Page 72 of Untamed
Even if that relative stranger is Deidre Bradshaw.
Ruth texts me back right away, and I scowl at the screen. Yes, I’m the one who gave her the idea of letting Trevor take her home. But thinking about my brother being alone with her in a car after spending the entire day alone with her? That feels like a really bad idea.
Trevor isn’t as charming or funny as I am, but I’m not naïve enough to believe there’s no allure to a man in a well cut suit. Especially when that man has a perfectly decorated house, constantly clean fingernails, and isn’t about to be covered from head to toe in drywall dust.
But I don’t have an option. This job has to be done, and Ruth needs to go home at a reasonable hour, so I get to work.
Staying as focused as I’m capable of, I somehow manage to finish the project without too much dillydallying. Everyone else is goneby the time I’m done, so I quickly vacuum up the mess collected on the floor, giving my body and clothes a good shake to knock off as much debris as I can before heading for my truck. I look down and cringe at my still very dusty form. I’m still going to make a mess of the seat, but I’m too tired and grimy to care.
Being careful not to spread my filth any more than absolutely necessary, I drive home, fighting the urge to scratch at my dehydrated skin. I need a shower. Followed by a bath. The combination is the only way I’ve found to get my skin back to normal after all the hydration has been leached out of it.
Pulling into the garage, I take off my boots and peel away my powder-covered clothes, leaving them in a pile I’ll retrieve later, before stepping inside. It’s a process I’ve completed more times than I can count, so I move through it without having to think about it. Which is a mistake. Because not thinking about it leads to me walking right into the kitchen wearing nothing but my underwear.
Ruth is standing at the counter, her wide blue eyes locked on my almost naked form.
I freeze—the realization that Birdie is likely running around here hitting me way too late—and bring one hand to block the bulge of my dick. I know she’s young enough it probably won’t register, but it still feels fucking inappropriate as hell. I look from one side to the other, listening for any indication of where Ruth’s daughter might be.
“Birdie is still at your mom’s.” Ruth accurately guesses what I’m thinking. “They were apparently having so much fun that neither of them was quite ready to call it a day.”
Ruth isn’t an easy person to read, but I feel like I’m getting better at it. Usually. Tonight I’m either too tired from sanding or too wrung out from getting upset this afternoon to decipher the expression on her face.
“Do you want me to call and make her bring Birdie backnow?” I don’t want Ruth to feel obligated to go along with whatever my mother requests. Technically, we have a deal, but it doesn’t include Deidre Bradshaw getting everything she wants. “Or if you give me just a second to shower off, we can go get her.”
“Actually…” Ruth’s brows pinch. “It’s been kind of nice to have just a few minutes to myself.” Her lips tip into a frown. “Is that bad of me to say?”
“No. You deserve time to yourself.” I groan inwardly, because here I am, fucking it up.
I back toward the stairs, moving slowly. “I’m gonna go clean up so you can get back to it.” I nearly stumble when my heel hits the bottom step. Somehow it snuck up on me, which just goes to show how distracted I am. I’ve lived in this house for years, and not once have I tripped over any part of it. Probably because I built a good portion of it with my own two hands.
But seeing Ruth standing in my kitchen, looking like she belongs there just as much as the sink or stove, has thrown me off a little bit. I’ve never had anyone to come home to—by my own choice—and for some reason, I’m struggling to pull my eyes away from the sight.
After nearly falling on my ass a second time as I try to go up backwards, not wanting to take my eyes off Ruth, I’m finally forced to turn so I can see what I'm doing.
I take the steps two at a time, quickly pushing into my room as I go straight for the bathroom. Hopefully a hot shower will serve as a reset. Put my head back on straight after a confusing and stressful day.
After shedding the only article of clothing remaining on my body, I drop it into the hamper, climb under the spray, and start scrubbing. I feel a little better once I’m clean, but the tightness of my skin and scalp is itchy and uncomfortable as hell.
As planned, I run a hot bath, dropping in a moisturizing bath bomb. Those have been the most successful at curing this condition,and I challenge anyone to give me shit about them. Sinking into the water, I lean back to rest my head and shoulders against the ledge. It’s been a long fucking time since I’ve soaked in a tub, and I forgot how nice it is.
Nice enough, I must accidentally fall asleep.
The next thing I know, I’m jerking awake at an unexpected sound, water sloshing as I try to make sense of what’s in front of me.
Because what’s in front of me is Ruth. She’s standing in my bathroom, chest heaving, eyes wide and wild.
“What’s wrong?” I push myself out of the water, getting to my feet as fast as I can, prepared to deal with whatever has her looking so terrified.
But the fear on Ruth’s face quickly shifts, morphing into something else entirely.
Her eyes widen even more as they slide over my slick skin. “You’re naked.” Her words are breathy. Soft.
I look down, confirming she is in fact correct. She’s also looking directly at my cock, which, up until I noticed her very rapt attention, was behaving itself. But the second her eyes on me register, the bastard twitches, perking up at a rate I haven’t experienced since I was a teenager.
Ruth continues staring, and I’m frozen in place, uncertain what the fuck I’m supposed to do. Her tempting self is between me and the towels, so the only way I can cover-up is to move closer to her.
And that is definitely not a good idea.
It’s not until my dick is almost fully hard that Ruth finally spins, turning around to face the open door. “I’m sorry. I was just surprised.”
