This past week has been stressful, as I’ve been preparing for this conference, and I’ve had little time to do the thingsI usually do. Like shave. Box with Grayson.Talk to Vivienne.Though I’m the only one to blame for that last one.
Now, I have no excuses—it’s time to lose the Tarzan look.
I quickly shower off the twelve hours of agony, wrap a towel around my waist, and grab a razor. White foam gathers in my palm as I carefully work it into a lather and coat my face with it. Stroke by gritty stroke, my face becomes mostly clean-shaven.
I’m on my final pass, about to finish, when a bloodcurdling scream rips through the air.
“Oh my God!”
The blade dips into my skin, and I wince at the sharp sting.Red. It’s the only thing I see as blood drips down from my jaw.
“You sabotaged me!”
I step out of the bathroom to see Vivienne’s silhouette pacing back and forth in a dark corner of the room, phone pressed to her ear, and the contents of her suitcase spilled on the bed.
“You replaced my stuff!” she says in disbelief. “I don’t care if you thought this would be good for me, Sutton. I’m tired. I’m cranky. I want to sleep in peace, but I can’t do that anymore because of you!”
A moment passes as her roommate responds, but from the shake of Vivienne’s head, it’s clear she finds her answer unacceptable.
“Yes, I’m wearing the pjs you gave me, and no, I do not deem them comfortable to sleep in…Of course, I covered myself up. I was no longer planning on seducing the man, Sutton—”
With a loud thud, the suitcase falls off the bed.
Vivienne jumps back in fear, hand still clutching the sheet wrapped around her body. Her shoulders relax slightly at the sight, before her eyes span the room and land on me. Theygrow impossibly wide, and within seconds, her phone is tossed to the side, the sheet around her body drops, and she’s rushing over to me.
I suck in a breath.
Baby-blue satin and lace barely cover her breasts, meeting at a delicate point in the middle before flaring open to reveal the smooth expanse of her stomach. She’s got the tiniest pair of matching shorts to go along with it, exposing her legs. Long. Slender. Toned. There was nothing left to the imagination.
Two hands land on either side of my face, and I wince at the contact. It burns. Not from the cut of the razor, but from her touch. Her presence. Her everything.
“What happened to you?” Her voice is frantic, thumb pressing on the cut.
I look down to see those brown doe eyes whose sight alone might make me break. The way they look at me with so much tenderness and care. How easy it is to get lost in them.In her.I can’t do this anymore. The back and forth. The flirting and pulling back.
Reluctantly, I take a step back, not knowing how long I’ll last before doing something idiotic.
“Are you okay?” Vivienne’s grip on my face tightens. I shake my head back and forth. “What’s wrong? Did someone cut you?”
I smile ever so slightly at the assumption that someone would barge into our hotel room, cut my jaw, and leave in time for her not to notice. She’s so damn adorable, but my tongue is tied. I stay quiet—only trying to free myself from her grasp, and failing when she doesn’t let go.
“I’ll go clean myself up,” I reassure. “It was just the razor.”
Vivienne denies my attempt at an escape, taking small steps forward and guiding me along until my back hits the bathroom counter.
I stay still this time and don’t put up a fight. All because of that part of me that wants to feel her touch. It’s selfish, since I’m the one who keeps pushing her away in the first place, but I convince myself it’s harmless. She’s only taking care of someone who’s hurt. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Vivienne wets the tip of a white towel under cold water before raising it to my cut. One dab to the area and I wince in pain. But a part of me knows it has nothing to do with the cut and everything to do with the woman taking care of it.
“Does it hurt?” she asks, pulling back to meet my eyes. I shake my head again, causing her brows to furrow. “Then what is it? What’s wrong? Is it burning?”
“Your leg is pressed up against mine, your hand is on my chest, and the other is dabbing away at a cut I got because I was scared you hurt yourself. Everything aboutyouburns me, Vivienne.”
Shock flares up in her eyes, and her mouth drops open as the hand cleaning my cut pulls back on instinct. Her gaze flicks down to her hand lying on my bare torso, lingering barely long enough for me to catch her look of appreciation.
I turn my head to the side before my imagination runs rampant.
This woman is my own personal nightmare and dream wrapped up in one. Nightmare because I know I can’t have her, and dream because she’s somehow all I’ve ever looked for in a life partner.
