Her face is inches from mine.
The trouble of the past months shows in the dark smudges under her eyes. But underneath the exhaustion, there’s softness. Her long lashes rest against her cheek, dark fans against milky skin. Her lips are parted slightly. She looks unguarded. Safe with me.
The truth strikes me without preamble.
A cheap hit on the pitch that whips your head back and leaves you wondering which way is up.
I’m falling in love with her. I’m falling for the woman who needs me as a friend.
I’ve never felt anything like it. I never saw this coming…Ava.
Her heartbeat is right there, and the want that blazes through me burns so hot it hurts. I want to kiss her awake. I want to keep her safe. I want to strip the world of anything that could hurt her and stand between her and whatever the fuck it is.
It’s how she fits into my life. As if everything before now had been a warm-up for her.
I clamp a mental vice on the thought and crush it.
Don’t go there. Don’t even look at the map.
Ava doesn’t need this. She doesn’t need another man right now. Men are dicks. That’s a proven fact. My dad was a raging dick. Nevin was a dick of the highest order. But even the best of us take up space, attention, and energy.
And Ava’s in recovery. She’s putting herself back together. The last thing she needs is an emotionally stunted rugby lad muddying the waters with his own messy feelings. She needs to be on her own. To find her rhythm again. Her strength and confidence.
I exhale slowly and force my heart rate to match the dragging tempo of the morning. My role is clear. I’m the beams you don’t see behind the plaster. I hold the weight so she can rebuild the house.
Her lashes flutter, and she shifts, her nose bumping against my pec. Then her eyes open. They’re dark with sleep and trying to focus on mine. She squints and processes the proximity of my face.
‘Have you been watching me, Scottie?’ Her voice is a sleepy rasp that travels straight down and starts a hungry pulse in my balls.
I keep my expression neutral. Deflection is the only safe play here. ‘I couldn’t sleep. Left my phone in my room, and there’s no telly here. You were the only available channel.’
She grins. It starts small and breaks across her face like sunrise over the Campsies. Bright, sudden, and breathtakingly stunning.
‘That’s not creepy at all.’ It’s a tease. An invitation to the patter that keeps us safe.
‘Says the one drooling on my sister’s pillow.’
‘I did not.’ She yawns. ‘How did you sleep?’
‘Aye, fine. Once the circulation in my left arm packed in, and I accepted the loss of a limb.’
‘Drama queen.’ She stretches, and her toned body lengthens against mine, shifting the warmth of the duvet.
Biology has no fucking respect for circumstance.
The feel of her, warm and small, sends a primitive demand straight to my groin. I want to wrap myself around her, to sink into that softness, but I’m here to protect her. I shift my hips back, putting distance between her and my semi. It takes every ounce of discipline.
‘What time is it?’ she asks.
‘Almost six. The house will be waking up soon.’ I watch her carefully. ‘How are you doing?’
She pauses mid-stretch. The shadows are still there, but the terror that had her shaking last night has receded. ‘Complicated emotional questions later. Coffee first. And maybe toast.’
‘Your wish is my command.’ I roll away from her. The loss of contact pulls at my gut, a sudden step out of a warm bath into a draughty hall.
I swing my legs out of bed and stand up. My back cracks in three places. ‘I spent an entire night folded up like a cheap deckchair. I’ll be sending you the chiropractor’s bill.’
She wriggles her nose. ‘Maybe you should see the London specialist that deals with all these Christmas romance injuries.’
