hunger now a ravenous gnawing thing. Sitting at the kitchen table he watched Lauren take the food off the stove and felt no hesitancy in exploring her body with his gaze, not after she’d so flagrantly looked her fill.
“I got a text from your aunt saying you needed to put salve on your arm before you went to bed.” He grunted. He forgot to call Aunt Lina before he left town. He didn’t even wonder about his aunt hearing about the incident with Garland Porter. “I looked for the medication and didn’t see it, so I checked your car and voilà.” She held up the small paper bag on the island. “I’ll put some on after you finish eating.” She sat down opposite him. “You know, if Lina hadn’t called…and Audrey…and Roan, I wouldn’t have known about the medicine. You could’ve been infected with racist rot by the time you woke up in the morning. Can you imagine how much more of a demented asshole you’d be if that happened?”
He laughed and dug into his food. “Surely not as demented as I would be if I continued to stay in your presence for extended periods of time.”
“Well, you’re going to have to risk it because I’m not leaving tonight,” she said over a mouthful of mac and cheese. “When we’re done, I’m going to give you your reward for saving that little boy. You can have either pound cake or chocolate cake. Or both.”
There were better rewards than cake she could give him tonight, but that reward would be a deadly sin he wasn’t willing to sacrifice his soul for.
After dinner, he cleaned the kitchen and she returned his office to order. Now they were back at the kitchen table.
“Well don’t squeeze it like that!” he shouted.
She laughed. “Two minutes ago, you were allit’s not a big deal, now you’re acting like I’m trying to rip your arm off. And you’re go’n stop yelling at me like you ain’t got good sense.”
“I will,” he promised, because at this point yelling at her was damaging his good sense more than it was damaging hers.Because she doesn’t have sense. Good or otherwise.
He snorted with laughter.
“Open.”
