Page 43 of Beautiful Monster

Pulling my hand away, I close my eyes and imagine myself brushing my lips over her neck. Tasting her salty, sweet skin. Feeling her moans vibrate from her chest. Knowing the feel of those legs wrapped tightly around me. Her nails digging into my back as she clings to me out of desire and comfort. Making her mine, in every single way.

I act on none of these impulses, no matter how strong they are. Instead, I roll away from her and face the window, feeling her warm breath against the back of my neck.

I squeeze my eyes shut in anguish.

Is this my penance for my sins? Finally finding a woman who makes me want to be a better man…and knowing I can never, ever touch her.

CHAPTER 15

SUNNY

Alex is already up the next morning when I peel myself out of bed and walk to the bathroom. My face bears a subtle bruise around the cheekbone, and my eyes are heavy with bags under the lids. My mother has hit me before—but not like that. For a moment, I feel a little humiliated that I sobbed the way I did. People have endured far worse than an open hand across the face, but it was more than her hitting me. It was the weight of a long divorce, my family splitting in two, losing the love of my parents as they lost the love for each other, and desperately seeking that love in someone I shouldn’t.

Alexander’s words echo through my head as I touch the tender skin on my face. He said I was with him. I was safe. He told me I wasn’t going home. Did he mean I could stay with him?

Would I?

For how long?

Suddenly the idea of being in the same house as Alex, sharing this space and all of our time but maintaining our boundaries sounds like slow torture. Would it finally be enough to wear him down? Could I get him to cave and finally give in to what we both want?

And if I did…at what cost? He feels awful about himself enough as it is. Pushing him into a physical relationship with me would ruin him.

The guilt of that scenario feels worse than the stinging on my face.

The nutty aroma of coffee sweeps in from the kitchen, and after a quick fix of my hair and a little toothpaste in my mouth to wash off the morning breath, I quietly walk out to the kitchen where Alexander Caldwell, my neighbor, major crush, and in-a-way best friend, is making coffee in nothing but his gray sweatpants.

“Morning,” I say, stepping up to the high countertop.

“Morning,” he replies, glancing toward me and doing a double take. Maybe because I greeted him first—his little rain cloud. He wasn’t expecting it. “How are you feeling?”

I give a shrug. “I’m fine.”

Staring up at him in the early morning light of the kitchen, I can’t help but admire the strong angle of his jaw, the scruff from not shaving in at least a week, and the golden tint to his skin that almost shines in the light. Alexander doesn’t look forty. He has the gray flecks in his beard and the soft crinkles around his eyes, but his expression is still youthful, and I don’t feel like I have to look up to him when he talks to me. He treats me like an equal. Even when he takes care of me, protects me, like he sees my worth even when I don’t.

“Coffee?” he asks, pouring himself a cup. I nod, taking a seat at the bar. “Creamer?” he adds, heading toward the fridge, surprised when I shake my head and reach for the black coffee.

When he passes me my mug, I try to block out all the thoughts in my head that I shouldn’t have come here. Even before I take my first sip, he dives right into the heavy talk.

“I meant what I said, Sunny. You’re staying here. I’ll give you the pool house, or I’ll sleep in the pool house, but I can’t let you go back there.” With his strong shoulders and narrowed expression, he seems almost fatherly, and I want to tell him that it suits him. That he should stop being such a bachelor and be serious once in a while. But I don’t.

“Maybe for just a little bit,” I mumble, warming my hands on the coffee cup. “Let things cool off.”

His eyes linger on my face for a moment, and I can tell he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. I expect him to offer me the money up front. Twelve thousand dollars would definitely help get me out of my mother’s house and on my own two feet.

But if he did that…he knows I’d leave.

“You hungry?” he asks, his eyes lingering on my face.

“No, coffee’s fine for now,” I answer, feeling antsy under his stare.

“Shower?”

His voice goes down an octave as he asks, and I can see the struggle in his eyes to remain nonchalant as he poses the question. My cheeks blush as I bite my lip. I know he means a shower by myself, but it doesn’t stop the images in my head of his naked body under the water with me.

“That would be perfect.”

He leads me down the hallway to the bathroom. Next to the door I assume is a linen closet is a box stuffed with folded towels and washcloths.