I freeze when I hear voices in the distance, and suddenly, regret comes crashing through me. This is the worst idea. What was I thinking when I left the house? I don’t want to know that he fucking pities me! I don’t want to look into his face and seethat I was just a notch on his belt so he can pat himself on the back for doing a good deed.
God, I need to get the fuck out of here.
My face burns with a flush as I hurry through the main sitting room and head toward the kitchen. Maybe if I just throw them into the sink and run, no one will ever know I was here. I nearly trip over my feet to get to the sink, let them all clatter into the stainless steel bins, and then I rush out.
Except my brain immediately betrays me, and I turn to the right instead of the left, pushing through the wrong set of doors. It takes me a moment to realize I went the wrong way, and I don’t notice I’m not out front until I’m tumbling into the courtyard. And then I freeze because I’m not alone.
North is there with his back to me, and I can hear a faint murmur as he’s talking to…himself? I can’t make out what he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s scolding himself, and before I can stop myself, words tumble past my lips.
“Are you talking to yourself because no one wants to talk to you?”
Oh my god, what is wrong with me? My TBI makes me blurt out the most unhinged stuff every now and again. It’s better than it was when I was first recovering, but oh my god.
Why?
His head whips toward me, eyes wide with shock, and then there’s a flurry of black feathers as a bird takes off and flies up over the roof.
Silence falls, and then he clears his throat. “What are you doing here?”
Anything I might have wanted to say fizzles out midway across my tongue, and all I can manage is a garbled noise of acknowledgment.
He blinks at me, frowning, and I realize he’s looking for signs that I’m going into a seizure, which is probably fair, as annoyingas it is. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need me to call your brother?”
My brother? Like I need a fucking babysitter. It stings, and I swallow past the hurt as I take a breath. My tongue starts to unstick itself from the roof of my mouth, and sentences begin to form.
Hopefully in proper order.
“No, I’m fine. I, uh…I had…” I thumb over my shoulder toward the door as I grasp for the right words. “I returned some of the takeout containers Easton left at my place.”
North’s cheeks go faintly pink. “Ah.”
Ah? That’s it? Not that I’ve been a better conversationalist, but goddamn it. I don’t know why that makes me so suddenly and irrationally angry, but it does. This man had his hand on my dick not that long ago, and all he can manage isah?
He clears his throat. “Well, if that’s all…”
“It is. I’m going to go.” My tone is icy, but I can’t help it. I feel weirdly dismissed. He’s talking to me like everything is fine. Like he didn’t pin me to the bed and rip an orgasm from my body. Like he wasn’t the first person I’ve touched since Liam.
Like that one fucking kiss we shared didn’t turn my entire world upside down.
Like my presence to him is just…ah.
I turn on my heel, marching away as quickly as I’m able to move, which isn’t very fast at all right now, especially since I couldn’t carry my cane and all those containers. But I make it inside and halfway down the hall before I realize his footsteps are echoing after mine. I try to pick up the pace, but my hip is aching, and I don’t get past the end of the hallway before his warm, strong, annoying-as-fuck hands are on me.
“Wait!” He’s breathless as he grabs me around the waist, and he puts his lips right next to my ear. My back slams against his chest, and his next word comes out a ragged whisper. “Wait.”
I try and elbow him off, but instead of letting me go, he opens the nearest door and shoves me inside. I tumble forward and crash against a tall shelf full of what looks like cleaning supplies, and then he’s inside and slams the door behind him.
And now we’re standing in the dark with cleaner fluid fumes burning the inside of my nostrils.
“What the fuh—!” I start to shout.
Somehow, in the pitch-black, his hand slaps over my mouth, and he presses me back against the shelf. “Shut. Up.”
“Mmfpfha!”
“Leo,” he growls.
All the rest of the sounds I’m trying to make die in the back of my throat, and I go limp against him. I can’t help it. The smell of him, the feeling of his warm body, the way his lips are so fucking close to mine that all I’d have to do is turn my head for a kiss?
