Page 37 of Make Me Dream of You

“We’ll explain later,” Noah says. “The girls are going to be staying with us, at least for tonight.”

“The girls?” Wood’s light blue eyes widen. “Macy, too?”

“No, just me and Bex. Macy’s staying at Spencer’s.”

Wood’s shoulders droop. “Right. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Noah places his hand lightly on the small of my back and leans in. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes and cleaned up. Do you want a shower?”

“That’d be great,” I say. Not only does my hair have a slight smokey scent, but the water in those sprinklers had a distinct stale smell that I can’t wait to wash off me.

“Bathroom’s this way,” Noah says. We walk past the kitchen to the hall. The bathroom is in the middle. “Wood’s room is down there, door opposite of the bathroom is a closet, and my room is over here. You can sleep there tonight. I’ll take the couch upstairs.”

He flips the light on in the bathroom after I enter, his tall frame and broad shoulders filling out the doorway. “I’ll get you some clean clothes and a towel. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Okay, thanks.”

He backs away, hand on the doorknob.

“Oh, here,” I say, unbuttoning his flannel shirt. I peel it off my shoulders and take it off with a little grunt, realizing how tender my side is.

It’s wet and heavy and I grimace when I go to hand it to him.

He rushes in, dropping to a knee. “Are you hurt?” He searches my face, eyes wild.

“Only a little. I hit my side on the door when you were carrying me out of the room.”

“Fuck.” Noah’s face goes pale. “I’m so sorry. I was in such a hurry to get you out of there?—”

“It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“Where are you hurt? Can I see it?”

I hesitate. I’ll have to untie my robe to show him.

“I’m sorry, you don’t have to?—”

“No, it’s okay,” I say. I’m being silly. He’s already seen me very naked at this point.

But as I untie my robe, it’s different. Earlier, it was for art, all business. I was across the room—a room I made sure was very dimly lit. When I dropped my robe four hours ago, it was terrifying but empowering. I was filled with adrenaline and nerves, yet I felt like a goddess. Powerful.

This is another feeling altogether. He’s inches from me in the bright white light bouncing off all the shiny surfaces of the bathroom. His gaze is heavy, hot on me as my heart beats hard.

I open one side of the robe, the air chilling my skin, one breast exposed, my nipple hardening instantly.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth.

I lift my arm with a quiet groan. “Here, along my ribs,” I whisper.

“Shit.” He gets closer, the worry deepening in his forehead. He looks up at me. “Liv,” he whispers, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

He brings a hand up to where my skin is already darkened and starting to purple, the tips of his fingers stopping just short of touching.

“Can I?” he asks.

I swallow and nod.

He brushes the spot gently. My breath catches.

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