Chapter 13 #3
They both looked at him and sighed. “Fair point,” Ruby conceded.
Lila patted his shoulder. “You’re getting better at this, Captain.”
Silas sighed. He didn’t want to get better; he wanted Dane gone from here. Why was that so difficult to understand?
“Give it some thought, sweetheart,” Dane said, and as he was prone to do, slid his arm under Wren’s posterior and lifted her up, walking her up the stairs to where he slept.
The man was, Silas admitted, physically strong.
As the pair passed through them, he was conscious of what Ruby called their “sexual energy”—such a vulgar term.
Thus, as they were not—again, Ruby’s phrase—“creepy perverts,” the ghosts withdrew. At the front door, Silas stood aside to allow the ladies to pass first.
For though they might have the ability to walk through walls, he believed they should, wherever they could, and because they were civilized, use doors.
* * *
After kicking open the door to his bedroom, Dane placed Wren on her feet, but when he reached for her, she backed away, putting her hands up. “I’m sweaty, Trafford.”
Was that supposed to put him off? She would have to do better than that. “That’s not a problem,” he assured her.
“It is for me,” she told him, reaching for her slouchy top and pulling it up and over her head.
Today’s sports bra was deep purple, and it was his new favorite color.
He’d bet all his savings that her panties would match.
Dane watched, anticipation building as she shimmied her yoga pants down her legs …
yep, matching. God … hot. So freakin’ hot.
He was a dead man.
“Any chance of a glass of wine, Dane?” Wren asked as she skipped away and headed for the bathroom. “I need the restorative power of fermented grape juice.”
For her? Pretty much anything.
Dane jogged down the stairs, found a bottle of Chardonnay, and poured a healthy amount into two glasses. Needing a minute, he grabbed a beer from the fridge, and leaning back against the counter, drank.
Things were changing, and he couldn’t ignore that they were running out of time.
Wren’d received a job offer and was thinking about going.
His lease on this place had six weeks to run.
His boss’s questions about when he was returning had become more frequent, and more pointed. Lammas was nearly here…
He looked up, thought about her in the shower.
He couldn’t think properly when he was around Wren.
Sometimes, with her, it felt like he needed to wear an emotional hard hat, like he was on still trembling ground, the earth below him rumbling and pissed off.
Looking at her for too long also felt dangerous.
Like if he looked at her for too long, he’d feel too much. And he felt plenty already.
Danger and safety. It felt strange to think of those words in the context of a relationship. He was used to thinking in those terms at work, where the rules were clearer and the risks easier to measure.
She hadn’t mentioned Alex since that night on the lake.
He’d like to think that she’d forgotten about him, but he was adult enough to know that he probably crept into her thoughts now and again.
The guy certainly crept into his. Because Alex had offered her something he couldn’t: stability.
A together type of relationship; a relationship built on commonality, on history, on time spent together.
And, crucially, being in the same fucking place.
He dragged a hand over his mouth. He couldn’t offer her any of that—no, what he brought to the table was heat, escape, adrenaline. He was a detour, a step out of time, a fun time before real life resumed. He wasn’t the destination and had never wanted to be.
Except that now, sometimes, he thought he did.
And if she chose him, with his issues and his nomadic life, he’d have something to lose.
And that was a risk he swore he’d never take again.
They’d be good at first. They always were.
But eventually, the life she imagined with him wouldn’t materialize, and she’d walk away.
He’d promised himself he would never be left behind like that again.
But a part of him, reckless and stupid, still hoped for something he knew would hurt them both in the long run. He couldn’t keep her, but nor could he imagine letting her go.
Returning to the bedroom, he put the glasses on the credenza, quickly stripped down, and tossed his clothes on his neatly made bed.
He found a condom in the bedside drawer, silently entered his bathroom, his mouth drying up at the sight of Wren in his corner shower, naked.
Gorgeous legs, a toned stomach, that very luscious and shapely butt, and her wet hair plastered to her back.
The water straightened her curls, and he was amazed at how long her hair was, the ends touching the middle of her back.
She hummed a song, oblivious to him happily watching the hot water sliding over the tight muscles of her back and butt.
