CHAPTER 26
Evander
I sit on the floor by the fire, wearing the sweater that smells like Phoebe and eating the Beefaroni she made for me. It ain’t the Chateaubriand from Chez Julien in Paris, but it tastes great.
I eat in silence while Phoebe trembles just a few feet away on the couch, wrapped up in the blankets. It’s giving me a case of déjà vu.
Déjà vu. Chateaubriand. And the storm of the century. I shake my head. I’m so fucking angry with myself.
I’m a methodical man—in body, mind, and emotion. I’ve forged these elements into a sharp blade of self-discipline, which I’ve used to carve out every single success I’ve had in my life.
So what the fuck is going on with me? I let my mind wander to Phoebe while I was up on that roof, and that instant of distraction nearly killed me.
I glance up at her. She stares straight ahead.
This going to suck, but it has to be done.
We’re both adults, and I think we’re at the point where we have to talk it out.
Maybe putting everything on the table will release some of the built-up steam between us.
It might help us both get through this next day or so, since the storm isn’t letting up.
I barely want to admit this to myself, but I think the blizzard is worse today. If that’s even possible.
I glance up at her. She’s biting her lower lip. Her eyes are heavy-lidded, and her chin is tipped down and to the side. The firelight casts shadows on her pretty, freckled face. A few brown curls peek out from the blankets.
She’s hurt. I dissed her after I finished her sutures. I yelled at her just now for coming to rescue me.
I can be a real prick.
But the chat has to happen, and I’ll have to start it: Phoebe, I know that you’re attracted to me. I’m attracted to you, too. But this can't happen. Why? Because you're not sexually experienced and it's not fair to you.
That’s good. I like that. What next? Phoebe, people make bad choices when they believe they’re in danger. Studies have shown that a heightened sense of danger leads to risk-taking behavior. Emotions and physical sensations are intensified. People act on urges they would otherwise be able to resist.
That’s not so good. I sound like my ex, the PhD candidate, and nobody wants that shit.
I could always just cut to the meat of the matter: Phoebe, I want you so fucking bad. So bad it’s making me reckless-stupid. But I can’t let myself go there. Please understand—I will not take advantage of a woman who isn’t ready for me.
Phoebe turns my way. Her eyes are fixed and serious. That kissable mouth of hers is turned down.
“I went outside because you fell off the roof.”
“Without a coat or shoes, which was incredibly careless, especially after what you’ve been through. Anyway, I’m uninjured.”
“But I didn’t know that.”
I push off the floor and fill the pan with water and drop the spoon in, then set it on the rock to heat up. Doing dishes in the wild, and all that.
I straighten to a stand and turn to find her looking up at me. I see so much softness and innocence in that face. Too much beauty and purity for someone like me.
Neither of us move. I watch her chest rise and fall under the blankets. She’s naked underneath. All it would take would be one quick snatch and she’d be laid bare to me.
My palms are sweating.
If this room were darker, I’d probably see lightning arcing across the space between us. The desire is that electric, that thick.
And if I were a better man, I’d turn away from her right this second.
Her face is etched with longing. She licks her bottom lip and tries to smile.
“You gave me too much to eat, Phoebe. We need to pace ourselves with supplies.”
“I only gave you two cans.”
“That’s too much.”
“No, it’s probably perfect. I ate one can. You’re twice as big as me.”
I’m picking a fight with her. It’s what I do when I don’t want her looking at me like that, when I don’t want her to see what’s going on in my head.
This is truly fucked up.
It’s time for the chat. I open my mouth to say the words, but my lips snap shut.
Ah, fuck it.
I drop to my knees in front of her and pull her to me. She falls against my chest with a sigh of relief, and I hold her there, feeling as her body softens in my embrace.
My lips go to her hair. I breathe her in. Her scent fills me and surrounds me. I’ve never known a woman who smelled so wonderful, so right.
I realize that I’ve held Phoebe a lot in the last day, but it’s been for practical and medicinal purposes. To raise her core temperature. To keep her warm.
But this is not that.
I’m holding her because I want to. Because I can’t fight it anymore.
“What I did was stupid, Evander.” Her words vibrate against the side of my neck. I feel the warmth of her breath. “I thought you were hurt and I just had to get to you.”
“I’m sorry I snapped at you, but… shit, Phoebe. I don’t think you understand that—”
“I’m your job.”
“What?”
“You think that keeping me safe is your duty.” She pushes away from my embrace so that she can see me.
Those gold-green eyes search my face. “It’s all right.
I know that you see me as your responsibility and nothing more.
You believe that if anything were to happen to me, it would be your fault.
I know how you are. You see me as an assignment. ”
I stare at her.
“That’s nice of you, Evander.”