Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Silas
Istand at the window, looking out onto the unfamiliar snowy landscape of the Puget Sound coast. On the shore, the snow has stopped falling, leaving a crisp strip of darkness where the water meets the sand.
My hair's still damp from the hot shower I took at five. I woke and it immediately became clear that lying beside Scout would be impossible. Listening to her quiet, almost innocent breaths instantly stiffened my cock.
It's better to be jerking off silently in the shower than to do what I really wanted, which was to turn her sleeping body over and explore her with my touch. She looks so damn soft. I think I made the right call.
"Morning," she says. Her voice is soft and slow with sleep.
I look over my shoulder. She's sitting up with messy hair and a loose shirt that slips down one arm.
Her dark blonde curls are wild from sleep, spilling across her shoulders in waves.
Her t-shirt hangs off her shoulder, revealing smooth skin and the curve of her collarbone.
Her green eyes are still hazy with sleep, unfocused and soft.
No makeup, lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the bed.
She's rumpled and beautiful and completely unaware of what she does to me.
Arousal hits me fast, so I turn away before my body reacts and embarrasses me again. "The ferry's still down. They're saying maybe it’ll be working tomorrow."
We're going to spend another night here. Restraint's usually my superpower. I've lived for years working out all day, eating a low carb high protein diet, abstaining from liquor and women. All in the name of being the best defender I can be.
But I suppress a groan at the idea of spending another night here without touching Scout. My stupid brain won't shut up about how she smells like lavender and sunshine. I think I’ve gone way past want at this point; I need to find out if she tastes as good as she smells.
I bet she does.
Scout stretches, unaware of my perpetual state of horniness. Her shirt inches up, revealing a tantalizing strip of midriff. I jerk my eyes away, angry at myself.
"We'll make the best of it," she says.
"I went downstairs and grabbed a tray." I hand her a mug of coffee and our fingers brush.
The jolt from contact is immediate. I pull back too fast and grip my own mug until my knuckles go pale.
She swallows. I think she feels the spark too.
Her breath hitches, but she doesn't comment and neither do I.
Instead, I blurt out, "Do you want cream? For your coffee?"
Her lips curl up in a smile and she shakes her head, taking a sip of the dark brew. She hums appreciatively. "This is really good."
Breakfast waits on the dresser. Muffins, fruit, cream for the coffee. I take the armchair near the window while Scout settles on the bed. She bites a piece of fruit and licks the juice from her fingers. I keep looking away because every movement makes me want her.
And then I wish I could flog myself. The last thing Scout needs is her horny roommate leering at her.
After we finish eating, Scout showers and emerges from the bathroom in the same clothes. An oversized Seattle Havoc sweatshirt and a pair of soft dark gray Havoc joggers.
"I was thinking we should go for a run. I need to get out of here and move my body."
I study her face for a moment. She's flushed from the warmth of the shower, and she won't quite meet my eyes. She needs space from whatever's building between us. I understand the feeling too well. "You want to run in this weather?"
"Walk. Maybe jog. I'm antsy."
Movement might take the edge off the restless pool of energy simmering under my skin. I grab my boots without arguing. "I don't have running shoes, but I'm fine with a trek outside."
Cold air hits hard when we step out the inn's front door.
It wakes me up and cuts through the leftover heat from being too close to her in that room.
Snow covers the island, softening everything.
There are no more hard lines. Just a blanket of soft-looking snow flowing as far as the eye can see.
Scout walks beside me, struggling to keep up with my brisk pace.
I find myself slowing my steps to match hers.
The path we take heads straight down toward the beach, our boots crunching over frozen ground.
"It's strange seeing you quiet," she says. "You usually mutter threats under your breath when you walk."
I give her a look. "I don't do that."
She smirks at me. "You do. It's comforting in a weird way."
The idea that she watches me that closely settles somewhere I don't want to touch. "Didn't realize my charm had layers."
"Somebody's got jokes." Her smile is dazzling. "You have layers. People just don't look long enough to find them."
She says it with an easy certainty that shakes me more than it should. I look away before she sees the effect.
