Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
EMMETT
A wall of steam laden with Aspen’s minty scent clouds my mind.
Any sanity I was clinging to when Aspen opened the door in her robe has vanished.
Sure, it covered more skin than the T-shirt she was in last time, but the effect of her wet hair spilling over her shoulders and her tight nipples pressing against the material had the same devastating effect
Fighting my rising attraction to this woman is like pushing a boulder up a hill—one slip and I’m done. The kicker is, I’d take the crushing weight and thank her.
At least then I’d fucking feel something.
Adjusting the towel around my waist, I reach for my toothbrush and realize I forgot toothpaste.
Fuck.
I hesitate for half a second before reaching for the vanity drawer. I won’t be the reason Aspen is late.
The top drawer is full of makeup, hair ties, and enough chapstick to stock a pharmacy. The second, tampons. Stepping to the side, I pull open the top drawer on the opposite side.
Jackpot.
As I grab the tube of toothpaste, my knuckles brush smooth silicone.
My eyes drop.
Holy fuck.
Bright pink and still warm from the charger, Aspen’s vibrator dares me to keep looking. I don’t touch it, but I can’t take my eyes off it.
My palms hit the cool marble as I bow forward, dragging in a rough breath that expands my chest painfully.
Aspen’s toys are none of my damn business. This wasn’t meant for my eyes. And I sure as hell shouldn’t be standing here, getting hard . . . again.
It’s an image I’ve found creeping into my daydreams the last few days—Aspen with her head tipped back, mouth parted, with her hand between her legs. And now there’s a realness to it I can’t ignore.
Aspen flushed while using this exact toy—giving her everything I wish I could.
I groan, squeezing my eyes shut, but it’s useless.
Fighting whatever the hell this is has stopped feeling like discipline and started feeling a whole lot more like survival.
This missing piece unravels my will and has me reaching beneath the towel to squeeze my aching dick.
One slow stroke.
Then another.
Fuck.
Aspen invades every corner of my mind—wet skin, swollen lips, hair clinging to her face.
My pulse pounds harder, faster, bringing me closer to the edge so quickly it’s concerning.
Another few seconds and I won’t be able to stop.
Wrenching my gaze to the mirror, I release myself and let my cock bob off my stomach as I brace both hands on the counter.
Cool air does nothing to touch the heat burning through me.
“Get it under control.”
The man staring back at me looks dangerously close to forgetting who the hell he is.
I hate him for it.
Forcing air through my nose, I drag myself back from the edge one controlled inhale at a time.
Then I shove the drawer shut.
Letting Aspen have this level of control over me already pushes against rules I carved into myself sixteen years ago.
When people get close I ruin them. I proved that once.
Never again.
And wanting Aspen this way is the most reckless thing I’ve done in over a decade.
She’s already given me something I swore I’d never let myself have again.
Hope.
I will get my fucking shit together before I walk out that door.
With every ounce of self-control, I dry off, drag on a pair of shorts, and step into the hall with my shirt twisted tight in my fist.
Aspen is ready and waiting in the kitchen with everything laid out on the table. She points to the chair, all business on the surface, but the tension between us makes sitting feel like working the fire line in shifting winds.
One wrong move and I’m done for.
Awareness prickles my skin with every move she makes, right down to the sharp inhale when her fingers brush my shoulder. Four days of this and it should be routine by now.
It’s anything but.
Every touch brands my skin, sending a bead of sweat rolling down my spine.
“When you see the doctor today, you should push for a referral to physical therapy.” Aspen smooths fresh gauze into place.
“Nick at the hospital is their default and he’s fine, but there’s a physical therapist downtown who focuses on functional rehab.
For someone active like you, it could make a big difference. ”
Her touch softens when my jaw tightens.
If only she knew she’s not hurting me . . . at least, not in the way she thinks.
“Whatever gets me back to work faster.”
“Rushing will only make things worse. Healing takes time.”
Frustration bubbles to the surface.
“I need something to do. Sitting around is killing me.”
Aspen doesn’t flinch at my bitten-off words.
“Then we need to find you a hobby.”
She’s always fixing things—bodies and problems—piecing shattered things back together.
Someone should tell her there aren’t enough sutures in the world to stitch my soul back together.
“It’s not like I can do much.”
“There’s always knitting.”
My mouth twitches despite my best efforts not to let it. “I’m good with my hands and like them busy.”
She studies me for a beat, like she’s seriously considering this. “There are puzzles in the guest bedroom closet.”
“Not exactly what I had in mind.”
Her eyes drop to my hands in my lap and linger before she’s biting her lip and looking away when she catches herself.
I’d give anything to know what she’s thinking.
Against my better judgement, I loosen the reins.
“My eyes are up here.”
