Page 33 of Untamed
I pull in a deep breath, opening my eyes to find Tucker staring at me intently.
“Do I need to point out how messy I am?” He shakes his head. “Because it seemed like you were well informed of my own life choices.” He moves closer, crowding me. “I might have some of my shit together, but if we’re being honest, you’re the one who should have run screaming when asked for help.”
I hold my breath as he leans even nearer, the broad expanse of his chest nearly brushing me as he closes in. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I should definitely stop it.
I just…don’t.
Because maybe he’s going to hug me again. Offer the kind of embrace I haven’t felt from anyone but him since my mother died. And right now, I’m weak enough I would take it. Happily.
But right when I think Tucker is reaching for me, he shifts, angling his arm beside me instead of around me. The sink at my back switches on, and then he’s straightening, the sound of water still tinkling down the drain as he brings a damp rag to my face. Holding my chin with his thumb and finger to keep me in place, he goes to work.
The washcloth is warm and soft as he carefully moves it over my cheeks. Eyes focused on his task, he wipes away the makeup I smudged everywhere.
Tucker’s voice is barely above a whisper when he says, “But I have to admit, I’m really glad you didn’t.”
Every brain cell in my head is zeroed in on where he’s gently rubbing away the mess I made, completely oblivious to whatever conversation we were having before his skin came into contact with mine. “Glad I didn’t, what?”
“Run screaming from me.” He tips his head, a smirk twisting his lips. “I do have a history of making women scream, but they're not usually running when it happens.”
I swallow hard. Tucker is a lot of things, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would boast without cause. And it has me thinking about all sorts of things I should not be thinking about.
In the beginning, I assumed a man who wasn’t interested in a relationship was selfish, and that behavior would carry over into his bedroom techniques. But the way Tucker has treated me and my daughter makes him seem anything but selfish.
He’s paying well for my help when he could have just asked one of the many women who would have done it for free. He’s bought not only toys, but a highchair and gate so my daughter will be happy and safe while she’s here. He washed her clothes when she got messy. Played with her at the playground. Came to our rescue when I called him, terrified, alone, and out of options. And now he’s carefully cleaning my raccoon eyes with the gentlest of touches.
Tucker Bradshaw isn’t even remotely selfish outside of the bedroom, causing my brain to reach the inevitable conclusion that he’s probably not selfish inside it either. And I’m embarrassed at the way that possibility makes my heart rate pick up.
But if he’s not only after self-gratification, why work so hard to avoid any sort of commitment? Especially when it seems like he would be a pretty decent boyfriend.
“Can I ask you something?” I know it doesn’t matter, but Ican’t help wanting to know more about him. Especially if I’m going to be sharing a living space with him until I move. And trying to convince others we’re a real couple.
Tucker is quiet for a second, like he’s not sure how to answer. After what feels like a very long time, he finally nods. “Sure.”
Any sign of the easy-going Tucker I’ve started to know is gone. Replaced by someone serious and tense. His mouth is set into a grim line, and all humor has bled from his face.
I’m going to guess he’s as excited to discuss some of the trickier parts of his life as I am to talk about mine. It’s another common ground we share, and it changes my trajectory, because I can empathize with his discomfort.
“How many seagulls would you have to find in your house before you got suspicious someone was putting them there?”
Tucker’s eyes move from where they’ve been following the path of the cloth to fix on mine. He stares at me a second before his face splits on a smile as a bark of laughter passes through his lips.
I smile along with him, oddly pleased that I was able to get that look of despondence off his face.
“That is actually a really great question.” He drops the rag into the sink and turns the water off, straightening away as he squints in thought. “Probably only one.”
“Only one?” I eye him suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” He rests one hand on my back, angling me into the bedroom. “You’ll understand once you meet my brother, Toby.”
I quickly scan the bedroom, looking for a familiar curly head. It doesn’t feel like we were in the bathroom very long, but it also doesn’t take long for my daughter to find her way into a mess.
“Birdie?” I start to move through the room, rounding the bed, hoping she’s simply on the other side.
“Little Bird? Where’d you go?” Tucker darts out into the hall, eyes running from one end to the other as I rush out behind him. “Birdie? Where are you?” He stalks back toward the steps, muttering something about a gate at the top of the stairs under his breath, before coming to a quick stop two doors down from where I’ll be staying. His shoulders relax as he lets out a relieved sounding sigh. “There you are.” He goes into the room, flipping on the light. “What are you doing?”
I hurry in behind him, eyes landing on where my daughter stands next to a bed that likely belongs to the man kind enough to take us in. She’s got the blankets gripped tight in one tiny fist as her eyes bulge out, face red as she bears down.
“Birdie?” There’s alarm in Tucker’s voice. “Are you okay?”
