1:38 PM…
By the time Wolf finished closing up the house, Chrissy had toweled herself dry and changed into a soft sea foam-colored tank top and matching pair of sleep shorts.
She didn’t hear him stop in the doorway to the bathroom. She was down on her knees, searching through the various bottles and boxes beneath her vanity. And cursing a blue streak when she couldn’t seem to find what she was looking for.
Crossing his arms and leaning against the doorjamb, he enjoyed the view.
She was so long and tan. And the more he stared at the perfect upside-down heart of her butt in those shorts, the more he was convinced he was halfway to heaven but headed straight to hell for his prurient thoughts.
“Aha!” she exclaimed, holding a box of gauze bandages aloft and turning to catch him staring.
He yanked his gaze away, pretending to be fascinated by the little crack in the ceiling. He only glanced down at her after she shoved to a stand, and he smiled as if he’d just noticed she was in the room.
Just me bein’ a total gentleman andnotoglin’ the hell out your ass.
“This is the last one.” He hitched his chin toward the window above the toilet, moving quickly to close the sash and flip the lock. “All done.” He dusted off his hands. “No more air-conditionin’ the world.”
The light in her eyes instantly dimmed.
“What?” He was on immediate high alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Mom used to say that when I left the front door open.”
The tension drained out of him. “Her and every other parent since the dawn of HVAC. Sit down and let me get a gander at that bullet wound.”
This time she didn’t bristle at his autocratic command. She simply followed his instructions. After she was comfortable atop the toilet lid, she asked quietly, “How do you know when you’ve stopped grieving someone you’ve lost?”
Brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear, he gently cupped her face. He’d lost his paternal grandparents when he was only a boy. Both his folks had died two weeks after he joined the Navy when a F5 twister tore through their house. Then there had been Rusty, a brother to him in every way that mattered.
He knew about grief. So he felt confident when he told her, “I reckon it’s when the memory of them brings you peace instead of pain.”
Her smile was faint. “I like that. Who said it?”
He pressed a hand over his heart. “You wound me, woman. Not everything that comes out of my mouth is someone else’s genius. Some of the brilliance is my own.”
She tried to fight a smile and lost the battle.
I love her mouth,he thought. It was every man’s fantasy. So sweet and soft and devilishly eager.
He’d known she was responsive. Those few heated moments in the storage closet had proven that. But nothing had prepared him for the sheer wonder of her in that backyard.
It had been a heady thing to see how each subtle brush of his fingertips, the slightest change in the pressure of his lips or the stroke of his tongue, had made her gasp and writhe and pant for more.
Every moan that had fallen from her lips had seemed to bypass his ears and go directly to his cock. He’d throbbed so hard, it’d been a wonder he hadn’t split his own skin.
Thememorywas enough to have him swelling and lengthening again.
Since he didn’t reckon it was very gentlemanly to have a hard-on shoved in her face while rebandaging her wound, he seized on a subject sure to cool his ardor.
Even though he hadn’t a clue what she could possibly propose with herplan, he wasn’t fool enough to think it might be anything he’d like. “So…about this plan of yours.”
“Oh! Right. I’ve come up with a solution to our problem.” She dipped her chin decisively.
“What problem is that?”
“The problem of you mistaking being in love with me when what youreallyare is inlustwith me.”
He felt a muscle in his jaw twitch. One beneath his left eye followed suit. “This thing between us is more than hormones, Christina. And if you’re sayin’ otherwise, you’re not only lyin’ to me, you’re lyin’ to yourself.”
