I bark out a laugh, too stunned and delighted to speak.
He tips his head with a smirk. “Well, technically, one is mine. Because giving you two turtles to take care of felt like a lot. But I know how much you loved Sammy.”
A new laugh bubbles up from my chest. “I was over here spiraling, worried we were about to break up, and you were out buying his-and-hers turtles.”
That gets his attention. The turtles are carefully set aside as he straightens, all seriousness now.
“You were thinking about breaking up?” he asks. “Because I punched Tommy?”
“No,” I say, voice softening. “I was afraidyouwere. Because I yelled at you to go away.”
His shoulders relax, a knot loosening. He takes a slow step closer, and even after all that’s transpired and the stress of the day, my skin hums.Anticipates.
“Madison.” His voice is so steady. “I deserved to be yelled at. Istilldeserve to be yelled at. I’m so sorry for making a scene like that tonight. And I completely understand if you’re upset with me.”
“Depends,” I say slowly. “Did you have a good reason for the punch?”
He nods but doesn’t speak right away, like he’s weighing whether to tell me the truth or protect me from it.
“Was it something mean about me?” I ask, nudging. “Were you defending my honor?”
He smiles faintly. “In a way, yeah. Itwasabout you. He, uh, he never intended to date you. He was trying to get to me. Trying to make me admit my feelings for you.”
I gasp. “That little dill weed! Go punch him again. How insulting.” My face falls in sudden mock horror. “Wait.Does that mean I’m losing my touch? Oh no. Does this monogamy make me look ugly?”
James’s eyes spark with mischief. “I don’t know. Take off all your clothes so I can find out.”
He’s getting closer, but I hold up a hand. “Not yet. You’re still in the doghouse.”
“Okay.” He folds his arms like he’s prepared for bad news. “Tell me what I need to do.”
“I have a very specific atonement.”
“How long do I have to stay in here for?”
James is wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, boots, and a smile as he stands in my shower, water cascading down his ridiculously sexy body. Not totally naked—because I like a tease.
I’m perched in a chair I dragged in here and I’m munching on cinnamon sugar toast like this is my own personal show.
“Until I say you can get out.” I slowly suck the last bit of sugar from my fingertips. “You’re not done atoning yet. Rub that loofah over your neck again.”
His boots slosh as he steps forward, stopping at the edge of the shower door. He plants his hands on the frame and leans out, water dripping from every sculpted inch of him.Good lord, this man is massive.His rib cage alone is the size of my truck’s engine. And his shoulders? Edible boulders.
I drink in the sight of him. Wet hair slicked back. Muscle andsinew showing off. Powerful thighs and brown boots. The man is a work of art in boxers and Timberlands.
This started out as a joke but has quickly evolved into an actual boots-and-underwear shower kink. One I’ll be revisiting again and again.
“Get in here,” he says, voice low and rough.
“You’re not in charge,” I say, sinking back against my throne. “I am.”
Softer now. Deeper. More dangerous. He says, “Get in here, Madison.”
A full-body shiver rolls through me, but I hold my ground. “No.”
That’s when his wet boot steps out onto the tile.
My gaze travels up his thigh, over his absurdly chiseled torso, to his face, his eyes dark, locked on me. He’s dialed in now. Predator mode.
