Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
ASPEN
The pale, hollowed-eyed face staring back at me in my rearview mirror is barely recognizable. I look from my reflection back to my house and nearly laugh.
It’s so far away.
Farther than I want to move for sure.
If only I had more of that coffee Emmett brought me this morning. Hell, I’d need another gallon of it, but at the very least it might give me enough energy to drag myself out of the driver’s seat.
I blink hard against the sting behind my eyes.
God, I’m tired.
Not just physically.
Mentally, I’m hanging on by a thread.
And emotionally . . . whew.
Hard pass on unpacking that disaster tonight—no, this morning. It’s barely ten.
My forehead falls to the steering wheel and I wrap my arms around it.
“You won’t judge if I just take a little nap. Will you?”
The tan leather groans in response as I shift, trying, and failing, to get comfortable. The stitching is stamping its ugly pattern into my forehead.
My bed and three to four business days of rest is the bare minimum of what I need.
My head is as heavy as a cinder block when I lift it to lean back against the seat and let my eyes close for just a moment. Filling my lungs with air, I reach into my reserves, coming up empty, but pushing the door open and forcing myself from the car anyway.
Gravel scatters under my heavy feet as I trudge to my front door. I stumble when my toe catches on the second step, peeling paint scraping my palms.
“Awesome.”
By the time I make it inside, my legs are shaking. I lean against the wall long enough to toe off my shoes, my calf knotting painfully from the effort.
I sniff hard, refusing to cry this close to victory.
Shower and bed, that’s the prize.
On autopilot, I drop my purse on the counter and shuffle toward my bedroom.
Halfway down the hall, the faint hiss of running water finally cuts through my brian fog.
I stop.
Then relief hits so hard my knee almost buckle.
Emmett.
It feels like days since sweet, stubborn, coffee-bringing Emmett walked out of the hospital doors. I’d hoped he’d wait, that I’d come out to find him pacing. But his half-healed ass walked home. Apparently one near-death experience wasn’t enough for this man.
Some of the tension leaves my shoulders as I keep walking.
Then another sound slips through—a low vibration.
“Oh, come on.”
So help me, if my plumbing picks now to act up I don’t think I’d survive it. The plumber is already behind, thanks to his paternity leave, and at this rate, I’m going to end up bathing in the river with the moose.
I collapse in a heap on my bed, assigning homeowner problems to be dealt with by future Aspen and closing my eyes.
A loud thump from the bathroom startles me. Then a deep, guttural groan follows the crash. I’m off the bed before my tired brain catches up, guilt hitting hard as I sprint for the bathroom.
I shouldn’t have left Emmett to his own devices while dealing with Jeremiah.
He overdid it.
Of course he overdid it. He walked home angry and now he’s lying on my shower floor with a head injury.
Shouldering the door open, I skip knocking.
Steam curls around me as I step inside and then, I freeze.
Emmett’s standing tall and broad on the other side of the frosted glass.
Uninjured and oblivious.
A whimper slows everything to a stop.
And I mean everything—my feet, my heart. Time and the Earth’s rotation grind to a halt as the scene in front of me unfolds.
Emmett’s bicep and back strains as he pumps out a spellbinding rhythm. He’s turned just so, giving him some cover, but there’s no question where his hand is.
Somehow, not being able to see all of him makes my heart thrash harder in my chest.
He’s as consumed by the chase as I am by what I’m witnessing.
Oh. My. God.
What I’m I doing? This is wrong. On so many levels. I know it is.
Wide awake now and blood pumping loudly behind my eardrums, I’m glued in place by the sight in front of me, unable to move, even though I know I need to.
Then buzzing filters back in.
My eyes drop. The noise isn’t in my head and it’s not my plumbing. It’s coming from the vibrator at his feet. The full picture of what I walked in on comes crashing in neon pink focus and shatters any hope of self preservation.
I’m a remarkable woman, a smart one, but the implications of the situation turn my brain to a pile of mush. It’s all I can do to stay upright, my knees wobbling as the images of what Emmett was doing before I walked in fill my mind,
It’s an invasion of my privacy. He took something personal and intimate without asking. I should be furious.
