Page 100 of Paper Horses

“Is it a bad time to tell you I told you so on the glass of wine you ended the night on?”

“Yes,” I said, my voice hoarse as I ripped a piece of toilet paper off and wiped my mouth. I reached up and flushed, then flopped back against his legs. Cool hands wiped my forehead, pushing loose strands of hair from where they stuck to my face.

“Even throwing up, you’re ravishing.”

I moved my head so that I could see him looking down at me, and I grimaced. “Remind me never to listen to your food recommendations again.”

“Come on, you enjoyed them while you were eating them.”

I groaned as my stomach revolted at the thought. A kiss landed on my head before he stepped away, making sure I didn’t fall back by bracing me with his hand first. As he turned the shower on, I realized he was still naked, his firm butt muscles clenching when he stretched to adjust the shower head.

He returned to me, scooped me up, and walked us to the shower. I was still completely naked as well. The number of times we’d had sex before we both passed out had left me too exhausted to worry about clothes. Little did I know what awaited me the next morning.

With a quick move, he curled me further into his chest and tested the water temperature.

“Perfect. Let’s get you washed up, and I’ll leave you snuggled up while I go take care of things.”

“Did you oversleep?” I asked, wincing as my feet hit the tub.

“No, Olivia, it’s only four-thirty in the morning.”

Another groan came from me.

“Better stop that or I’ll think twice about leaving my morning wood unsatisfied.”

“You’re gross.”

“Normally you like it, but I can’t say I’ve ever had a woman run to the toilet and throw up when I made a move on her.”

The vicious sting of jealousy hit me as his hands lathered my body up.

“Thought we were staying in the moment,” I snarled, immediately regretting it.

His eyes snapped to me, and he stepped back. “It was a joke, Olivia.”

“Well, I didn’t find it funny. I’m sick, and you’re talking about other women.”

He hovered over me, closing the space between us. “Stop it.”

But I couldn’t because I felt weak. Having him care for me, losing control of my stomach. And then there was the day. Saturday. Two days before I would leave for home. My defenses lifted, and my shields came crashing into place. Vulnerability had a way of causing a fight reaction in me. Until this week, when it seemed I couldn’t step from its shadow long enough to make my stance against it.

“Olivia.” The warning was clear, the frown accentuating his mood, a storm brewing in his eyes like shadows stretching to cover the daylight.

I bristled, trying to move around him. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll have someone else occupying your bed once I leave.”

His arm snapped out, and he shoved me against the shower wall, my breath escaping in an exhale that juxtaposed the soft patter of the water. Anger etched creases around his eyes as he stepped against me, his hand encircling my neck as he lowered his face to mine.

“I know what you’re doing, Olivia.” Fingers splayed over my throat and up my chin, firm yet soft at once. “Pushing me away to make this easier. I didn’t see it when we were young. The way you started distancing yourself, making excuses to stay at your dorm and not with me. Picking small fights until the day you picked one I couldn’t win, and you backed me into a corner.” He lowered his head, his face contorted in pain, and my chest lurched as if it were punching its way to him. “Now you’re doing it again because you don’t like me seeing you like this. Because you don’t want to face what lies ahead. Well, neither do I.” His cheek brushed over mine, his stubble scraping sensually across my skin, and my entire body woke. “I see you for what you are, Olivia, and who I see isn’t weak and fearful. She’s tough and smart, and amazing. And, fuck, she’s worth loving, so let me love you and stop fighting me every time you get scared.”

A retched sound escaped my throat, like a dying animal had taken root there and let out its last cry. Water poured over us, the cold tile pressing into my back as emotion fractured the hues in his eyes.

His fingers buried further in my hair, and he smashed his mouth against mine, sending heat searing my body and the air fleeing my lungs.

“Fuck, you taste like vomit,” he grumbled, stopping the kiss and turning his face into the streaming water. Catching it in his mouth, he spat it back out and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Well, you’re the one who kissed me.” I didn’t know what else to say. His declaration was still bounding through my mind. The plea and the promise in it.

“You’re hard to resist. Let’s get you cleaned up and brush those teeth. Maybe get some mouthwash in there.”