Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
SINCLAIR
T he shower is just what I need to cleanse my body and my wayward thoughts. Throwing up is one of my least favorite things to do in the world, and knowing that I did it in front of August while he held my hair away from my face and murmured soft, soothing words in my ear is something I might never be able to live down. Not that I think he’d give me any grief over it. Or maybe he would? I’m not sure. When it comes to August, I’m always unsure. But in this particular instance…
I’m the one beating myself up over the most humiliating moment of my life. Could it get any worse? Well, I could’ve puked on him. He probably would’ve freaked out. Been absolutely disgusted with me, pushed me onto public transit and told me to find my own way home.
Instead, he brought me back to his luxurious apartment and now I’m standing in his equally luxurious shower.
The water pressure is perfect, as is the temperature, and I stand under the nozzle for far too long. Until my skin grows wrinkly and I start to feel like a drowned rat. I turn the water off and open the door to find two thick, fluffy towels sitting on the edge of the counter. I grab one and wrap it around my head, trying to squeeze the excess water out before I grab the other towel and begin to dry off my body.
I sag with relief when I spot the toothbrush and toothpaste waiting for me by the sink. I brush my teeth for far longer than necessary, desperate to get the lingering nasty taste out of my mouth. Once I’m done, I grab the bottle of body lotion and flip the cap, breathing deep its delicious floral scent and lather up my skin with it. Careful not to think about who this bottle of body lotion belongs to and why it’s here.
That’s none of my business.
I brush my hair and then slip on the black T-shirt August left for me to wear, disappointed to find it doesn’t smell like him at all. Truthfully? I’m addicted to his scent. His warmth. The words he said to me earlier still ring in my head and I can’t believe we’re at this point in our—relationship? Do we actually have one?
According to him, I think we do. Or at the very least, we’re on the cusp of one.
I’m a little freaked out at the thought of facing him. He’s just on the other side of the closed door, waiting for me, and I hope he’s not disappointed. What if the car is still waiting downstairs and he sends me on my way? He might. Talk about a horrible night.
Taking a deep breath for courage, I open the door and head into the bedroom, stopping short when I see August lying on the bed. Asleep.
His eyes are closed, his thick lashes making me envious. His pinkish-red lips that are slightly parted give him sleeping, sweet baby boy vibes, which is the very last thing he could ever be. Is this what he looked like when he was a little kid, fast asleep and dreaming in his bed ?
My heart warms at the thought.
Abandoning my earlier hang-ups, I carefully crawl onto the bed, keeping my gaze locked on his beautiful face. I shift closer, my movements slow, afraid I might jostle the mattress and ruin the moment. I only stop when my face is in his. I can feel his breath coming from his still parted lips and I lick my own, amazed at how much better I feel after taking that shower.
My body responds to being so close to him, everything on high alert. I want him. I want him, I want him, I want him and I think I could have him. For how long, I don’t know but I sort of don’t care. I just need to be careful and not completely fall for him. To do so would be detrimental to my mental health.
Falling in love with August Lancaster only for him to reject me would be soul-crushing. Life ending. He has far too much power over my emotions.
Slowly, I bend my head until I’m close enough to brush his lips with mine and his hand comes up automatically, fingers curling around the back of my head and holding me there.
“Thank Christ you brushed your teeth,” he murmurs against my lips, nipping at my lower lip.
I’m shocked. I thought he was asleep. “You’re awake.”
“I felt you crawling on the bed—that’s what woke me up.” His lips brush against mine with every word he speaks, making tingles cascade all over my skin. “Feeling better I assume?”
“Yes.” I part my lips on a sigh when he kisses me far too briefly. “Thank you for the T-shirt.”
“Looks better on you anyway.”
My skin warms at his compliment. “You haven’t even opened your eyes to look at me.”
“I don’t need to.” He kisses me again, his lips parted on mine, as if he’s trying to breathe me in. “You make everything look better.”
My stomach erupts like a bazillion butterflies took flight inside me, their wings flapping and tickling, making me shiver. He shouldn’t be allowed to say something like that. It’s too sweet, too…romantic. And he’s not the type. He’d be the first to admit it too.
Tilting my head, I try to deepen the kiss, but he rears his head back, ending our sort-of kissing.
“We’re not doing this tonight.” His voice is firm.
I fall back on my haunches, the disappointed sound leaving me loud enough to make him finally crack his eyes open. “You’re serious.”
“You’re not feeling well enough. I’m not going to have this night tainted with your upset stomach or whatever the fuck,” he practically growls.
I can’t help but smile because him saying that proves he wants this moment to be special for me. He wants it to be good because he cares and oh my God, if that doesn’t make my heart want to sing, I don’t know what else could make me feel that way.
“I feel lots better?—”
He cuts me off. “No. Some other time. Now, come on.” He rolls off the bed and stands, stripping off his clothing until he’s standing in front of me in just his navy boxer briefs, his semi-erect cock pushing against the front of them. “Time for bed.”
Fighting disappointment, I slip under the covers and he joins me, pulling the sumptuous comforter over us. He rolls toward me, his heavy arm settling across my waist as he pulls me into him. “Your hair is wet.”
