Thirty-Two
Nathan
It’s been five minutes.
Five minutes since I sent a text telling her I was outside, ready to leave for her brother’s wedding weekend. The final piece of our arrangement.
Five minutes of nothing.
She’s either skipped town, or she’s sitting inside, freaking out about seeing me again. By the way my pulse is hammering in my throat, jaw locked so tight it might crack, I can’t blame her.
I needed a cold shower last night—took one, in fact—after I dropped her off at her parents’ place. I took a cold shower and still ended up in bed, fist wrapped around my cock, trying to erase the feeling of her on my skin, the taste of her on my tongue.
It didn’t work.
Not even close.
I still feel her.
Her hips under my hands. The way she arched into me. The hunger in her eyes, like she would’ve let me take her apart right there on her front steps, consequences be damned.
I let out a frustrated breath, slamming my head back against the seat. This has to stop. That kiss already blurred lines we swore to keep intact. Two more days. We need to get through the wedding we agreed to, and then we both walk away. Contract fulfilled. No more entanglements.
Simple in theory.
Sienna better come out soon because if I sit here remembering her breathless moans for much longer, I might barge inside and take what I really want.
I’m about five seconds from losing my patience when I finally see movement. Sienna steps onto the porch, her head turned away as if she’s scanning the yard, her posture rigid. Even from here, I catch the slight flush on her cheeks.
She looks…
Fuck.
She’s in a light yellow summer dress. Shoulders bare, collarbones delicate, golden hair catching the light. She looks soft and feminine. Two words that somehow manage to twist my chest in ways I don’t appreciate.
For all that, she also looks miserable. Like she’d rather be anywhere else.
I grit my teeth, stepping out of the car. She still won’t look my way as I walk around to the trunk, retrieving her suitcase without a word.
“Thank you,”
she says stiffly, hugging herself.
Still not looking at me.
I toss her suitcase into the back of the SUV with a thud.
“Sure,”
I manage, turning to face her, but the words die in my throat. She’s avoiding my eyes on purpose, and it’s irritating as hell.
She starts toward the passenger door, but before she can slip away, I shut the trunk and catch her elbow, pulling her back. She tenses under my grip.
“Sienna,”
I say, half amused, half something else entirely.
Arching a brow, her gaze is still averted.
She forces a tone that I can see right through when she says, “Hmm?”
No.
She doesn’t get to freeze me out after leaving me with an entire night of cold showers and unsatisfied need.
Sliding my hand up to cup her chin, I tilt her face toward mine. “Look at me.”
A beat passes. Her shoulders deflate a fraction, and she finally lifts her eyes, meeting mine in a rush of tension that slams into my gut.
There it is.
That same electricity from last night, swirling beneath her composure. She can’t pretend it’s not there.
“You plan on avoiding me all weekend?”
I ask quietly. “Because if you won’t even look at me, it’s going to be pretty obvious to everyone this arrangement isn’t legit.”
She inhales, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back, and I see something raw in her expression.
“We crossed a line,”
she murmurs.
“We crossed a line.”
She wets her lips. “We can’t do that again.”
My stomach clenches. She’s not wrong. Neither of us needs this complication. The entire reason we started this was to help each other save face. No strings, no real intimacy. Yet every time I’m near her, my control slips a little more.
“Agreed,”
I say at last. “So that’s settled. Can we go back to you annoying the shit out of me instead of icing me out? I’d rather have you rolling your eyes at me than acting like I don’t exist.”
Her breath catches, but after a moment, a small smirk tugs at one corner of her mouth. Relief seeps into my chest. She’s not shutting me out completely. She’s still here, however precarious it might feel.
For some reason, that little flicker of amusement on her face feels more dangerous than the actual kiss we shared last night. My heart thuds painfully, reminding me just how thoroughly she’s lodged herself under my skin.
I clear my throat, stepping back to open the passenger door for her. She slides in without protest, and I can almost feel the tension humming between us, poised on a razor’s edge.
Two more days, I remind myself. Just two more.
I shut the door and walk around to the driver’s seat, trying not to think about how her laugh might sound or how that yellow dress might ride up her thighs once she’s settled.
We’ll go to her brother’s wedding. We’ll act like we’re perfect. We’ll handle the ex, the stares, the family commentary. Then we’ll walk away.
That’s the plan.
And I stick to my plans.