I dropped the pants, stepping out of them and already reaching for my underwear.
But my eyes caught movement down below.
Mitchell was out there, striding out onto the pool deck. I gasped, crossing my arm over my breasts, a hand over the apex of my thighs.
“He can’t see you,” I whispered out loud. There was no way, with the room fully dark up here. He was on the phone anyway, pacing the deck, eyes cast down.
He’d changed earlier into an expensive-looking black sweater. Now, he had the sleeves pulled up, exposing his thick, muscular forearms. It had felt as soft as it looked against me when he’d held me. Softer even, in contrast with the hard lines of his body underneath. The memory of it danced across my skin, making my nipples tighten.
Making heat throb between my legs.
Some part of me recognized the perversion in this. I was staring at someone without their knowledge while completely naked and more turned on than I knew was possible. Still, I couldn’t move. I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t stop thinking of how he’d looked at me downstairs. The panic when I’d hurt myself. The guttural sound he’d made as he pulled me closer, unaware, I think, he’d made the noise at all.
I gripped the kitchen towel still in my hand. I wanted the pain to rip me away from this depraved, dirty act I was participatingin. Instead, I inched closer, my toes moving forward on the thick wool pile.
Downstairs, Mitchell ended the call, sliding his phone in his pocket. I froze as he ran one hand over his beard. My heart galloped in my chest, my whole being acutely aware of him, of me. I felt his hand on my throat, the press of his erection against my belly. Nothing, in my whole adult life, had ever been so hot. Without even knowing what I was doing, I felt my uninjured hand moving toward the wetness between my legs, gasping as I drew a finger over my clit.
And then he looked up.
I shrieked, stumbling backward, falling on my ass onto the chair. For a moment, I didn’t move.
He couldn’t see me.
Right?
I felt like I was going to throw up. What thehellhad gotten into me? I jumped up, jerking on my clothes. I needed to get far, far away from this man, the opposite of anything good for me. Being around him made me lose my mind. I didn’t do things like this. I was responsible. I was, if not a mother, a mother figure. I had big plans for my life. But someone like Mitchell could ruin me without a second thought.
It had happened to Mama. It could easily happen to me, too.
Not if I didn’t let it. Not if I never see him again.
It was the only truth I could cling to now, the only thing with real, true evidence. Everything else was just hormones and feelings.
I got on the last of my clothes and told myself I wasn’t being a scared little bunny. I was being a grown woman, protecting myself.
I was gone.
CHAPTER 15
Pervert
MITCHELL
Five. Six. Seven…
I huffed out air, the cold metal rim and net hooks of the basketball hoop carving pain into my palms with each chin-up.
Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen…
I made it to twenty-five before my arms turned into noodles.
Not my worst, not my best.
Not a fucking breath of relief from the flashbacks of feeling Winona against me.
MITCHELL: I’m sorry
MITCHELL: Winona. Just tell me you got home okay.
