Laine walked into the kitchen wearing his Def Leppard T-shirt. It hung a few inches above her knees. Her light-brown hair was tied in a knot on her head, her arms were wrapped tightly around her waist, and her legs were bare.
He let his gaze roam from her sleek thighs to her tight nipples, which pressed against the thin black cotton of his shirt. His cock grew hard and need spiraled through him.
Her lips twitched, and amusement danced on her face. “Go on.”
“Uh. I was just explaining to Emmy how fast time goes once you’re an adult.” He pulled the sizzling skillet from the burner. “How much you can miss out on ... and regret.”
The playfulness left her expression, and she lifted Emmy off the counter. “Honey, you can see the ocean from the window. Why don’t you check it out?”
“Okay!” Emmy bounced out of the room.
Laine stood so close, radiating feminine heat. He kept his gaze on the eggs he was dishing onto plates, but all he wanted to do was touch her. To slide his hands up that shirt?—
“Regret?” she asked.
His shoulders tensed. Setting the dirty pan in the sink, he turned to face her. “Yeah, Laine. I’ve got regrets. Do you?” His voice was thick.
She drew back her head at his point-blank question, and her tongue swept over her bottom lip. God help him, he’d never forgotten the taste of her mouth. The silkiness of her flesh. The heat of her apex when she was wrapped around him.
“Yes.” Her voice was small, strained.
Now he regretted putting her on the spot. He brought his hands to her shoulders. “I don’t regret Christmas, if that’s what you’re thinking. But I hate how I handled it.”
Her gaze flew to his. “What do you mean?”
His blood heated just being so close to her. Just touching her. He couldn’t wrap his head around it—why he felt this way, why she drove him crazy, and that body ...
Christ.
“I could have done things differently.”
She stepped forward, her toes almost touching his and her head tilted back. The column of her throat was smooth and tempting. The bruise on her cheekbone was an angry purple, and a ring of tiny marks on the side of her throat made him pause. He brought his thumb to the strange series of bruises. “What happened here?”
She touched his fingers. “Oh. Cameron bit me.”
Shock rattled him. “What?”
She shook her head. “I-It happened the day I called you. He caught me ... well, he didn’t know what I was up to, but he suspected I was cheating.”
She turned away, pulled open a drawer, and grabbed three forks. He snagged her slim wrist, and his fingers wrapped all the way around it. The thought of someone hurting something so precious, so fucking dainty and pretty, made his head nearly explode with rage. “I have another regret.”
Laine met his stare. He studied the gentle slope of her nose and her green eyes, so much like Emmy’s.
“What?” she asked, the word raspy and maybe even hopeful.
Emmy’s chatter announced her approach. He leaned forward and dropped his lips to her ear. The warm, subtle scent of vanilla hit his nostrils. He wanted to kiss her neck, to erase the fucking teeth marks, but he couldn’t right now.
Maybe he’d never be able to.
“I should’ve killed Cameron when I had the chance.”
“Is breakfast ready?” Emmy asked, skipping into the kitchen.
He caught Emmy beneath her arms and tossed her in the air, catching her. She laughed, and the high-pitched sound was so light and full of giddiness he had to do it again. “Want to help me take the plates to the balcony?”
“Yeah!” Emmy pumped her fist.
He passed her a small plate and carried her toward the sliding glass door.