And if this were anyone else . . . I would be.
But this is Emmett.
Emmett, who listens.
Who notices.
Who walked a mile with healing ribs just to bring me coffee because he was worried about me.
That realization hits harder than it should, sending warmth spilling through me in a way that makes no logical sense whatsoever.
Heat blooms beneath my skin, low and aching, my body betraying every coherent thought in my head as I stare at the man unraveling behind the steam.
I bite down on my lip, stopping the needy noise that tries to slip free.
Overwhelmed and too hot, I step back. I need space to process all of this.
“Aspen.” My name fractures as it leaves his lips, rough and tender.
My name has never sounded like that before, and god is it perfect.
Emmett’s powerful body folds, his shoulder heaving as his forehead presses against the tile. He shudders and his release lands in ropes, coating the tile in an obscene mess that washes away too quickly.
I force my eyes up, finding his head bowed and jaw clenched.
He looks fine—no, not fine—steady. Angry but safe.
This is so messed up. I shouldn’t still be here, and my window of escape is closing.
“Fuck!” The curse comes out tight, filled with bitter disappointment. His fist balls, coming to the side of his face, the air in the bathroom turning from hot to thick.
It’s too much to process after the last twenty-four hours.
I fumble for the door behind me, but my fingers slip on the handle, making the loudest noise known to man.
Blue eyes fly open, finding me in the mirror as I scramble to slip through the door and yank it shut.
“Holy shit.”
My fingers cover my warm cheeks, and I slide to the floor against the doorframe. Emotions muddle together and I can’t separate the embarrassment from horniness.
I count backwards from ten, focusing on each breath until I’m steady enough to attempt standing. With the door frame for support, I push up from the ground, ready to run.
But before I can, the door opens behind me.
“Aspen.” Emmett’s voice is rough—too close to the sound that just pulled me apart piece by piece.
“Nope.” I throw a hand up without turning around. “Don’t—don’t say my name like that.”
The heat of his skin brushes my back along with the clean scent of mint and steam. He’s close enough to overwhelm every functioning thought left in my brain, but he doesn’t touch me.
Just waits.
“Let me explain.”
I shake my head immediately. “That’s really not necessary.”
My pulse refuses to calm down.
“I should’ve knocked, but I heard a crash and thought you hurt yourself.”
He inhales, and then, “My fist.”
“Oh my god.” My eyes squeeze shut. “And then you groaned, and it sounded like . . .” I trail off, mortified beyond repair as I force myself to turn around.
Huge mistake.
He’s wearing a pair of faded jeans, the button undone, a wet trail of hair leading straight to . . . yep, that. His shirt hangs from his hand like an afterthought, and his wavy hair is pushed back. The effect of him hurrying out here is devastating.
Emmett takes control in my moment of weakness, leaning in closer and dropping his head. His gaze falls to the floor between us before crawling back up every inch of me and locking me in place when it catches on my own.
“Did it sound like I stole your vibrator and pressed it to my cock until I blew all over my fist while thinking about you? Because that’s exactly what I did.”
There it is—that big-dick energy Harlowe mentioned looms over me, and I’m deceased.
Dirty talk from Emmett Slate is enough to take the bravest soldiers out.
No one, and I mean no one, should look as good as this man does, be as broody as he is, and talk like that. It’s reckless—criminal really.
“There’s no point in pretending that’s not exactly what happened.” His lips curve, crooked and half-smiling as he lingers in the doorway. “Considering you saw pretty much everything.”
“Guess not,” I mumble weakly. Clearing my throat does absolutely nothing to help. “Emmett, I’m barely hanging on here.”
His expression shifts instantly, something softer threading through all that heat.
“I should apologize.” His eyes move over me slowly, carefully. “What I did crossed a line.”
“It did.”
“But I’d be lying if I said I regretted it.”
“Excuse me?” There are parts of himself that Emmett holds back, but apparently this is not one of them. At least, not anymore.
He’s single-handedly obliterated all the lines between us. Or maybe I did that when I barged into the bathroom.
Fault doesn’t matter, though, because the outcome is the same . . . everything has changed.
