“Is this your way of avoiding looking at the dresser and feeling soft emotions toward McRae?” Cammie deduced with eerie perceptiveness.
“Partly. But mostly I want my shit back.” I strode into the house and shut the door behind me.
I squeezed my eyes closed, leaning against the front door.
The house smelled like him.
It took me a second to gather the courage to open my eyes.
Memories cascaded over me.
While he’d never confessed much to me, I’d told him a lot about my past, about my parents, sharing little anecdotes about my childhood and travels. He’d listened with patience, like he was truly interested. I’d never had that before.
And then, of course, there was the stupendously amazing sex.
Bent over the dining table.
On the sofa.
Against the wall.
Even on the rug in front of the fire one particularly chilly summer evening.
Shrugging off the images that flooded my brain and erogenous zones, I moved through his space, searching for the books and tablet. My heart leapt into my throat because they were in the exact same place I’d left them. I was sure of it.
There was one of my paperbacks on the coffee table.
One on the edge of the kitchen counter, next to my tablet.
I picked them up as I passed, frowning as I stared warily into the bedroom suite. The rest of my stuff—toiletries—should be in there.
Most of the memories were in that room.
Tears of frustration burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. When I’d promised that night Ramsay left the Lantern with the redhead that I wouldn’t give him anymore tears, I’d kept my vow. It hadn’t been easy. There had been some close calls over the weeks.
But I was determined to be strong. Not just because I’d recovered better than anyone could have expected from my attack, not just because I was determined not to grieve him, but because I had to live on this tiny island and see this man all the time. There was no other option for me but to compartmentalize the month I’d spent with him.
And get over it.
I had to move on.
Throwing my shoulders back, I strode into the bedroom and veered off into the bathroom first.
Staring at his vanity … I paused.
All my things were still here in the exact same place I’d left them.
The spare electric toothbrush I’d bought to keep here. My extra makeup bag. Deodorant. A hairbrush. It was all where I’d left it. It was like … he’d cleaned and then put all my stuff back in the same place.
I absentmindedly rubbed at the ache in my chest as I looked at my reflection.
If I closed my eyes, I could see Ramsay behind me at this sink. Hands on my hips. Lips trailing across the nape of my neck, which he knew was a sensitive spot for me. His bathroom was a wet room, so there was a massive walk-in shower where we’d explored each other’s bodies with an abandon I’d never experienced before.
Anytime I’d caught glimpses of Ramsay since he ended it, my immediate thought was one of vulnerability—this guy knew my body better than I did. He’d seen a side of me no one else had. He knew what I sounded like when I came. What my expressions were. How much I liked to be dominated. That I loved when he talked dirty while we were having sex. That I could come while he spanked my ass and told me the things he wanted to do to me.
This was knowledge only the man who shared my bed should know.
Except he no longer shared my bed. And he still knew.
