Her fork pauses halfway to her mouth. “What?”
I take a step closer, my voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “You have no idea how fucking hard it is for me right now. Standing here, watching you stretch like that, knowing you’re wearing nothing under your shirt.”
Her fork clatters onto the plate.
“Do you know what I really want to do?” I lean forward, gripping the edge of her desk, caging her in. “I want to grab you, throw you on the bed, and fuck you until neither of us can remember our own names. It’s taking everything I have—every ounce of self-control—not to do exactly that.”
Her lips part, eyes going wide and dark as she stares up at me.
My gaze flicks to the line of her throat, where her pulse flutters wildly and I push away from the desk, needing some distance before I lose what little restraint I have left.
“I’m going to bed,” I announce, my voice rough. “Make sure to get some sleep. After breakfast tomorrow, we’re going out. I have a day trip planned.”
Without waiting for a response, I turn and stalk out of the room, closing the door behind me with more force than necessary.
I stalk back downstairs to the guest room, strip down and fall onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. My body is tense, cock hard as a rock, skin hot.
What the hell is happening to me? I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. This desperate, all consuming need. It’s not just physical—although fuck knows I want her body—it’s more than that.
I want all of her. Her smile, her sass, her stubborn determination. I want to be the reason she laughs, the reason she writes, the reason she believes in love again.
And that terrifies me more than the possibility I could disappear at any moment.
Shifting on the bed, I readjust my dick, then freeze. Something feels different. I glance down and a jolt of recognition hits me—I’m wearing boxer briefs—black cotton briefs with a tiny tear near the waistband.
Wait a minute. These are mine.
When I first appeared in Noia’s living room, I was commando under my pants. I know this because I only wear boxers to bed, if at all.
But these—these aren’t just any boxers—they’remyboxers. The ones I specifically remember buying at a small shop in San Diego after my last deployment.
I bolt upright, heart hammering against my ribs. Throwingoff the covers, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Crossing the room in three long strides, I yank the closet door open so hard it bangs against the wall.
“What the fuck?”
The closet is filled with clothes. Henley shirts, faded and new, hang on plastic hangers and my worn leather jacket is hanging on a hook. My favorite boots are sitting lined up like soldiers on the floor against the wall. Even my old Marine Corps T-shirt with the hole in the sleeve that I can’t bring myself to throw away stares back at me.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
I reach out, fingers trembling slightly as I touch the familiar fabric.
Grabbing the leather jacket, I bring it to my nose and inhale. It smells like me, like motor oil and the cologne I’ve worn for years. The worn patches at the elbows, the slight tear in the inner pocket where I once stored a switchblade, are all exactly as I remember.
Every piece feels like a memory. The more I touch, the more I remember. The gray T-shirt I was wearing when I first met Claire at the tattoo shop. The jeans I had on when I drove my bike cross-country after being honorably discharged.
An entire life I didn’t have before is starting to form around me, piece by piece, memory by memory.
Pulling on a pair of jeans and a black Henley, I pace the room, trying to make sense of it all. My truck showing up was one thing, but this? This is something else entirely.
I’m about to head upstairs to tell Noia when I spot something on the nightstand that definitely wasn’t there before—a wallet and a set of keys.
Snatching them up, I flip the wallet open. There’s my driver’s license with my face scowling back at me. Credit cards.A faded photo of my unit in Afghanistan. Cash. Even my goddamn library card.
The keys feel familiar in my palm—the key to my motorcycle, my apartment key, and the distinctive skull-shaped key that unlocks the door to my tattoo shop.
My heart is racing. It’s like the cosmos is anchoring me into this world more firmly with each passing hour. The universe seems to be filling in all the gaps, creating a complete life for me outside of Noia’s manuscript.
I need to see her. Now.