“I couldn’t find a hair dryer.” I rest my hand on his chest, right over his thundering heart.
“I don’t believe there is one since I rarely use a hair dryer.” He pauses. “Did you like the lotion?”
“It smells nice.” If he tells me it belongs to his ex, I’m going to lose it.
“I don’t know where it came from. ”
I breathe a secret sigh of relief.
“I don’t spend much time at this apartment. I only just bought the place,” he explains. “Once I graduate, I imagine I’ll move in.”
“You want to live here?”
“As of right now, yes. I’m not quite sure what I want to do after I graduate. The future is wide open and filled with endless possibilities.” He sounds like he’s repeating something someone else told him.
“I don’t know what I want to do either,” I admit, resting my head on his hot chest. I bet his skin could dry my hair. “I’m just winging it.”
“I thought you were focused on getting good grades and didn’t want any distractions.”
I frown. Did I tell him that? Sounds like something I’d say. “I mean, I am focused on getting good grades and not wanting any distractions. I want to make something of myself once I graduate and not depend on my family’s money.”
“Aren’t you depending on it right now by going to college? I assume Daddy Jock Rot is paying for it.”
God, I really hate that he brought up Jock Rot. “Well, yes. I’m not going to turn down my parents when they offer to pay for my education.”
I got into Thornhill because my father made a huge contribution to the alumni fund, despite him not being a graduate. My grades were solid at Lancaster Prep. I was one of the valedictorians because I threw myself into my studies my freshman year, thanks to being harassed by the very man that I’m in bed with. And after getting straight A’s my first year there, I kept it up. I liked being a top student and the attention I got from it. It’s the only positive reinforcement I received when I was at Lancaster and my parents were thrilled.
Dad said he greased a few palms—direct quote—at Thornhill and I didn’t stop him. Whatever it took to get me in, I was there for it. I’d like to think my grades alone made it happen, and I’m sure they contributed somewhat, but even I know…
When they say money talks, it’s not a lie. My father’s contribution helped pave the way for my entry into Thornhill. August got in because he’s a Lancaster. Ivy League schools care about who their star students are, and while I’m sure they don’t want the Jock Rot name attached to the school, they’ll definitely take that Jock Rot money.
Ugh. I hate even thinking the term jock rot. It’s so gross.
“I appreciate your honesty.”
I glance up at his face when I note the admiration filling his voice, though his words also sound faintly sarcastic. Knowing August, they are, but no. The look on his face is also filled with admiration. He means what he says. “Thank you.”
“Most women would tell me they don’t care about money.” His expression turns hard. “They’re full of shit.”
“They’ll tell you that because you have infinite loads of money and they want to look like they’re not after it,” I point out.
His gaze locks with mine and he reaches out, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from my face. “You don’t seem to care about my wealth.”
“I can’t even begin to fathom how much it affects your life.”
He doesn’t speak for a while and neither do I. We just watch each other, our bodies molded together, the beat of our hearts in tandem. I feel completely attuned to him and while it’s a tad overwhelming, this…f eeling growing between us also feels natural.
Right.
“You surprise me,” he finally murmurs.
“In a bad way or a good way?” I ask warily.
He smiles and my heart pangs at how genuine it looks. “My feelings are positive. I was referring to how you seem completely unaffected by my wealth and power. ”
“When you talk like that, all I want to do is roll my eyes.” I do so just for his benefit, which makes his smile grow.
“See? That right there. I don’t intimidate you at all.” He runs a hand over my hair, resting it on the side of my head. “I find that—appealing.”
“You made it your goal to intimidate me for a solid year,” I remind him, my voice a raspy whisper. “All these years later, I finally grew into myself and stood up to you.”
That’s not exactly true. I did stand up to him back then—more than a few times.
“And look where it got you.” He chuckles, his fingers sifting through my hair. “In my bed.”
“Fourteen-year-old me would have a hard time believing it.”
“I barely remember bullying you.” His smile fades, his gaze turning deathly serious. “But I do remember enough to know that I was a dick.”
“You were.”
“I made your life miserable and I don’t know why. Probably because you reacted so strongly.”
“Maybe you sensed my devasting beauty beneath the braces and the zits and you knew it would be detrimental to you.” I’m trying to tease him, but I end up sounding ridiculous. I’m sure that’s not it.
But his expression remains serious, his gaze never wavering. “I probably did. And you are fucking detrimental to me. At least I’ll die with a smile on my face.”
When he kisses me, he steals my breath. My thoughts. All I can do is feel. The sensuous way his mouth moves against mine, coaxing my lips apart, his tongue sliding in for the barest lick around mine. He’s gone before I can respond, pulling his mouth away from my still-seeking lips and he tucks me firmly against him, my head lodged in that warm space between his neck and shoulder.
“Go to sleep,” he murmurs and like the obedient girl I am, I shut my eyes and fall into deep slumber within seconds. I’m exhausted, yet I feel…safe.
Safe in his arms.
In his bed.
Life has definitely taken a turn.