Page 30 of Wild Rivals

The mattress shifts behind me, and I hear a drawer scrape shut. “Nope, no clue where they could be. Everything’s a little hazy.”

Great. Just what I need. This was my favorite set. Do I stick around and try to find them or just buy a new pair of panties? The answer seems obvious, but I still hesitate. They wouldn’t have got up and walked away by themselves, and I really don’t want to leave any evidence behind that this happened.

Fuck it. I need to leave.

With my mind made up, I stand, trying to contort my body so that Wyatt doesn’t see me naked. I’m aware that he already has, but this is in the stark light of day where we’re not drowning in our lust. It’s different.

I find my jeans and T-shirt and pull them on faster than I ever have, keeping my back to him the entire time. It’s only when I’m fully clothed and suck in a shaky breath—as if it will somehow give me the strength to face him—that I turn toward Wyatt.

He’s still lazing on the bed, his hair tousled but drier than when I arrived. Propped up against the pillows, with the sheet covering him, he looks so fucking good, and I hate him for it. Why does he get to be cool, calm, and collected while I’m over here a nervous wreck? It’s not fair, like a lot of things that have happened today.

“This was a mistake and should never have happened,” I blurt, before setting a hand on my stomach and continuing, “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone about it.” My voice comes out firm and showing none of the uncertainty I’m feeling.

Wyatt stands from the bed, pulling the sheet with him. I clench my hands by my side as he walks toward me, steeling my body for his approach. It takes everything in me not to show any outward signs of the effect he’s having. Of the way nerves flutter in my stomach, or the fact that as I look at his toned and chiseled chest, I want him again.

Coming to a stop in front of me, Wyatt reaches out, brushing back a strand of hair before running his finger down the side of my face. I bite the inside of my cheek and widen my eyes a fraction to keep from melting into his touch.

“You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone, darlin’. I don’t air my dirty laundry.” He places a finger under my chin and holds me captivated in his blue gaze. “Besides, I’ve had better.”

It takes me a second to process his words, and when I do, I rear back and away from his touch. Instinctively, my hand flies toward his face, the sharp slap of skin on skin lingering in the air.

“Fuck you, Wilde,” I hiss, holding my stinging palm to my chest before dropping it to my side. It doesn’t hurt as much as his words.

Unfazed, Wyatt smirks at me, as if he’s just won a prize. The prize for the biggest asshole, sure. “You just did, Hart.”

I could stand here and try to insult him, but it wouldn’t change anything. Instead, without a word, I turn and march out of the room, seething at myself, him, and Mr. Evergreen for this entire situation. Hot tears prick at my eyes as I hear Wyatt behind me, calling my name, but I ignore him. The best thing for me to do now is to put as much distance between us as possible. He’ll only ever remind me of my shame. Of how I gave into the lust for him and almost instantly regretted it.

When I climb into my truck, I close my eyes for a second to calm the chaos swirling inside of me. It fueled me on the drive over here and as I was banging on his door, but I need to rein it in if I want to make it home in one piece.

God, I hate that he got under my skin. I hate that I hit him, and I hate that I let him ever touch me.

With one last look at his closed front door, I start up the engine and head home. Regret swirls in my gut and with each mile that passes, my frustration and anger at myself only builds.

By the time I storm through my garage door into the kitchen, my fingers are itching to clean something and get rid of this antsy energy. It’s the only thing that ever seems to help when I feel like this.

I throw my keys onto the counter, moving to the sink and snagging the cloth that I threw in there this morning. There’s a stain on the kitchen island that I haven’t been able to get out for months, no matter what I use on it, but I spray some cleaner onto the surface and scrub away, like this might be the time I get it out.

I’m so lost in my task that I don’t notice Deacon is in the room until he pulls the rag from my hand, a concerned look on his face when I try to snatch it from him.

“Woah, Mads.” His brows pull low as he takes a step away from me. “What’s happened?” he demands, his nostrils flaring like he’s spoiling for a fight.

“Why are you in my house?” I ask, ignoring his question and reaching for the cloth.

Deke chuckles, shaking his head as he points toward me, holding the cloth out of my reach. “You know the rules. If I asked, you have to answer.”

I fold my arms across my chest, eyeing up the cloth and calculating if I can get it quick enough if I smack him in the nuts. He is kind of to blame for what just happened with Wyatt if I think about it hard enough. After all, his stupid issue with Wyatt is part of the reason that he did what he did and outbid us. If that hadn’t happened, I might never have slept with him.

Great. It seems I’m blaming everyone but myself.

Deacon raises a brow as he waits for me to answer.

“Nothing is wrong. I’m allowed to clean my own house.” I’m not about to tell Deacon that I just had sex, let alone that I had sex with the guy who hates him, and now I’m feeling all kinds of feelings about it. Disgust, regret, like I might want more.

“Try again,” he demands.

Running my tongue over my teeth, I turn toward the sink, bending to dig under it in search of another cloth. If he won’t give me back the one I was using, I’ll get another.

“Maddie,” he warns.