That wasn’t his way.
“Ayuh. I’ll see what I can scrounge up.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
She watched his retreat. Watched the easy way he moved. The breadth of his shoulders, the narrowness of his waist, and the hard, round bulge of his glutes in those black fatigues.
Stop ogling the poor man, Sabrina! the voice of reason scolded. Haven’t you done enough to the poor man?
Right, she thought with a determined dip of her chin. No more ogling. No more stolen kisses. No more trying to force something that isn’t there.
After she relieved herself, she washed her hands and made the mistake of glancing into the mirror above the sink.
Holy shit.
Her waterproof mascara had not lived up to its advertisement. The bruise on her face was a kaleidoscope of colors. And the cut on her cheek had a thick, untidy scab.
And don’t even get me started on my hair.
She might need to borrow Boss’s clippers. The only solution to her rat’s nest might be a buzz cut.
Turning on her shower, she waited for the water to heat and steam to fog the glass before slipping out of her filthy clothes. Her nose wrinkled when she smelled what twenty-four hours of sweat, grime, and fear had left on her.
No wonder Hew wanted nothing to do with me, she thought as she pushed her clothes into the corner, determined to burn them in the fire pit the first chance she got.
That pesky voice of reason piped up again.
It really was incredibly annoying.
That had nothing to do with the way you smell, Sabrina. And everything to do with the fact that he spent months making his intentions clear and still you had to push it.
“Ugh,” she grumbled as she stepped into the shower. “What an absolute asshole I turned out to?—”
A knock had her poking her head through the glass door. “Yeah?” she called above the loud shush of the water spraying against the tiles.
“You’re in luck,” came Hew’s voice, smooth and deep. “Eliza whipped up those cream Danishes ya like. I snagged the last two. And I brought up a mug of coffee. Full of milk, just like ya like it.”
Full of milk because the coffee at Black Knights Inc. was strong enough to wake up her ancestors if she didn’t dilute it by half. And…just like you like it.
Lord, the man was a dream. She’d molested him, ogled him, ran from him so he wouldn’t say aloud the words she didn’t want to hear. And still he treated her like a queen.
Or, better yet, like a friend.
“I don’t deserve you!” she shouted.
When he didn’t respond, her earlier shame and embarrassment increased tenfold. She had created this awkwardness between them.
“Just leave it on the dresser!” she yelled, wanting to fill the void and also wanting to shoo him away so she could suffer in silence and solitude. “And thank you!”
Again, no answer.
Not that she expected one.
Closing her eyes, she tipped her head under the hot spray and hoped it would wash away the memory of how good he’d felt against her. How good he’d tasted on her tongue.
It was a losing battle, of course. What she’d felt in Hew’s arms wasn’t something that could be sent down the drain. It wasn’t just friendship or comfort. It wasn’t even passion or lust.
It was love.
She loved him.
