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“I’m fine,” I say, my eyes on Hardin as he pulls off his shirt, his blue gaze still focused on me, almost in a challenge. “But I want to know what’s going on.” I make myself say, because dammit answers are more important than half-naked boys.
Right?
Right?
Hardin smirks as he kicks off his boots, his fingers on the buckle of his belt. I turn my back to him, because, holy penguins, I can’t focus when there is so much tattooed skin and rippling muscle in front of me.
“I know. We’re in France and should be able to be there in about two hours. We’ll talk then.”
“Ezra and Gideon are with you, too?” Hardin moves up behind me. His hands grip my hips, strong and sure through the fluffy towel. His lips graze my shoulder, and I try to not gasp at the contact. I’m not entirely successful when he nips at the side of my neck.
“Yes. We’ll see you soon,” Fielder reassures me.
“Great,” I practically moan as Hardin presses fully against my back, the skin of my shoulders meets his chest, sending zings all over my body and making me break out in goosebumps.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Sweeney?” Fielder asks. “You sound off.”
My cheeks heat with embarrassment because I’m sure what he’s hearing in my voice is how needy I am suddenly.
I’m assuring him I am totally fine when Hardin plucks the phone from my fingers and says, in a husky voice, “We gotta go, mate. We have things to take care of.” He tosses the phone to the couch before his lips find my skin again.
I swallow and tilt my head to the side, to give him better access. Enjoying the slip of his tongue over my skin, but I have to say something before this goes too far.
“I’m not having sex with you,” I blurt out and the flush of embarrassment that follows is fierce and possibly the most I’ve ever blushed in my entire life. “Not right now.”
Hardin stops dropping kisses along my jaw and turns me around to face him before cupping my face with ring covered hands. He’s still wearing his tight black boxer briefs, but otherwise he’s totally naked, and I can’t stop my eyes from trailing over his tattoos. “I’ll take ‘not right now’ love. I’ll take that over ‘never’ any day of the week. We can go as slow or as fast as you want, love. You’re in control here.”
When I lift my hand, I swear my intention is to touch his face. I swear I don’t mean to stop at his chest, tracing over the lines of a tattoo there.I Burn. I Pine. I Parish.He closes his eyes as I bring up my other hand to join in the exploration, letting me touch as much as I want.
Hardin drops his hands from me, letting them hang by his sides, staying totally still, while I trace the dips and valleys of his chest up to his shoulders and finally to my original destination. He’s got a bruise forming on his cheek. I stand on tiptoe and press my lips against it softly.
The motion brings me flush against him. Just the fabric of a hastily tucked towel between us. “Tell me where I can touch you, love,” he murmurs, pleads. “Please.”
That brings my exploration to a screeching halt. I drop my hand and step back, putting space between our bodies. “Nowhere. I’m not- I haven’t forgiven you. I won’t forgive you.”
He swallows hard, nods, and looks away from me. “I understand, love. I do. And we’ll explain everything and maybe once we do, you’ll reconsider.”
I think about all the awful things they did to me, about the goat and breaking into my room to mess up my stuff. I still don’t know how they did that. But… they did not perpetrate a lot of the shit that happened to me. It was Morgan who was the real asshole, who dumped breakfast on me, who beat the crap out of me, who holds my biggest secret in her hand.
But also, so does Hardin. So do Ezra and Gideon. And fucking Feilder Harris. Of course he does. He’s the one that told Morgan in the first place.
Hardin seems unaware of my internal debate. His hand comes up and brushes against the bridge of my nose. “I love these freckles. So bloody adorable,” he says softly. “In Lit I’d get distracted just counting them. I nearly flunked.”
My brows arch, and I resist the urge to pull away. “How many do I have?”
He lifts a shoulder in a half shrug. “I’d get halfway through counting, then you’d catch me staring and I’d have to stop.”
I remember catching him staring at me. I remember the way he’d glare at me, narrowing his eyes in disgust. So different from how he’s looking at me now, like he cares about me, cherishes me.
But I just can’t trust it. Not even a little bit.
I shake my head and step farther away from him, heading to my suitcase to pull out clothes. I definitely need more clothes on. All the clothes. I’m not ready to just forgive and forget. To give him the benefit of the doubt.
Hardin is silent as I retreat to the bathroom and pull on leggings, a bralette, a t-shirt and a sweatshirt. I wasn’t joking about the layers. I need them as a barrier, to not be tempted to let him touch me.
He looks up at me as I step out, the hotel phone pressed to his ear. He’s still shirtless, still in just his boxer briefs and with that in mind, I go to the armoire and grab a white hotel robe. Setting it next to him as he finishes ordering what sounds like enough food for an army.
When he hangs up the phone, he settles on my bed, the one I’ve been sleeping in, and pats the space next to him. “Come on, love. Let’s watch telly until the food gets here.”
