“That might be true.” I laugh. “But even if I’d traveled back in time and watched Ali and Frazier go at it in Manila, they couldn’t hold a candle to watching you fall apart around my cock.” She squirms, but I don’t let go. “You get this look just before you come. Your head tilts back, and your lashes flutter. And your bottom lip falls just a touch—and then it trembles as if the explosion is already causing foreshocks to rock you.” I groan, pulling her tighter. “It’s so fucking sexy.”
She tips her chin back and looks at me through her lashes. I have a sudden urge to take her home with me because the thought of anyone ruining her vulnerability or taking advantage of her kindness fills me with rage. And I have to wonder,who looks out for her?She’s a capable woman, there’s no doubt, butwho has her back? Who does she call when she wakes up in the middle of the night, scared of the dark, or when she burrows under the blankets with a snack to watch a movie and forgets her drink?
I know she has Astrid and Gianna, but in a perfect world, it would be me.
“Going back to reality is gonna suck,” she says, extracting herself from my hold. “I have a meeting with a student tomorrow online, and then two of my classes have the second draft of their essays due. And I just … ugh.”
I go back to gathering my things. As I reach for a pair of shorts, I notice the pink thread holding my arm together. I bite back a smile.
“What are you looking at?” she asks, crouching down to check under the bed for lost socks.
“My scar. It’s looking pretty good.” I glance at her and see the cut on her right thigh. I’ve noticed it a few times but have never asked about it. “What happened to your leg?”
She stands tall. “What do you mean?”
“You have a scar right there.” I point to her thigh. “Interesting place to get a cut.”
I didn’t think much about it, just figured it was an old childhood scar that refused to fade. But her shifty eyes make me reconsider my assessment. And when she turns her back to me, my curiosity rises three degrees.
“It’s no big deal,” she says, entering the en suite. I have a suspicion it’s not to get her toothpaste.
“So, what happened?”
“I got sliced.”
I wait for a longer explanation that doesn’t come. “By what?”
“A knife,” she says, her voice echoing through the bedroom.
“By whom?”
She comes into the room with her head down and deposits a few things in her bag. “It’s really not a big deal. I was on a date with a guy and had a piece of string dangling from my dress, so he used a pocketknife to remove it.”
My jaw ticks. “And he cut you instead?”
“Yeah. See? No big deal.”
“Did you get stitches?” I ask, following her around the room with my eyes.
“Three. No big deal.”
I inhale a breath, working to keep it smooth and steady despite the war call sounding in my head. “I feel like there’s more to the story than that.”
“There’s not.” She zips her bag closed and smiles at me. “That’s it for me. I’m ready to roll when you are.”
Fuck, I want to press for more information.Who is this guy? Has she seen him again? Did he do anything else to her?
Do I need to help a dentist find a new client?
Despite the questions roaring inside my head, I don’t ask them. There’s a speck of fear in her eyes that keeps me from going any farther … for now.
“So, you’re heading back to Boston?” I ask.
“Yeah. Saturday morning. I fly out at the crack of dawn, which—go me.” She rolls her eyes. “But I got a great suite at Ruma so there’s a silver lining.”
She’s always looking for the silver lining.
“Does it feel like home there?” I ask.
