“Last night?” I snap. “If it was you, then you know what I’m talking about. And if you don’t, then… thank God, frankly.”
He stays silent, placing the large piece of driftwood on top of a workbench. I give the interior of the bungalow a quick survey. It’s been set up as a workshop. There are saws and chisels, and what looks like a sander hanging from thick nails that have been hammered into the walls.
“What is this place?” I frown, picking up a wooden carving of an open oyster. The detail on it is incredible. It even has a small pearl inside carved out of the wood.
“Nowhere you need to concern yourself with.”
His fingers brush mine as he takes the oyster carving back. I stare at his hand. His fingers are long and thick but carry a level of care and gentleness as he sets it down in the exact spot I took it from.
Are those the fingers I fucked last night?
I drag my eyes up to his face, preparing myself for another glare, but he’s not even looking at me. He’s already turned his back on me, dismissing me like I shouldn’t be here.
“Last night. Was it you?” I press, desperate to ease the growing dread that’s balling in my gut.
He says nothing, so I reach for his shoulder to turn him around. The second my hand makes contact, the sensation ofhot, solid muscle spills through the fabric, bringing with it an assault of familiarity.
If I were to look beneath that cotton, would my nail marks be indented in his skin?
I pull my hand back sharply like I’ve burned it.
I think I’m going to be sick.
He turns, pinning me with a cold gaze that lacks answers. “You should leave.”
“What is your problem?”
I screw my nose up. No way did I have sex with a guy like this and not realize it. He’s abrasive and defensive. There’s no way a man like him could be the kind of guy who cradles your face and kisses you after he comes. The kind of guy who?—
“You came looking for a fuck, and you got one.”
I take a shocked step back and my stomach plummets to my feet.
Please, no.
He looks at me from beneath dark, lowered brows as he grabs a piece of sandpaper and runs it up and down the piece of driftwood with skilled ease.
“Seems to me you’re the one who has a problem with that. But you can’t change your actions,” he mutters, giving all his attention to the wood.
“Oh my God,” I splutter. “We kissed.”
I don’t know why the kisses suddenly seem more monumental than the sex. But the way he kissed me after he came was tender and intimate and… I swallow down the bile racing up my windpipe.
He glances up, his eyes dropping to my lips for a fraction of a second, before returning to the wood.
“I know. I was there,” he says gruffly.
“I can’t believe this.” I press my fingertips to my forehead, then drag them down my face. “If it wasn’t for the… thepiercings, then I wouldn’t have even known,” I hiss.
He narrows his eyes at the wood and a muscle in his cheek clenches. “Yeah, women tend to remember that about me.”
“Ugh.” I grimace at the idea of him and all the women he fucks like a porn star. Does he trick all of them into having sex with him, too?
The idea of being another notch in Declan’s bedpost didn’t create this roll of disgust in my stomach. Not like realizing I’ve become one in a long line of Woody’s fucks. Because with Declan, I knew that’s what I was signing up for. But with this hulk of personality that’s giving off colder vibes than the Arctic, I didn’t.
I was blindsided.
Screaming at him would make me feel so much better now, but I’m struggling to calm the thundering in my chest as he calmly sands the wood, ignoring me, like what happened between us isn’t a giant fucking deal.
