Page 20 of Entangled
“I have clothes,” I blurt, pointing to the ceiling. “Closets full of them.”
Henry sweeps his gaze from my eyes to my feet, then back up. “I hate to break it to you, but your clothes won’t fit me.”
“I have guy clothes. I’ve sewn a bunch for my shop.” I touch his massive bicep. “They may be a little snug, but for short-term wear, you should be fine.”
He nods. “How about those bandages?”
“Right. Of course. You go get naked, and I’ll grab you.” I shake my head to restart my short-circuiting brain. “I mean, grab my first-aid stuff.”
The heat in his gaze damn near incinerates me. “You planning to take advantage of me, Princess?”
“No.”Yes.“Of course not. Sorry I’m jumbling my words. I’m just a little shaken from seeing blood.” I attempt a comforting smile and open my mouth to speak once more, but when the intensity of his stare fully hijacks my brain, what I planned to say and what leaves my lips are two entirely different things. “Although I wouldn’t mind taking advantage of you.”
7
HENRY
Mood Music: “Paradise” by MEDUZA and Dermot Kennedy
She’s goingto be the death of me.
“Rowan.” Her name comes out on a low growl as I ball my fists at my sides to keep from touching her. She thinks she’s flirting, but I’m two seconds from fucking her on the kitchen table. It’s been so long since I’ve been with a woman, I’d probably break her in half.
“Yes?” She stares up at me with those piercing green eyes that can see inside my soul.
“You’re tempting the wrong man.”
She sweeps her arm around the room. “Do you see another one in here?” Her shoulders rise and fall with each rapid breath as she steps closer to me. “Because I don’t.”
“We’re walking a dangerous line, Princess. I can’t afford to cross it.” I clench my jaw. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m gonna shower, take care of the cuts your shithead cat gave me, then go home.Youare going to remember what a major asshole I am and shove those other thoughts out of your pretty head.”
“What if I don’t want to remember?”
“You don’t have a choice.” I stalk to the bathroom and slam the door, sliding the lock behind me.
It doesn’t matter how badly I want her. I have no business touching a woman whose monthly income is more than I’ve made in a lifetime. At nearly forty, I’m too old, too fucked-up, and far too volatile for someone who hasn’t left the house in over a decade. I don’t know what kind of trauma her past holds, but all it would take is witnessing one flashback, one tortured nightmare, to scar her for life. Chelsea couldn’t handle it, and we’d been together since high school. The last thing I want to do is cause another woman stress. Rowan deserves better than that. I can’t go there.
Because I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that once I got a taste of her, it would never be enough.
I turn the water on full blast. Hot water stings the scratches covering my skin. I scrub until I’m raw and bleeding, desperate to cleanse my body and mind from everything that happened tonight.
Except I see Rowan’s face every time I blink. Those big, beautiful eyes, so full of emotion. Her full, pink lips I want to kiss until they’re swollen. That gorgeous hair I want wrapped around my wrist while I fuck her from behind.
I groan and lean against the shower wall, my dick fully hard now. What would it feel like to sink deep inside her, forget who I am and chase the high we both crave? Closing my eyes, I grip my cock and explore the fantasy. Each rough stroke makes me want her more. I imagine her writhing beneath me, crying out my name. Clawing my back and bucking her hips to meet my thrusts. It doesn’t take me long to lose control. I come hard and fast, clenching my jaw to keep from moaning.
My release buckles my legs, making me stagger to the side. I brace myself on the wall. Once I’m finally spent, I adjust the water temperature to cool down my overheated skin.
I wait for my breathing to return to normal before turning off the shower. Most of the steam has already dissipated. Reaching from behind the curtain, I snag the dark purple towel hanging on a nearby bar. Now that my head is clear enough to focus on my surroundings, I notice the entire bathroom is done in shades of purple. My art teacher sister would know all the technical names like lavender, lilac, and plum. They’re all purple to me.
I towel off with efficiency and open the medicine cabinet in search of something to disinfect my scratches. It’s empty. Not even a tube of toothpaste. My dirty clothes lying on the floor remind me of how I retreated to the bathroom before Rowan had the chance to give me any first-aid stuff. Or clothes. I pick up my wet shirt, hating the thought of putting it back on.
Yeah, nope. Not happening.
I need to borrow something to wear for the ride home. After wrapping a towel tightly around my hips, I open the door a crack. Silence and cool air greet me. Shuddering with the sudden chill, I exit the bathroom and wander down the hall. There’s no sign of Rowan or that furry fucker, Eugene.
“Rowan?” I pad back into the kitchen to find it spotless. You’d never know there was tea, ice cubes, and tufts of cat hair all over the floor twenty minutes ago. “Hello? Can I please have the ointment and stuff?”
Footsteps creak overhead, then someone stomps down the stairs. Moments later, Rowan reenters the kitchen wearing a flannel nightgown and cat slippers. She marches over with a scowl on her pretty face. Now that she’s close enough, I can make out the pattern on her pajamas—tabby cats kissing under the mistletoe. I wonder if she realizes how fucking cute she is.
