Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
florence
My feet pound on the floor, matching the erratic thumping in my chest.
I didn’t stop to think when I stormed in here; I just barreled through the door, desperate to escape the humiliation. Now, I’m pacing the length of the bedroom, praying for the ground to open up and swallow me whole.
One more distraction.
Snatching a pillow off the neatly made bed, I smash my face into it, muffling my scream.
I’m possessed. It’s the only logical explanation as to why I was about to climb into Dex’s lap and beg him to help me forget the noise inside my head. The alcohol had me hallucinating, because I swear something sparked in his eyes.
The three seconds of hesitation were loud.
Before he could turn me down, likely citing a slew of excuses, including who my brother is, I left.
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” I smack the pillow onto the bed with each word—which is when I remember what I’m wearing. Fast as lightning, I unbutton the shirt and throw it across the room, leaving me in only my bra and panties.
He was being nice, kept me company, and didn’t make me feel like a spare part. I misread the signs epically.
My phone is somewhere in his living room, and without it, there’s no way out. This is where I’ll die from shame.
Here lies Florence Abigail Sadler. Daughter, sister, and desperate hussy.
After a few more laps, my breathing slows and my heart rate levels out. I take in my surroundings. It’s tidy and minimalistic. The rustic wood gives it character, and my fingers run over the dark maple colored walls, polished to perfection. It’s simple, with a matching sleigh bed and furniture.
I stop in front of the nightstand, admiring the intricate patterns carved into the wood and its brass handles. Beside a half-drunk glass of water sits a dog-eared book, Working with Hickory written along the spine.
“Oh no,” I whisper. “No, no, no, no.”
I spin, tearing open the wardrobe. A lumberjack’s wardrobe. Flannel, so much fucking flannel. Work boots, men’s belts, and tight black T-shirts that hug tattooed biceps perfectly.
This is not a guest room. It’s the main bedroom.
Dex’s bedroom.
A knock on the door has panic seizing my muscles.
“Florence?” a baritone voice calls.
I silently creep over and press my ear to the wood, listening to his heavy footsteps and heavier exhales.
Unraveling, I spin the ring on my pinky, rubbing at the skin. It happens in slow motion. The silver band slips free thanks to my clammy hands. The sound of it bouncing along the hardwood floor may as well be the chime of church bells.
His marching stops.
“Florence. Can you open the door?”
“She’s not home right now. Could you call back later?” I squeak.
Even with the stomach-churning awkwardness, he laughs. Too bad I’m moving far, far away after this. I’ll miss that deep chuckle. And his tattoos. And mustache.
“You can sleep in there, but if it’s okay, I’d like to talk first.” The seconds tick by, and then, “I want to apologize.”
The door flies open, my abrupt appearance startling him.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for!” I protest.
“Fuck!” he shouts and jumps backward, clutching his heart. Then, his eyes drop to my chest, pupils blowing wide, and a deep groan rumbles up his throat.
Ah, yes, my brassiere is on display.
I sigh, not bothering to cover up. “Don’t worry, there isn’t much to see.”
His brow wrinkles. He goes to speak, but I cut him off, my pacing resuming.
“Seriously, there’s no apology needed. I overstepped.
I’m sorry. The whiskey has worn off, and I realize how grossly inappropriate I was.
My stress levels are high. I’m horny and, well, look at you.
” I make a face like it’s obvious and then swivel away.
“You can’t exactly blame a girl, but you were right to reject me. So, if it’s—”
A large arm whips out in front of me, slamming into the doorframe and halting my footsteps. Dex crowds me, and my limbs jelly at the intensity pulsing off him. “Would you stand still, woman, and let me speak?” he growls—actually growls.
“Shit.” During my tirade, I forgot he removed his hearing aid. “I’m sorry.”
His shoulders relax, eyes softening. “You’ve got to stop saying sorry when you have nothing to be sorry for.”
The urge to apologize is strong.
He steps closer. His pulse visibly thrums under the rose tattooed on his neck. “When did I reject you?”
“On the sofa…” My voice trails off. I can’t look away. Our gazes weld together as his large body towers over me. His scent, all wood and earth tones, makes me dizzy.
“I asked if you thought this was a good idea, and then you kinda freaked out on me.” A muscle in his jaw ticks, like he’s holding himself back. “You didn’t answer, so I’m going to ask again. Is this a good idea?”
My flesh pebbles as his fingers skirt down my bare arm.
“This?” I whisper hoarsely.
“One night. A distraction. That’s all it can be, because I’ll be honest, Florence, there isn’t much room in my life for anything else, along with other obvious reasons.” My brother. “I don’t do relationships, so if that’s what you’re looking for…”
Fists bang against my ribcage, my heart screaming at us to stop, but my brain likes the sound of a distraction, even if it’s temporary.
“I trust you, and I hope you trust me,” Dex continues. “Because I really want to forget for a little while, and fuck if I don’t want to do it with you. Even if I shouldn’t.”
“But you said nothing. You—” Whatever nonsense was coming out of my mouth stops when Dex steps over the threshold and cups the back of my head.
“I was busy wondering what kissing you would taste like.” He blows out a breath, whiskey and mint tickling my face. “But it’s up to you whether I find out the answer to that question.”
Me. He’s leaving it up to me.
I’m having an out-of-body experience while being hyperaware of everything. My diamond-hard nipples brushing his chest. The scratch of his calluses on my neck. How my core throbs, the inside of my thighs slick.
Most of all, I’m very aware of the thick bulge pressing against my stomach.
“Yes or no. One word, and I walk away or…” His gaze drifts behind me. To his bed.
No seems like the safest option. Doing this will change everything.
But maybe it won’t. This doesn’t have to mean anything.
Yes empowers me. It gives me the control I’ve been searching for.
Safe is boring.
If the rational part of my brain was switched on, it would warn me to tread carefully.
My heart has always drummed a different beat whenever I’m near Dexter Moore.
It might be one time for him, but I’ll be replaying this evening over until the end of time.
I’ve never voiced my feelings, deeming it pointless.
Why would he ever give me a lick of attention?
Yet, here he is, willing to give me the escape I crave, his hands on my body, stormy eyes staring at me as if it’s the first time, not the thousandth.
Balancing on my tiptoes, I seal my fate with the brush of my lips along his stubbled jaw. His breath hitches, touch drifting down my spine until his fingers slip under the waistband of my panties, teasing.
I lean back so he can see me speak clearly. “Yes.”
A gasp tears from my throat when my feet leave the floor, legs wrapping around his waist automatically. He strides into the bedroom with one goal in mind.
The change between us is automatic, from a low, humming current to an electric storm.
It’s a frenzy of lips and teeth clashing, clothes flying, hands roaming. We’re desperate for one another. For an escape. For a night of distractions.
The next few hours happen in a blur but will remain etched in my brain for an eternity.