Then, sensing his presence, Wren turned and arched an eyebrow, and he saw the welcome in her eyes.
She took a glass of wine from his hand and, keeping it out of the water, took a healthy sip. Then sighed and held the cool glass to her chest.
“You can go now, but thanks for the wine,” she said, teasing him.
Oh, she’d noticed his hard-enough-to-drill-through-concrete cock and was trying to play it cool.
But the heat in her eyes gave her away; he knew that if he slid his fingers between her legs, he would find her wet and hot and very turned on.
They sparked off each other… Sparked? No, they blazed and roared.
They were an out-of-control wildfire. And he didn’t want it to stop.
Placing the condom on the shower ledge, he leaned his shoulder against the glass wall and sipped his wine. The occasional drop of water hit his legs, stomach, and shoulders. But he was content to stand here and look at her, for minutes, hours, days…
“God, you are so beautiful, Wren.”
Wren closed the space between them, and lifted her mouth to be kissed, Dane obliged. “You’re pretty hot yourself.”
She raised her hand and placed it on his heavily bristled jaw. He should shave, sometime soon; he’d gone longer than he normally did without scraping his face, but since Wren often dragged her fingers across his jaw, just as she was doing now, he knew she liked his scruff.
Pleasing Wren, whether it was feeding her drugging kisses, sucking her between her legs, or nibbling her hipbone, was his newest hobby, his latest obsession. Whatever she liked turned him on…
God, the woman just had to step into the room and he was thinking of how soon he could get her naked.
It was the craziest thing; he hadn’t been this obsessed with a woman since he discovered sex.
It was torture to stand here and not touch her, but it was also a pleasure to look at her, and when she reached out to touch him, he sighed.
He loved feeling her small, capable hands streaking over his body, down his chest, over his stomach, brushing past his cock.
She, like him, liked to tease, to build him up and pull back… She was a talented lover, better than anyone he’d slept with before.
Dane placed his wine glass to her lips and watched her as she sipped, her sultry mouth now lip-gloss-free. He thought about asking her to drop to her knees, but if she did that, sex in the shower would be over before it even began.
No, he wanted to use that condom. He wanted to take her up against the tiles, her legs wrapped around his waist, and inhale the smell of this hot, sexy woman.
He glanced across the room, to where his collection of bodywash sat on the shelf—ten bottles, maybe more—and realized he still hadn’t nailed down her scent.
Since she’d yet to bring any toiletries over from Luna’s, he still didn’t know what brand she used.
He could ask her, but he felt like an idiot admitting that he was obsessed with her scent.
“Are you just going to stand there, Trafford?”
“I’m enjoying the view,” he told her, smiling at her over the edge of the wine glass. She responded by draping her arms around his neck, teasing him by rubbing her breasts against his chest.
He hardened further, unbelievably, he’d thought he was at full capacity, and released a small laugh. “I cannot wrap my head around the way you make me feel, how much I want you. You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Death by sex,” Wren murmured. “There are worse ways to go.”
“You’re not wrong.” Dane put his wine down, placed his hands on her waist, and lifted her. Wren locked her legs around his hips, and when she turned her head to trace his right muscle with her tongue, he knew she liked the way his biceps bulged.
“You taste good.”
“Not as good as you.” Dane backed her against the shower wall and dipped his head to pull her earlobe into his mouth.
Over the past couple of weeks, Dane had made a study of her body. He’d discovered that her shoulders were wickedly sensitive, that the curve of her ribs made her shiver, and that the spot just beneath her right butt cheek could undo her completely.
He’d given his full attention to finding out what Wren liked and loved, because what was the point of doing a half-hearted job?
He was, by nature, thorough. Focused. And determined to get it exactly right.
Judging by her responses—sighs, moans, and soft, delighted screams—he was doing it right, but he believed there was always room for improvement.
Wren crossed her ankles and pushed her heels into the lower part of his back. His dick landed against her core, and she lifted her hips, using her strength to brush against him. Pleasure and sheer delight crossed her face, and she slammed her eyes closed.
Wanting to look into her soul, he held her with one arm and lightly gripped her jaw. “Wren, sweetheart … don’t hide from me.”