Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83070 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“I know.” I kiss her pout. “And it doesn’t justify it, and I’m not making excuses for him. I’d use the shovel first.”
She grins, running her hands up my chest.
Her body is softer now, less rigid than when she arrived home. The lines around her eyes have lessened and her tears have eased for a few sentences. Progress.
“Here,” I say, tipping her head back. “Let’s rinse you.”
I guide the water over her head, shielding her face with my hand. I take my time removing the shampoo from her hair, hoping it makes her feel loved. Because although I’m not man enough to tell her yet—I haven’t had the right opportunity—I want her to feel it anyway.
“Do you want to use conditioner?” I ask.
She raises her head, squeezing the remaining water from her strands. “I’ll use a leave-in one when we get out.”
“Okay.”
Her arms dangle over my shoulders and she gazes up at me. Something is on the tip of her tongue—I can see her working it out in her head, so I stroke her back, holding her close, until she figures out what to say.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“What are you thanking me for?”
“I’m going to sound like a total … never mind.”
“Oh, no,” I say, laughing. “You better start talking.”
“I’m good.”
I lift a brow.
She plays with the back of my hair, swaying back and forth in my arms. “If I tell you, you can’t laugh at me.”
“I’d never laugh at you.”
“You laugh at me all the time.”
“I laugh with you. I can’t help that you don’t always join in.”
She smacks my chest, rolling her eyes. “Asshole.”
“We’ve already established that I am, in fact, an asshole. So what else do you have to tell me?”
“I told my father that I deserve better,” she says. “That I deserve respect and love.”
My chest rises and falls against her palm laying over my heart. I’m not sure where she’s going with this, but I don’t want to get my hopes too high. I don’t want to scare her … or myself.
“That’s good,” I say. “Because you’re exactly right.”
“I told him I just learned this from someone who made me feel safe and happy.”
I clear my throat. “You did?”
She nods, grinning nervously. “Maybe not in those exact words, but that was the sentiment.”
“Well, I’m very happy someone makes you feel that way.”
“Me, too. He’s certainly set the bar for how a man is supposed to treat a woman.”
I swallow a wave of emotion. “Come here.”
She falls into my arms, and I capture her mouth with mine. Instead of being fueled by lust, our kisses are fueled by something else. Something greater. A different four-letter word that we’re both afraid to say.
Her lips mold to mine, parting to give me space to explore her with my tongue. We stand under the water and speak without words. But sometimes words aren’t necessary.
I hold her cheeks, brushing my thumbs across her smooth skin, and give her one long, lingering, final kiss. Then I turn the shower off and grab us towels.
“What do you say we dry off and go home,” I say, wrapping her up in a giant pink towel.
“I need to pack a bag first. I don’t have anything clean left at your house.”
This is ridiculous—the going back and forth between our residences. But I can’t broach that subject yet either. One thing at a time. It will all happen when the time is right.
I twist a towel around my waist and toss another one her way for her hair.
“Want me to grab some things for you?” I ask.
“Sure. My bag is in my bedroom on my bed. Just some T-shirts and jeans. Socks. A few lingerie sets.”
I grin. “No problem.”
She squeezes the water out of her hair and watches me curiously.
I leave her in the bathroom and move around the corner into her bedroom. Her bag is on her bed, but instead of grabbing it, I open her closet and pull out a suitcase.
“Can you put a pair of sneakers in there, too? The gray and white ones,” she yells.
“Sure.”
I smirk as I empty the contents of her lingerie drawer into the suitcase, and then add in two drawers of T-shirts and all the jeans stacked on a shelf. I toss in some socks and the shoes she requested before I start zipping it closed.
“Gannon, what the heck are you doing?”
I stop mid-zip and look up. She’s watching me from the doorway, amused.
“That’s not my bag.”
“Nope. It’s your suitcase.” I drag it off the bed. It hits the floor with a thud. “It’s heavy. I’ll carry it out for you.”
“Gannon …”
I shrug. “I can’t sleep without you.”
“And you think that warrants taking everything I own to your house?”
“No. You still have some stuff here.”
Slowly, she smiles. “You’re a menace.”
“No. I just know what I want. And if I didn’t think it’s what you also wanted, I wouldn’t do it.” I take her hand and lace our fingers together. “All you have to do is say no. It won’t change anything. And, for the love of God, don’t bring up Tate.”