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Shayna was the first one to emerge from her room on Sunday morning, proving that she was far braver than Billy.
A little after nine, he heard the shower in the hall bath come on, and a short while after that, her footsteps moved past his room and descended the stairs.
He’d been awake for two hours mindlessly scrolling through the happy happy, joy joy of other people’s perfect online lives when he finally threw off the covers and made for the bathroom, his back on fucking fire from the way he’d tossed and turned all night.
But that was what being a total asshole did to his sleep, apparently. He never should’ve—
Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, he chuffed out a laugh of disgust. At himself. Because the list of things he never should’ve was about a mile and a fuck long.
He never should’ve touched Shayna again.
He never should’ve given in to the desire he’d had for her pretty much since the minute she’d dropped that fucking towel. And it wasn’t just that he’d
seen her naked. He wasn’t a complete animal, after all. It was that in the wake of that moment she’d been brave and funny and self-deprecating and easy going and it had obviously really fucking charmed him. Like a goddamn spell.
He never should’ve gotten her naked again because what little willpower he possessed where this woman was concerned had no chance whatsoever when confronted with the bare curves and hidden secrets of her gorgeous body.
He never should’ve put his mouth on her, because now she was even deeper inside him than she’d already been, and all he had to do was lick his lips and the memory of her sweetness was right there again, filling his senses and heating his blood and making him want.
But, having crossed all those lines, he never should’ve spoiled the amazing feeling of holding her sated body against his—for once—sated body by expecting her to get even more intimate. As someone who’d more than a few times used sex as an escape, he knew as well as anyone that fucking was not always the most intimate thing that could happen between two people.
Shayna Curtis had a secret. One that scared her. Bad.
He hadn’t needed any special instincts or skills to see her near-panic as she’d high-tailed it off his bed and out of his room last night. And seeing that fear both tore him up inside for her and made him want to smash his head into a goddamn wall. Because in his selfish need to find someone who might understand the poisonous guilt he carried inside him, he’d pushed her away.
Billy of all people should’ve known better. He braced his hands against the counter and hung his head.
As if she hadn’t bared enough of herself already.
Not just in getting naked and sharing her body with him. Not just in letting him find his pleasure in her mouth. But also in admitting before the first piece of clothing had even hit the floor that she’d always had a crush on him. So she’d already laid some not insignificant emotion on the table.
Yet he’d pushed for more.
He wondered what awesome curse words she’d come up with for him overnight. Whatever they were, he deserved them.
Fuck, how was he going to make this right?
Another thought followed close behind. One that either made him an even bigger asshole or, just maybe, one that had him finally on the path to doing the right thing.
Maybe he shouldn’t make it right. Maybe he should let her stay mad at him. Keep her distance. Until it was time for her to move on.
Something panged inside his chest hard enough that it caught his breath. Because if her living here had highlighted how fucking starved for company and companionship he’d been, what the hell was her leaving again going to throw some much unwanted light upon?
With that thought, Billy hit the shower and wondered how else he might yet fuck things up with his best friend’s sister.
Fifteen minutes later, he was dressed and coming downstairs with nearly the same mix of determination and trepidation with which he might’ve approached the hideout of a suspected terrorist. He wasn’t even at the bottom of the steps when he saw Shayna heading for the back door, a big camera bag on her shoulder.
“Hey,” he said, rounding the plate-glass bannister. “Where you heading?”
She paused at the door and peered over her shoulder at him. And, fuck, the wariness there cut him deep. You put that there, Parrish.
“Oh, hey. Uh, work, actually. My editor called and asked me to fill in for someone who was supposed to cover a community event over in Southwest today.”
Standing there at the door, she looked not a little badass in a pair of jeans, black T-shirt, with a pair of black sunglasses on her head and the camera bag on her shoulder. And fucking hot, too. Which was exactly the kind of thing he shouldn’t be noticing but couldn’t help noticing.
“Sorry you got called in on a Sunday.” It was the least thing he should be apologizing for.
She shook her head. “I’m pretty psyched about it.”
