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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Gaines
It takesevery ounce of strength I possess not to lunge at her.
She must be naked under that robe. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since she strolled out of the bathroom with her hair pinned up on the top of her head.
Strands have come loose, falling against the side of her face.
With the small bandage on her forehead, she looks like a broken doll, but she’s far from that.
She’s a woman that men covet. I saw more than a few stare at her in the club that night. Two passed by us tonight when we were entering this building. Neither could tear their eyes away from her.
I had a hand on my belt buckle when she was in the shower. I almost –fucking almost— undid the belt, unzipped my pants and stroked one out to the thought of her naked behind the door.
I press the palms of my hands into my eye sockets, wishing in some sense that I could erase the memory of how she looked in that green dress from my memory, along with the glimpse ofher bare back that I saw and those fucking black lace panties she had on.
They must be on the bathroom floor.
I drop my hands to my lap and gaze down the hallway. I can still escape this hell of my own making. I could go to the bathroom, close the door, shove the panties into my pocket and leave.
What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?
My silence is so thick it’s making the air in the room heavy, as though a weighted blanket is slowly falling over us.
“I’m going to get a glass of water,” she announces with a tremor in her voice.
I left her hanging far too long. I know that. I’m an asshole for that but this woman is like a drug to me. Another hit and I’ll be lost to the need.
The last time I touched her, I was a mess for weeks. Months, if I’m being completely honest. When I did finally fuck another woman it left me feeling worse than before it happened.
I’ve fucked since when the itch has been too persistent to ignore, but it’s never left me feeling as satisfied as my brief encounter with Eloise did.
She pushes to her feet. A wiggle of the toes on her right foot catches my eye. Her toenails are painted a light shade of pink.
“Stevie painted them,” she whispers. “I saw her a few days ago.”
I don’t know if she’s dragging the name of someone we both know into this moment to break the tension, but it’s not working.
The desperate need that is thrumming through my veins and every cell of my body hasn’t lessened at all.
She maneuvers around me. “Do you want a glass of water, Gaines?”
That lures my gaze up to her face. She’s pasted a weak smile on her lips. It’s there for my benefit. It’s a gift to assuage the guilt I’m feeling over ignoring her proposition. “No, I’m fine.”
She walks to the kitchen. I drop my head as I listen to each of her movements. It’s all so slow and intentional.
The creak of a hinge as the cupboard door opens. The sound repeats when she closes it.
Running water follows and then another burst a moment later as if she’s emptied and refilled the glass.
I want to call out and ask if she’s all right because she’s been out of my sight for at least a minute, but I bite my bottom lip, willing myself to keep my mouth shut.
“Was it a mistake to you?”
Each word feels like a spear to my heart. The pain is real. It’s so fucking real that my hand jumps to the center of my chest as I raise my chin to see her standing not ten feet from me, her hands twisted together in front of her.
“Just tell me,” she pleads. “Please. I feel as though I’m stuck in some type of purgatory between reality and this fantasy that only exists in my mind. That night was the best night of my life, and I swear I thought I heard you say something outside the bathroom door right before I got in the shower.”
