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Erica opened her eyes, shot him a dirty look, and fled. His laughter chased after her, thrilling through her body in deeply delicious waves.
She didn’t stop until she was downstairs and curled up in a corner of the couch, hugging a throw pillow to her chest. She groaned and buried her face into the cool watered silk. Dumbass. She should have run before she’d started babbling. He probably thought she’d been peeping at him. She wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t been. God, that body. No man who looked like that should cover it up.
It was official. She was pathetic.
Salivating over a guy she’d grown up with? Please. So he’d told her he loved her. That was a long time ago, in a land far far away where stupid teenage girls believed anything said by handsome boys with dangerous smiles. Why had she held on to that for all these years? Especially when he so clearly resented her for how she’d handled it?
Granted, he’d dropped that bombshell on her right after Tommy had beaten Jeremy to a pulp for sleeping with his wife. He’d shown up on her doorstep bleeding and bruised, just like tonight. Tommy had been an idiot. He’d been an idiot for marrying Nicole right out of high school, he’d been an idiot for believing her lies, and he’d been an idiot for turning on Jeremy.
And Erica was no better.
She hadn’t wanted to believe him, in that moment. Not when her loyalty to her brother was so strong, and not when Jeremy had been drunk. Tommy had made him swear off alcohol for life, after the drunken monster his father had turned into. If he’d break a promise like that, how could he mean it when he told Erica he loved her?
She hadn’t understood, then. She hadn’t understood how deeply hurt he was, and how much he needed her. Hadn’t understood that he was reaching out to her. Begging her not to turn on him, too. Begging her not to judge him like the thug so many people saw him as.
But she had anyway, and by the time she’d grown up enough to realize her mistake, they’d both moved on with their lives.
She’d always wondered if he really meant it. Always kicked herself for ruining that chance, and for hurting him that way when even at eighteen, she’d loved him so much. No one had ever smiled at her the way Jeremy had. Not even her fiancé. Nathan had fit her perfect life in corporate law…
…but he wasn’t Jeremy.
Why did it matter? Seven years had passed. Any puppy love he’d felt was gone now. And if it wasn’t, it would be. She wasn’t the kind of woman a man could love. Nathan had proved that. So would Jeremy, if he knew her. Really knew her, as she was now. Of that, she was certain.
She heard the bathroom door open upstairs. She looked up as he came down the steps. Dampness left his hair spiked, the glossy black darkened to pitch. Tommy’s shirt was far too small for Jeremy’s muscular frame, clinging to his chest and abdomen in a slicked-on layer and leaving every touchable ridge and chisel of muscle excruciatingly clear.
She forced a smile and jerked her eyes from his chest to his face. “You look better.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. His lips tilted at the corners. Every movement teased her. He carried himself with casual ease and a certain restrained strength. Feral. That was how she’d always thought of him, even when he was younger. Feral, underneath his careful control. Waiting to break free.
He looked at her past the fringe of long lashes that had always made her jealous. “Uh, thanks. I really appreciate the save.”
“No problem.”
She bit her lip and made herself look away, before she couldn’t. She couldn’t have him. Some things were better off in the past. He remembered her as young, naïve, and beautiful.
Better that he held on to the memory, rather than knowing the reality.
She cleared her throat. “Do you need any more water? Calamine lotion?”
“Water would be great. Don’t think I need the lotion. I’m a little tender, but not as burned as I thought.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “If this is April in Vegas…fuck July. I’m asking to be transferred to Antarctica.”
She laughed and led him into the kitchen to retrieve another Aquafina bottle from the fridge. When she closed the refrigerator door and turned, he was there, so close—close enough that she stumbled and tripped over her own feet. He steadied her, gripping her bare shoulders with a sure, firm grasp, his hands work-roughened and large. Her skin burned where he touched. Her stomach twisted.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. “Again.”
Her ears felt like little torches burning to either side of her face. He said nothing. Nor did he let her go. With a rough sound she twisted away and smoothed her shirt, pulling it up a bit over her chest. He hadn’t seen. He couldn’t have seen.
Her tank-top wasn’t that low cut.
“Erica.”
She shook her head and shoved the bottle into his hands.
“Erica, really, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I trip all the time. I’m the squad klutz.”
She took a deep breath. She was making something out of nothing. She always had with him, took everything he said to heart. Right now she wasn’t Erica Jones, Attorney at Law. She was Tommy’s clumsy little sister, trying not to make an ass out of herself in front of her crush.
Pull it together. She straightened her spine and pressed her lips together. “You? A klutz? Hard to believe.”
