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“What about what you said in the treehouse the other night?” He left my side like he needed to place some distance between us. Maybe so he could think with his head and not his other head. What I didn’t expect was for him to go all the way to the open doorway. Arms rigged across his chest. He leaned his right shoulder against the interior frame, and despite the lazy posture, the man still gave off “I’m hard as a rock” and “fuck me” vibes. Nothing soft or sweet about him right now.
Replaying his question, I had to remember what I’d said in the treehouse, because that felt lightyears behind us. But I was also slightly distracted by how he was staring at me. In a room with a sexy shower. And a bed with ankle cuffs meant to provide him perfect access to have his way with me. And God what a way that’d be . . .
“You know the truth now, though. Well, most of it.” There we go, voice. You still work. “Things have changed.”
He pushed away from the door, barely hiding what appeared to be a wince. I was more than a little concerned he’d hurt himself in that accident last night. But then he closed the door and turned the lock. “Is that right?” He slowly faced me, a hard look washing across his features.
“Yeah, they have,” I confirmed with more confidence that time. And then, without hesitation, I removed my shirt and tossed it to the tiled floors.
His eyes dipped to my breasts. A slow, slow journey as he took his time to look at me. And I took my time checking the bulge in his cargo shorts that even the heavy bulk of material couldn’t hide.
“Shower with me.” I swallowed, eyes back on his face, and his gaze flew up to meet mine. “Well, maybe a hug first. Because I’m a fucking mess over getting shot at multiple times, watching people die, my sister hating me and—”
Before I could finish my words, he pulled me against his chest, caging me in his muscular arms. And the way he protectively held me allowed the floodgates to open as tears streamed down my cheeks.
“Should I hate my mom for what she did?” I asked, my voice thick with emotion. “She worked for Brant for years. Yeah, she said he was unhinged, but wasn’t he always a bad guy? Why’d she stay so long if she knew it put us in danger?” Why’d she finally decide to leave? “She taught me everything she knew. Almost as if she planned for me to follow in her footsteps, you know? But then she said no whenever I, um . . .” How could I tell him the next part? What if he hated me? Judged me?
“What is it?” he asked, pulling back to find my eyes.
I chewed on my bottom lip while also chewing on my thoughts, determined to get through this. I didn’t want any more secrets. “I was at community college, bouncing around from major to major, confused about what I wanted to do with my life. And then I dropped out a few weeks before she died. I asked her to get me a job with her crew. It was alluring. Driving fast cars. Weaving down streets.” God, my stomach hurt at admitting this. I couldn’t even get the words out because I hated them so much. I’d spent eleven years busting my ass, working harder than I’d ever thought possible to provide a life for my sister, and I hated knowing Mom could’ve done the same. But she chose to be a criminal instead. And, once upon a time, I was more than ready to follow in her footsteps.
“You were twenty, Charlotte.” He cupped my face. Hearing him pull out my first name felt like he was about to drop something serious on me. “That’s still young. And you saw your mom as this kickass woman who could race like she was a professional driver, and you looked up to her . . . You wanted to be like her. And you can’t blame yourself for that.” He angled his head, drawing his face closer to mine. “I bet you asking to join her crew is why she quit and wanted to run away. She may have taught you skills in case you ever needed them to survive, but she clearly didn’t want that life for you.”
Was he right? Was it never about leaving Brant, but about protecting me from becoming like her? And did that mean I was—
“No. Not your fault. Don’t go there. And when this is all over, you have to find a way to let go of the past. It’s what we do now that matters.”
I wanted to believe him. To buy into that idea. Maybe one day. One moment at a time. “Then live in the now with me,” I said decisively.
His brows slanted as he studied me. “What do you want me to do?”
I gulped, turning my eyes to the shower. “I think you know exactly what I want you to do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
JACK
My palm went to the window as the double showerheads rained down over us. “What if someone’s watching us?”
“Who’s going to see us? Someone hiding on the mountainside?” She distracted me from my worries by wrapping her arms around me, drawing her naked body flush to mine. Her tits smashed into the hard wall of my back, and I hooked my arm around to catch hold of her hip.
“If they did, I’d need to burn their retinas with my—”
“Heat vision?” she teased, her breath fanning across my shoulder blade. “Don’t tell me, you’re Superman in our Avengers-Justice League crossover event. From a reality show to a superhero movie, it makes perfect sense.”
“The fact you know the difference between an Avenger and someone in the Justice League just makes me l—” I cut myself off before I dropped the L word on her.
Swapping places with her, I set her back to the window, her ass cheeks pressed against the steamy glass, likely leaving a ghost of an imprint there. She bit on her lip, and it took all my resolve to play off my near admission, relying on misdirection to save my ass. And possibly my heart. “You just fit in so well with my team, I mean. Your humor. Bad jokes and all.” I winked, trying to play it cool, even though I was fucked when it came to this woman and how she so quickly owned my heart.
“Bad jokes, huh?” She chuckled.
From her laugh to the way she fit so perfectly in my arms, I was completely taken with her, and I was damn near tempted to go ahead and fuck her against this window for any random person or animal to see. Okay, maybe more than tempted. I was a bull charging the flag, ready to go and forget objectivity. Subjectivity. Hell, all the “tivities.” What is wrong with me?
“Yes, horrible jokes,” I said with a smile I hoped was more charming than devilish. Because heaven help me, my dick was as hard as that rod attached to the bed with her naked in my arms. And it had been ever since she’d held that ankle cuff in her hand while visions of licking her cunt, not sugarplums, danced in my motherfucking head.
Still biting her lip, clearly to torture me, she lifted her chin, eyes boring into me, a challenge to keep up with whatever I was planning to do next. Oh, I’m going to get you clean before getting you really, really fucking dirty, sweetheart.
Carter had clothes stocked for our room. But what about condoms?
