Chapter 16
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
claire
Ultimately, I decide not to tease Rowan again, mostly for my own benefit.
Instead, I wipe off my makeup and gather my hair into a messy bun before changing into a T-shirt and volleyball-style shorts.
I grab another shirt and a pair of sweats for him, but I have to stop by the laundry room to get the last article of clothing directly from the dryer.
Rowan whimpers and lets his head loll back once I enter the kitchen.
I click my tongue. “I’m wearing shorts,” I declare, setting his clothes down before lifting my shirt just enough to expose my hip. “See?”
He squints an eye as he refocuses on my bare legs. “Are you sure those are shorts?”
“Yep.” I smirk.
“What have I done to deserve this?” he whines.
I huff. “Well, first of all, you—”
“I wasn’t asking you. That question was for the man upstairs,” he interrupts me to mumble, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the way he’s still devouring me with his one good eye.
The clicking of claws over the floor keeps some of the tension at bay this time. “You’re lucky I didn’t make you wear the shorts,” I tell him, gesturing toward the stack of clothes on the counter before I squat down to pet Frankie.
“Thanks.” His brows draw in closer when he notices the boxer shorts sandwiched between the T-shirt and baggy sweatpants. “Are these …”
“Yeah, they’re yours,” I confirm matter-of-factly as Oscar approaches.
He finally glances down at me, but his expression is unreadable. “You kept them?”
I shrug shyly, scratching Oscar behind his ears. “They were comfy. Seemed like a waste to throw them out.”
“You’ve been wearing them?” he asks incredulously.
“Of course. I always save a token from my victims,” I retort, looking up to narrow my eyes at him.
His expression softens, and he bites his lip as he stifles a smile. “Okay, I deserved that.”
“Don’t forget to moisturize—I mean, have a nice shower,” I add in a sinister tone and tilt my head in the direction of the bathroom, and he chuckles as he finally takes off down the hall.
As soon as the door closes behind him, I give each of my pups one more affectionate squish and scurry over to the guest bedroom to tidy up.
I’m fluffing an old pillow when Rowan waltzes into the open doorway a few minutes later, his hair a damp, tousled mess and the outline of his chest visible behind my threadbare T-shirt.
“Thanks, but you really shouldn’t trouble yourself any more than you already have,” he tells me, but I barely hear him over the sound of my desperation. Which reminds me, I should probably keep my mouth closed while I’m ogling him.
I force myself to look away. “I can’t remember the last time anyone’s stayed in here. Well, except for the nights when my ex couldn’t stand sleeping in the same bed with me …” I cringe as I trail off.
Why do I keep doing that? I haven’t been able to talk about my failed marriage in front of anyone, yet I seem to contract verbal diarrhea every time I’m with Rowan. All he has to do is look at me, and everything just comes pouring out.
“We’ve already established that he was an idiot,” Rowan offers with a soft smile.
“That’s not exactly reassuring, especially coming from the last man to walk out on me,” I mutter before I can think better of it.
Dammit, Claire.
Apparently, my involuntary confessions aren’t only limited to the deep, dark secrets related to my divorce but also include the rest of the emotions I’ve spent a lifetime suppressing. I guess that’s cool, though, even if I’d rather die than come off so needy and wounded.
His expression falls, and I’m tempted to reassure him that no one’s as tired of my lack of a filter than I am. Instead, I do the next best thing and blurt out something offensive this time.
“But don’t worry, I’ve washed the sheets since he moved out, so you should be fine.” I clear my throat to disguise the wobble in my voice as I move to dart past Rowan.
“Hold on,” he commands, side-stepping and blocking my escape.
I attempt to shove him out of the way, but he covers my hands with his own and flattens my palms against his chest. His heart pounds violently against his ribs, and I drag my gaze up to find his eyes looking more bloodshot than before.
“It’s fine. Just let me go,” I whisper.
“Not yet,” he says firmly. It’s unnerving, but not in the way I’d expect from a man holding me in place against my will.
“Please,” I beg quietly.
He shakes his head and continues studying my face. “I really hurt you, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“Claire.” His authoritative tone makes my stomach dip again.
“Okay. Yeah, sure, my pride took a hit when you ran out of the room so fast that you forgot your drawers,” I say, attempting a lighthearted tone.
“But I was the one who insisted we keep it casual, so I wasn’t dumb enough to take it personally when you left me in that hotel room, all alone …
and practically naked. Or when you didn’t bother to call …
or when you looked so unhappy to see me at your sister’s wedding earlier. ”
He frowns and moves one of his hands up to my face, using his thumb to swipe away a tear. Great, now I’m crying? Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more pathetic …
“I’m sorry,” he breathes. “I mean it. I’ve been nothing but selfish and stupid this whole time.
And I haven’t been considering your feelings or treating you with the respect you deserve.
” He pauses to pull up on his shirt and dabs tenderly at my nose when I sniffle, turning me into a puddle all over again.
“I should have known you’d be in a vulnerable place, especially with it being so close to your divorce hearing.
But I panicked, and I didn’t make the effort to look past my own feelings and consider how I might have hurt you by leaving that way. ”
I don’t think I can manage to form a reply without letting out a sob, so I just shake my head.
“I’m afraid I was so enamored with you that night that I forgot how to think with the head on my shoulders,” he continues with a self-deprecating smile.
“I wasn’t kidding before when I said there’s never been anyone who makes me forget who I am and how to act before, but I’ve been making a mess of everything since the moment I met you. ”
“It’s me. I’m the mess,” I rasp, my voice cracking.
This time he pulls me in for a hug, and I don’t think I’ve ever gotten this much pleasure from a simple embrace.
The combination of strength and security, the warmth and comfort of being wrapped up in his arms, it’s more satisfying than any form of physical touch.
It’s also terrifying, because I barely know this man, yet his presence makes me question how well I know myself.
“You’re not a mess,” he reassures me, his chin resting atop my head. “Well, no more of a mess than I am, anyway.”
A soft laugh escapes before I can help myself. “That’s not very promising, you know.”
“No, I guess it isn’t,” he concedes. “But maybe that’s why we keep finding one another. Maybe one of us is meant to help the other grow in some way.”
I huff out another laugh. “Is that what you meant when you said we were soulmates?”
He loosens his hold on me and pulls away. “Eh, not exactly,” he admits with a coy smile.
“Athanasius Rowan,” I chide him playfully. “Are you telling me that was just a line you used to get me into bed?”
His face instantly flushes, and the implication of his guilt makes my stomach turn.
“I can promise you that wasn’t the case,” he mumbles shyly. “In fact, it was more like the other way around.”
I take a step back as I let his statement settle. “So you thought I was just feeding you a sob story about my life being in shambles, all so you’d sleep with me out of pity?”
He groans. “Of course not. I only meant that I needed to know you felt a connection, too, or I wouldn’t have had the courage to …
.” But he shakes his head, as if he’s unable to finish.
“Look, Claire, there’s a lot more I could say about that night.
But I’m afraid I’m too tired for most of it to make sense right now.
Think we can table this discussion for another time, when I’m less likely to keep putting my foot in my mouth?
And less tempted to put my mouth on yours.
” He adds that last part quietly, and I can’t decide whether I’m more pissed or turned on by it.
“I think we’ve both said more than enough,” I mutter.
“No, we haven’t. But can we please talk again in the morning?” He blinks lazily, his eyelids looking incredibly heavy, and I realize just how exhausted he must be.
“Good night, Rowan,” is all I say.
“Good night, Claire. Thanks again.”
Then he turns and practically staggers toward the bed, and I shut the door behind me.