Chapter 20
Will
I closed the bathroom door harder than necessary and got into the shower before the water was hot. I stood there for too many minutes, the water doing nothing for the tension in my shoulders or the headache spreading across the base of my skull. Let alone for the tension anywhere else.
I’d been half-hard most of the day, my body refusing to forget how our tongues had tangled this morning.
And now, Brie couldn’t stand my touch.
I braced my hands against the tile, letting my head roll forward so the water could beat down on my neck and shoulders.
This was ridiculous. I couldn’t work through the Claire situation—couldn’t figure out whether we were dealing with government surveillance or corporate espionage—when every other thought circled back to our kiss.
To her breasts crushed against me. To the way they’d looked all those years ago, the one time she’d shyly let me see everything, and I’d been too inexperienced to touch her the way she deserved.
Today, I’d take one of her nipples in my mouth, suck on it until—
Fuck, Will.
If I could clear my head and get rid of this tension, I could actually work on the problem without my brain constantly replaying the taste of her, the feel of her.
I wrapped one fist around my cock, closed my eyes, and let myself remember.
The beach. The split second before our lips touched, when I’d thought maybe this was it—maybe this was finally our chance. The way she’d looked up at me after the first kiss, inviting me in for more.
My hand moved faster, grip tightening.
And my brain went further back. To our first time. In my workshop at my parents’ house. Our only time.
To the laughter, the awkwardness, the way she’d moaned my name when she came. The feeling of being inside her.
But then the next morning—
Stop. Go back to the beach.
I gripped myself tighter, so fucking hard for her. It wasn’t acting this morning. I knew Brie. I’d known her since we were seven. I knew the difference between her performing and her actually feeling something.
Didn’t I?
The doubt tried to creep in, but I pushed it away. Right now, I just needed release. I just needed five minutes where I wasn’t wound so tight I could barely function. I needed to think about Claire and the threat she represented, rather than constantly circling back to Brie.
I stroked myself faster, chasing the building pressure.
Images flashed through my mind—not just the kiss, but everything.
Her smile when we’d landed in Freeport two days ago.
The way she’d flopped on her bed in our hotel room that night.
The way she’d paced our room, too full of nervous energy to sit still.
How she’d looked in her fucking bikini—I bucked into my hand, remembering how embarrassed and sexy she’d been. Holy hell, the curve of her neck when she’d tilted her head back as I settled over her. The sound of her breathing, quick and shallow.
Her whimper.
God, I wanted her. Had wanted her for so long.
The climax hit suddenly, and I came with a bitten-off groan, clenching my free hand against the tiles. For a few seconds, my mind was at peace, full of the memory of falling asleep last night with her in my arms.
I leaned my forehead against the wall. The release had helped—my body finally relaxed, the constant edge of arousal gone. But the emptiness that replaced it was worse somehow.
This wasn’t what I wanted.
I wanted her. Not my own hand in a shower while she pretended nothing had happened between us. Not her tensing at my touch like I’d burned her.
At least now I could think clearly enough to deal with the actual crisis: Claire.
But when I returned to the bedroom in my sleep shorts, Brie had already settled under the covers, hugging the far edge of the mattress. I slipped in on the opposite side, acutely aware of the expanse of sheets between us.
I turned out my bedside light and stared up into the darkness, listening to Brie’s breathing. She wasn’t asleep. She was pretending in order to avoid further conversation.
“Brie?” I whispered.
“Yeah?”
“About this morning…” I paused, trying to find the right words. Telling her I wanted her was probably not the right move. “On the beach this morning, when we—”
“I am so sorry.” Her voice was tight. “I was trying to sell it for Claire, but it came off all weird, didn’t it?”
Weird?
“I was trying to pretend I was kissing Shawn, and that got awkward—”
They’d broken up, hadn’t they? Almost a year ago. She was thinking of him? That was why she seemed so into it? It wasn’t me?
“—and then the practical heat stroke.” She puffed out a sharp breath. “It was a lot hotter up top than I was expecting.”
“Are you sure—”
“Undercover’s kinda stressful, I know.” She was babbling. She always did when she was embarrassed. “But it worked, so I guess it was worth it?”
Worth it? It was all I could think about.
She was avoiding the subject, but I didn’t say it. What if she was telling the truth about Shawn, and the babbling was because she was embarrassed she was still hung up on her ex, and not embarrassed about kissing me?
I couldn’t respond, so let silence fill the room. This whole Mnemis job was a bloody disaster. And I’d left my mother alone for this. Because I selfishly wanted a break.
My mother’s vacant expression mingled with all the other memories. The way she sometimes looked through me rather than at me. She was fading before my eyes, and I was helpless to stop it.
I could fix anything.
Except my mother.
And my father? Gone without warning.
The heart attack stole him before I could say goodbye, before I could tell him all the things I’d assumed there’d be time for.
And wasn’t that what I’d been doing with Brie for years? Assuming we’d have time later? Accepting fragments of what could be a whole, like her friendship, her trust, the easy way we worked together. All of it precious, all of it real. But still just pieces of what we could have.
Just as I had only fragments of my mother left.
I was tired of waiting for later.
But what if saying something drove her away completely? What if I lost even the fragments by reaching for the whole?
What if she really was thinking about Shawn this morning on the beach, and I was the dumb schmuck who couldn’t get over his first love?
I turned onto my side, facing away from her, and closed my eyes.
“Goodnight, Bug,” I whispered, not expecting a response.
The soft “Goodnight, Will” that came after several long seconds was barely audible, but it gave me hope. Somewhere in there, beneath the fear and hesitation, was the Brie who’d kissed me back on that beach.
And I wasn’t giving up on her.