“Okay. Just…don’t ask me to be your secret, okay?”
I reach across the table to take her hand in mine. “I won’t. No more secrets.”
This is my last chance and I know it. There is no making up for it if I let her down again.
THIRTY-SIX
Rowan
Things are weird between Colt and I for a few days, even after he sets his plans with Emmett. It’s easier to keep things more professional at work and just stick to our jobs, but at home, it’s uncomfortable.
We both have so much to say, and we have a lot of things to figure out together, but until he talks with his son, there’s no point in saying or doing any of it. If Emmett isn’t on board with this, Colt will leave me behind without a second thought.
We don’t sleep in the same bed or even share so much as a kiss, which is the most miserable feeling in the world. To spend all this time at home with him, knowing we want each other as badly as we do, and to be unable to act on it without feeling like an ax is hanging over our heads.
By the sixth day, I’m so desperate for real, physical contact with him, I catch myself teasing him any chance I get.
I start with more subtle things, like flipping my spoon over onto my tongue and pulling it through my lips as sensually as I possibly can, then I throw the subtlety out the door and work my way up to things more glaringly obvious that don’t leave much of anything to his imagination.
I walk around in my sexiest bra and panty set on laundry day while ‘waiting for my clothes to dry,’ and ‘accidentally’ open a package containing my brand-spanking-new bullet vibrator in front of him, making sure to comment that I’ve never used one before and how much I hope I like it.
I’m not exactly proud of it, but I want him to be the one to break down and cross that newly-minted border between us. He’s the one who put it up, after all.
I can hear Colt come back from his fifth midnight run this week – he went on two, last night – and I decide that enough is enough. I jump out of bed and slip off my pajama shorts, leaving only my panties behind; I chose a black pair of bikini panties tonight, made almost entirely of lace.
They’re not the most comfortable thing in my wardrobe, but I’ve made sure every night this week that I’ve had on something sexy, just in case.
I pull open most of the buttons on Colt’s shirt, draped loosely enough over my body that I’m swimming in it, leaving only two secured together at the middle. If I move even an inch in the wrong direction, my entire boob will be out on display.
What a tragedy that would be.
Mussing my hair a bit, I head out toward the kitchen, where he should be making a protein shake, if he’s sticking to the same routine he’s had lately. Sure enough, when I stroll into the kitchen, he’s standing at the counter, reaching into a cabinet for his favorite protein powder. He would never admit it if he was asked, but he’s a birthday cake flavor kind of guy.
His shirt pulls tightly across his toned back as he reaches for it and the veins in his arms flex with his movements, and I think I might actually die.
I watch him for a minute as he scoops out a serving of the powder and dumps it into a shaker bottle filled with water, screws on the cap, and grips it tightly in his hugehand to shake it, mixing the powder and water together. Already, I can feel heat rising to my cheeks – it’s honestly a little embarrassing how desperate for him I’ve become in just a matter of days.
“I know you’re there, Rowan,” he announces before setting his drink on the countertop.
I make a show of combing my hair out with my fingers as I stride casually toward the cabinet next to him, opening it, and lifting myself onto my tiptoes to reach for a glass on a shelf higher than I need to, kicking one leg out behind me as I reach.
“How was your run?” I ask, feeling the burn of his eyes on my ass.
“Fine.”
The heat of his body radiates from behind me as he effortlessly reaches for the same shelf I’m aiming for. He wraps his hand around a glass and he presses it into my hand before moving away from me, and I have to fight back the frustrated sigh that wants to shoot out of my mouth.
Instead, I get into his eye line and give him a playful, teasing smile as I walk to the fridge and press my glass against the trigger for the water dispenser.
“Is that my shirt?”
With my glass now full, I turn to face him and throw another smile, this time biting my lip as I nod at him.
“It’s comfy, I borrowed it,” I say. “Anyway, sleep well, Colt.”
As I walk away – I’m not proud of this, I want to make that very clear – I pretend to trip, spilling the glass of water all down the front of me. Now soaking wet, the shirt clings to my body, almost completely see through, and the ice-cold water makes my nipples instantly stiffen against the fabric. I turn toward Colt, wearing a surprised look on my face.
I should be embarrassed by the obviously-phony display that I’m putting on, but desperate times call fordesperate measures, and sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do when her man is being this stubborn.