The beach opens in front of us. Dark rocks piled high with snow dot the sand. Slow waves bang sluggishly against the shore. Scout moves toward the rocks, drawn to the view. "The air smells incredible. It's so fresh."
"Watch your footing." I point out a particularly jagged rock. "It's slick."
"You're so bossy. It just so happens I grew up on the beach, so I know how to..."
Her foot hits algae. She slides, ankle rolling, pain flashing across her face. I reach her before she fully hits the ground, wrapping an arm around her waist, and tug her upright.
I breathe, "Scout."
"It's okay." Her voice is thin from pain. She flattens her palms against my chest, bracing and trying to regain her equilibrium. "I just need a second."
She tries to put weight on her foot. Her knee buckles and she sags against me. A surge of fear hits hard and fast. I growl, "For fuck's sake, Scout. Don't move."
Her eyes flash as she looks up at me. "It's probably just twisted..."
"Don't," I cut in. The idea of her being injured hits a place I don't want to name. "You're not going to like this."
I lift her without waiting for her to protest. One arm under her knees, the other around her back. She gasps and grabs my neck, her face close to mine. Her body's warm against my chest. My heart kicks hard enough that she must feel it.
I haven't carried anyone like this in my entire life.
The intimacy of it should make me want to put her down immediately.
But instead, I'm cataloging every detail. The way she fits perfectly in my arms, how her breath hitches when I adjust my grip, the softness of her body pressed against mine. Her fingers curl into my shoulder. She’s trusting me completely with her weight.
She smells like lavender and something uniquely her.
I want to bury my face in her hair and breathe her in until I'm drunk on it. If I could, I would carry her like this forever. I would feel her warmth seeping into me, filling all the cold empty spaces I've lived with for years. It's terrifying how right this feels.
"You don't have to carry me," she whispers, but her arms tighten.
"Yeah, I do. There's no way you're getting back to the room with that busted ankle."
Her lips twist. There's no room for argument, though. She knows I'm right.
"Okay." She sounds resigned.
The walk back feels longer than it should. Every shift of her weight, every breath against my neck, pushes my control a little thinner. When she shivers and moves closer for warmth, I almost lose my footing. By the time we reach the bed and breakfast, I'm wound so tight I can barely think.
I carry her into the room and lower her onto the bed with more care than I should. My hands stay on her waist, though I should let her go. Stepping back feels wrong.
"Stay there," I say, heading for the door.
"I'm not going anywhere."
I trudge down the stairs and talk to the innkeeper about some ice for Scout's ankle. She returns with a bag of frozen blueberries and a thin tea towel. After thanking her, I take the steps up two at a time. It's like I'm eager to get back to the same room where I felt trapped only an hour ago.
When I walk back in, Scout's exactly where I left her, watching me with those green eyes that see too much. I kneel beside the bed and lift her foot carefully, wrapping the ice pack around her ankle with the towel. She winces but doesn't pull away.
"How bad is it?" My voice comes out rougher than intended.
"It'll be fine. Just a twist." She's lying. The swelling's already starting, purple blooming across her skin.
"You need to rest it. Elevation, ice, compression."
"Yes, Dr. Huxley." Her teasing tone should lighten the mood, but it doesn't. Not when I'm this close, still able to feel the phantom press of her body against my chest.
I force myself to stand and put distance between us. "I'll see if they have anything for the pain."
"Silas." She catches my wrist. The contact sends electricity through me. "Thank you."
I swallow hard, nod once, and pull away before I do something stupid like lean down and kiss her.
The innkeeper provides ibuprofen and offers to bring lunch to our room.
Hours blur together. Scout props herself on pillows, ankle elevated, while I pretend to read on my phone.
The tension between us thickens with every passing minute.
Every time she shifts, I look up. Every time our eyes meet, the air crackles.
"Want to watch something?" she asks finally, breaking the silence.
"Sure." Anything to stop sitting here drowning in want.
She finds a movie on her phone and props it on the nightstand.
The only way to see properly means sitting on the bed beside her.
Dangerous territory, but refusing would be obvious.
I settle next to her, careful to keep distance, but it proves impossible.
The bed's too small. Our shoulders touch. Her warmth spreads and seeps into me.