Her hand comes up to playfully smack me, but stops halfway, tucking it into her side.
“I was just thinking, asshole.”
She fusses with the tape, making sure it’s applied just so.
“What would you do at home to keep busy if you weren’t working?”
“Tinker.”
Her nose scrunches up adorably. “That sounds like something my grandpa would say.”
“Fitting.” My voice scratches at my dry throat. “I got it from mine.”
Something shifts in her expression. “He has a past.”
The teasing drains from the room.
We both know my past is the kind that haunts.
I stand, forcing her hand to drop from my shoulder.
“You’re going to be late.”
Hurt flashes in her eyes, but she covers it.
“Shit. I am.” She grabs her bag from the floor. “Are you ready?”
“To be done talking about myself, definitely."
For the doctor to tell me news I’m probably not ready to hear? No.
When she straightens, the faint flush coloring her cheeks is embarrassment, not longing. I catch a quick, almost undetectable noise of resignation as she leads me out of the house.
Rolling my shoulders, I follow her as I attempt to shake off the leftover tension her hands left behind.
Her SUV isn’t in its usual spot in the driveway. Instead, she leads me to the garage, punching in the code with a quick glance over her shoulder. Her fingers falter as she fumbles for the Enter key, and I sense she wants to say more.
She turns to face me as the garage door opens.
“I’m sorry for bringing up your past.” She toes the gravel at her feet. “I know it’s painful. I shouldn’t have said anything.” A short, embarrassed laugh breaks from her as she shakes her head.
Unwilling to be another person she carries things for, I reach out and tuck a hair that escaped behind her ear.
“My past isn’t something you have to shoulder.” Bending at the knees, I look her in the eye. “No one can change it or undo the damage I caused. Not even you.”
She presses her lips together, and I can tell it’s killing her not to argue.
My knuckles dust her cheek on the retreat. “Stubborn as hell and softer than you let people see,” I say, low, almost a warning.
A shiver creeps up her spine, making her shoulder shift as she steps back, turning toward her SUV.
“With the chance of rain last night . . .” Her voice comes out a little thinner than before as she nods toward the SUV. “I figured I should put her away. Not a drop, of course. It’s been so dry.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Aspen.”
The words are out before I realize she wasn’t explaining.
She was making conversation.
“Right.”
Fuck.
I drag a hand down my face. “Sorry. That was rude.”
Her mouth twitches. “You really do suck at this.”
“Painfully aware.”
As we step around boxes toward the SUV, I take in the garage.
Lawn equipment. Storage bins. Enough duplicate tools to outfit two houses.
Aspen gestures vaguely at the mess. “And this is why I don’t park in here often. I need to clean it out . . . I just haven’t gotten to it.”
“What is all this?”
Sadness that I recognize all too well clouds her hazel eyes.
“My grandma passed earlier this year.” She glances around the space. “I was the only one with room, so a lot of her stuff ended up here.”
“Were you close?”
Her eyes drift to the covered Jeep, growing glassy.
“She was the best.”
My fingers itch to pull the cover back. “And the Jeep was hers?”
Aspen smiles softly. “Myrtle was Grandma’s pride and joy.” Then her smile fades. “But she doesn’t run.”
“Any idea what’s wrong with her?”
“I’m a lot of things, but a mechanic isn’t one.” She runs a hand over the covered hood, patting it twice. “It might be a lost cause.”
The offer to take a look leaves my mouth before I can stop it.
Aspen pauses halfway to the SUV. “Let’s survive your follow-up first, hero.”
I grumble and climb into the passenger seat, and as the garage door starts to lower behind us, I glance back at the mess. “Your brothers should come help with this.”
Aspen snorts. “The one running a company in Chicago . . . or the one training for the Olympics?”
I look at her—really look at her—then shake my head.
“Respectfully . . .” I lean back in the seat. “I don’t give a damn what your brothers do.”
Her brows lift.
“You can barely park in your own garage.”
Silence stretches between us as she slows at the end of the driveway.
“Why does that bother you so much?”
My thumb drags across my bottom lip. There are a dozen answers I could give, but only one I’m willing to. “You shouldn’t have to do everything alone.”
She glances my way. “Says the man who’s made a career out of being alone.”
Fair.
Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.
Silence settles between us as she pulls onto the road.
I make it about thirty seconds before it eats at me. “Did I overstep?”
“Do you care?”
I push a hand through my still-damp hair.
You’re a dick, Slate. Just tell her what you really think.
“Yeah.” My voice drops. “More than I should.”
Her finger pokes my thigh, and I catch it in my palm before she can pull away.
“You might want everyone to think you’re an emotional vacuum . . .” she says, smiling now. “But I know better.”
It’s a seed of hope that plants itself right outside, next to the walls I’ve erected to keep the very thing out.