Page 135 of Wrecked
The living and dining rooms were filled with white furniture, save for the dining room table, which was dark walnut. If she described the home, beyond the sheer elegance, she’d call it relaxed and comforting.
Like him.
When he brought her upstairs, she admired his ass. Hard and tight.So perfect.Her fingers tingled to touch him, but she was his assignment, not his overnight guest.
On the second floor, two medium-sized bedrooms shared a bath. These rooms were filled with more white furniture, white bed linens, and light-colored upholstered headboards. While the rooms were bright, they lacked splashes of color.
He led her into the next room, and she stifled a gasp. This room was in stark contrast to the rest of his home.
“My bedroom,” he said.
The walls were black, the furniture black, the bed linens also black. The table lamps were covered in black shades. Even though the black curtains were open, it felt like she stepped into death. No other way to describe it. She was seeing a completely different side of Nicholas Hawk for the very first time.
The dark theme continued into his bathroom. Black marble counters and flooring, dark walls, a black window treatment.
Before exiting his bedroom, she eyed his bed. How many women had tumbled in for late-nightandearly-morning fun with him?
I had that chance, but I was too guarded and too scared to take it.
On their way downstairs, they passed the spare bedrooms. “Take either one,” he said.
Her heart plummeted, but that was her fault. He’d never ask her to stay in his bedroom, not after what she’d said to him.
They returned to the first floor. “I went to the gym,” he said. “It didn’t help. I’ll make us something to eat.”
“I’m not hungry,” she said.
“Yeah, neither am I.”
“Sin said I’ve got paint on my chin.”
Hawk stepped close, his penetrating gaze studying every inch of her face. He ran his long index finger across her jawline, and her skin tingled from his touch.
“Do you mind if I shower?” she asked.
“You don’t have to ask,” he replied.
He carried her bags upstairs and set them in the larger of the two spare rooms. Then, he left her alone with her thoughts. The guilt and anger hovered just below the surface, threatening to escape.
They’d get through the next day or two, then she’d tell him her plan. She would hunt down the people who killed her friends. And she would show no mercy.
She made her way to the adjoining bathroom, turned on the shower. While the water heated, she stripped down. As she was about to step in, she realized there was no soap, no shampoo, no conditioner.
She shut off the water, wrapped a towel around herself, collected her clothes, and made her way into his bedroom. This bathroom was massive with a glass-free, double-wide shower stall and waterfall faucet.
Again, her thoughts jumped to all the random women who’d showered there.
For fuck’s sake, who cares?
On went the faucet. She dropped the towel and stepped in to the cavernous structure. Black tiles, dark flooring softened by the incandescent light of the chandelier. The water turned hot, the liquid drenching her. Her chest hurt from the hit, but she could endure the physical pain. It was the deaths that wrecked her.
And that’s when the tears started flowing. Ugly, gut-wrenching sobs. She couldn’t stop, couldn’t get herself together to pick up the soap, or the bottle of shampoo. She just stood there balling her eyes out.
He was by her side, his eyes wide with concern. Fully clothed and barefoot, he pulled her into his arms and he held her against him.
“I’m right here, baby,” he murmured, “and we’re gonna be okay.”
She clung to him and cried, releasing the anguish and the pain long held inside.
