Page 82 of Never the Same

He let his hands fall to the bed on either side of him. He slanted his head to steal a look at me, his gaze clashing with mine, keeping me a prisoner to whatever pain he was feeling with that heavy, somber expression crossing his face.

He broke first, stood and picked up his shirt. “You should shower. Gun oil and all,” he said as if in a daze, holding his shirt between his palms, eyes on the floor, like he was ashamed of what happened between us. The opposite held true for me.

I rose and followed his cues and snatched my shirt, hiding my breasts behind the material. My instinct was to argue, to fight back, but I couldn’t, not with how distraught he looked.

“Okay,” I agreed, then started for the bathroom, unsure how we’d gone from reckless abandon to a cold, hard stop. I tossed my shirt and glanced back at him. “I’m leaving this open.”

He was still clutching his shirt like a lifeline, shoulders forward under a weight I couldn’t see. He didn’t look at me, and I accepted the rejection and went into the bathroom, leaving the door open as an invitation in case he changed his mind.

Shorts and panties off, I stepped into the shower with only the chain on, hanging back, away from the spray, as I waited for the water to warm up.

Once it did, I stood there, numb and confused, only to startle a minute later at a shadow on the other side of the glass.

With a trembling hand, I slid the door open. Jason was leaning against the doorframe, still shirtless, his chest heaving. Dark eyes raked down my body, lingering between my legs, which had my body reacting immediately, a pulse of heat shooting through me.

“Talk to me.” I held out my hand, water trailing down my skin. “Or at least . . . come to me.”

“There are things about me . . . things you don’t know.” His eyes drifted back up my body, heavy with both desire and pain. “But I do want you. More than I can put into words. You have no idea how much, which is why”—he shook his head—“I’ve tried so hard to stay away from you.”

I sniffled, my tears hidden by the shower. “I don’t need answers if you’re not ready to give them.” My tongue darted over my lips. “Just come in here with me. That’s all.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped, forehead tightening, too. “Jeans stay on. If I take them off . . . and if you ask me to make love to you, I will. I won’t have the willpower to say no.”

I knew in my heart we couldn’t rush into sex, even if everything in me screamed to do that. I didn’t even remember my past sex life, my birth control situation—none of it.

“Okay,” I agreed. Anything to have him in here with me. “And as for the jeans—do whatever you need to do. Just be here with me.”

He pushed away from the doorframe and slowly came over, denim clinging to the thick outline of his erection.

When his palm met mine, the world stilled. Like something permanent clicked into place.

“So much for my three-foot rule and pretending to hate you,” he rasped, fingers threading with mine.

My body trembled, from the cold air and from everything he made me feel. “Well, you said you’re not a liar. So what’s the truth?”

He leaned closer without joining me, the shower spray bouncing off me to hit him.

His lashes dripped, eyes dark as black glass beneath them.

“The truth?” His mouth coaxed open mine. “That I’ll never be the same after today. That I want you, Hollis.” His kiss deepened, tender and certain. “And God help me, no matter how much I try and convince myself I can’t have you, that doesn’t change the fact I know I’ll always want you.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Reed

The spray beat down on my shoulders, hot water masking the chills crawling up my spine. I stepped next to her and rested my palms on the tiled wall, trying to process what was happening. Trying to understand how we got here. I’d been cleaning my guns, and she was supposed to read our messages and see how obvious it was that we didn’t belong with each other, and now here we were.

I pushed away from the wall and slowly faced her, ensuring I hadn’t hit my head and passed out. I deserved that kind of cruel fate, to wake up to the fact my mind was screwing with me.

My breath caught in my lungs when reality flexed its muscles. You’re here. And the evidence of what we did was on her body. My fingerprints marked her cheeks, her arms, her legs.

She remained quietly staring at me, her long, wet lashes fluttering. Her tongue catching drops of water when it should have been my tongue doing that for her.

I cupped water in my hands and ran it gently over her face, washing away my handprints, and she quietly watched me with those eyes that made me forget logic. Forget my past, the life I’d run away from.

I soaped up the loofah next and dragged it along her arm, her neck—avoiding her chain—then continued to clean the rest of her upper body.

Hesitantly, and maybe stupidly, I knelt before her. My jeans clung, becoming soaked through as I stayed there, washing my prints from her thighs.