My stomach flips.
“What the hell was that? You said my name.”
“I know.” His gaze drops briefly before finding mine again. “Couldn’t help it.”
The honesty in his voice hits harder than it should.
“You were thinking about me?”
A rough laugh leaves him. No humor in it whatsoever.
“Aspen, I’ve been trying not to think about you since the day we met.”
He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck. “Those oversized shirts you wear around the house? The way you take care of everybody but yourself?” His eyes drag slowly over my face. “You bringing me into your home was already dangerous enough.”
Dangerous.
The word settles low in my stomach. It’s exactly how I’ve been feeling. Like I’m on the edge of something that has the power to destroy me.
“And then today happened.” His expression sharpens. “You sending me away. Jeremiah cornering you. Walking into this house pissed off at myself and half out of my damn mind—”
He exhales harshly.
“And then I walked into your room—a place where I couldn’t escape you—and realized I was too tired to keep running from it.”
Oh.
That lands like a confession dragged out of him against his will.
He steps closer. We’re both under the doorframe now. I should back up, but just like when I first walked in, I can’t convince my feet to move.
“Emmett.” I don’t know whether his name is a warning for him or me. “We can’t.”
“Can’t we? I’m not a patient anymore. I took the referral out of the system. And we both like each other.”
His arm lands on the doorframe overhead. My hand comes up, landing on his bare chest.
“It’s not a good idea.” But instead of pushing him away, I find my hand traveling over his hot skin until it’s wrapped around the back of his neck and my fingers are threaded into his wet strands.
He leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, “It feels like a good idea to me. Even more now that you didn’t tell me I’m wrong.” There’s an unmistakable playfulness to him, and dammit, it only makes me want him more. “You want this too.”
I swallow hard. “Just because something feels good doesn’t make it good for you or make it right.”
He pulls back, and my hand falls away. The sharpness of his jaw is back, but he’s gentle as he brushes a strand of hair from my face.
“You’re leaving.”
“I am.” His eyes bore into me like a warning. “I don’t know how to stay and you deserve someone who knows how to give you more than pieces. But I’ll give you everything I have, while I can. That much I can promise.”
A man can’t say something like that and not have a girl second-guessing everything. As I turn his words over, looking for a reason to tell him yes, something tickles my brain. The danger. Knowing he’s leaving sparks an emptiness in my gut, and we haven’t even crossed that line.
“And what if I can’t give those pieces back when you leave?” I ask.
“I haven’t been whole in a long time. Anything you take from me is yours to keep. I’d rather walk this world a fraction of who I was before I met you than take them back.”
My ribs cinch tight, breath catching, like I swallowed something sharp.
How am I supposed to walk away from a promise like that? It’s the saddest and most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.
But at what cost? Both of us ending up missing pieces of ourselves. Because one thing is certain—Emmett’s been different since I met him.
“I need to think about it.”
“Considering what just happened in your bathroom, I think I can give you a minute to think.”
“Oh my god.” My hands come up to cover my face but Emmett traps them between his.
He shifts closer, his gaze dropping to my lips again, and hell, all I want is one taste.
“Out of respect for your boundaries, I’m going to walk away now, before I do something I can’t take back.” The strain behind those words tells me he’s struggling too.
Emmett pushes off the doorframe, leaving me where this all started.
As he goes, he pulls his shirt over his head with a hitch in his breath, turning at the last second.
“If we do this, someone needs to warn the doctor. Because if he even looks at you with anything less than professional intent, he’ll need a feeding tube to eat.
You might not want a scene, but I have no problem stepping in and setting him straight if he doesn’t leave you alone. ”
It’s a promise I have no doubt he’ll deliver on.
“And that’s exactly why I sent you away.”
“Smart girl. I’ve got less to lose than him and I’m not afraid to risk it if it means you’re free of him for good.”
Turning toward the bathroom, still in need of the shower, I almost fall flat on my ass when I see it. That fucker plugged my vibrator back in and left it on the counter. An open invitation.
I stare at it while I strip off my scrubs, knowing I shouldn’t, but that doesn’t make it any less tempting.