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“Easy.” I catch her flailing arm, steadying her. “I’ll help you.”
“Help me shower?” She laughs, a cavernous cackle that tightens my chest.
“Sure.” I shrug. “We’re both adults. You let Denver help you when you…”
Lost the baby.
Feels like a lifetime ago and still too raw to speak aloud.
“I didn’t let Denver do anything.” She withdraws, shoulders drooping. “I can manage a shower, and I promise I won’t die on your watch.”
With reluctance, I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay.” She waits.
But my feet don’t move. I can’t stop staring at her, can’t stop picturing her naked, shimmering in soapy bubbles as my hands glide along slick hidden places. “Are you sure you don’t need help? I know my way around a wet bod…bar of soap.”
She blinks. Then sighs. “I’m not in the mood. If you need an outlet, take your libido to the erotic section of the library.”
“We don’t have an erotic section. Not a zesty book among those tomes.”
“You need one.”
I need you.
I love you.
I’m in love with you.
As if reading my mind, she softens her gaze. “Please, don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“It’s not like that between us.”
“What is it like then? Between us?”
“We’re on the same side, Wolf. We’re friends.”
“Friend zone. Yay.” I give the air a lethargic fist bump. “Love that for me.”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“I have a lot of ideas, cherrybelle.” And none of them are friendly.
“I’m talking about your mojo.”
“My sex drive?”
“Your magic. The viscous essence flowing inside you. If you lived in New York, London, Paris, if you lived anywhere but here, you’d be the world’s greatest lover, capable of seducing and pleasuring any woman you desire. Just picturing you walking down the street…” Her eyes glimmer. “You would turn heads and cause traffic jams. Women would throw themselves at you. Men, too.”
“Why?” My brows pinch.
“Look.” She gestures at the mirror. “Don’t you see?”
I take in the reflection of a boy wearing an ink-scribbled man suit, one that barely contains the rot within. I see defective parts, poisoned and corroded by circumstance. What is she getting at?
“You’re exceptionally, irrationally beautiful. Possibly the most beautiful man alive. Modeling agencies would go crazy over you. More importantly, you’re kind, funny, smart, and a wickedly talented musician and artist. The complete package. Out there…” She gestures at the world beyond Hoss. “Women would hunt you for your legendary sexual prowess and potency.”
My throat closes, and I look away in disbelief.
“If things were different…” She touches my arm, drawing my gaze. “If I weren’t so bitter and sad and hellbent on hating the entire male population, I would throw myself at you, too.”
This woman.
This goddamn woman.
She’s more than the curve of her body.
“You know what sucks?” My voice roughens. “You represent all the things I don’t have and never will. A mother, a sister, a daughter, a best friend, a lover. Yet you’re none of those. You stand before me, taunting me with broken dreams.”
“Oh, Wolf.” Her eyes water with pity.
“I’ll be right outside.” I jab my thumb at the hall and reverse out of the room.
“Wolf, wait—”
Crossing the threshold, I shut the door on her exquisite, tear-soaked face.
And I’m immediately, painfully hard.
I want her. I need her. I would do anything for her, and that’s the bitch of it. Because I know what I have to do.
A few minutes later, Denver finds me in the same spot. Arms braced on the bathroom doorframe, forehead pressed to the door, I’m waiting like a raging incel for her to emerge and give me the time of day.
“Everything okay?” He cocks his head.
“Yeah.” I straighten and try to play it cool. “She threw up her dinner. She’s upset, like you said. But she’ll be okay.”
“She’s emotionally distressed. Can’t bottle that up forever. It will force its way out eventually, by any means necessary.”
What does he know about emotional distress? I’ve never seen the man ruffled. He never yells. Never lets a single hair fall out of place. Not even when he’s bleeding from a gunshot wound.
He kidnaps women, sedates them, and delivers them to the Arctic in crates. And he does it with a smile, like he’s above the law, king of the land, and the world’s greatest dad.
On some level, I have to appreciate the audacity of a guy like that.
“Want me to take it from here?” He directs his eyes at the bathroom door. “Or can you handle it?”
“I know what she needs. That’s why they call me the big bad wolf.”
“No one calls you that.”
When I don’t reply, he just stands there, watching me squirm beneath his penetrating gaze.
A minute passes, then two, before I bark, “What in the Brad Pitt are you staring at?”
He holds up his hands and grins. “You got this.”
“You betcha.”
“Goodnight, Son.” He strolls away, whistling some creepy old-man tune I vaguely recognize.
The instant he disappears downstairs, I flinch all over.
