Page 222 of Tell Me Something True

More pieces of her he was going to take with him where he could tuck them away.

Keep them his.

Using his right hand, he shoved the covers aside, then sat up. Pain seared his side and he ground his teeth against it, breathing through the discomfort until he could swing his legs around to hang over the mattress.

He didn’t think that kick had cracked a rib, but they were definitely bruised.

And hurt like a motherfucker.

He glanced at Verity to find her watching him, her gaze worried, her arms crossed in front of her, tits lifted and about spilling out of that fucking shirt, her teeth nibbling her lower lip like she’d done right before he’d almost kissed her.

Spying the sleeve of her sweatshirt poking out from under the quilt, he dragged it free and tossed it onto the corner of the bed. When she didn’t move—because sometimes even smart girls needed someone to give them a fucking clue—he dropped his gaze pointedly to her tits before letting it skim down the rest of her body, lingering on her stomach. Her thighs. Her pussy. Rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth as he lifted his gaze to her face to meet her eyes. Let her see the heat there. His hunger.

Let her see everything he wanted to do to her, everything he felt for her.

He let her see him. Just for a second.

Long enough for her lips to part on a shaky exhale, the pulse under her jaw to flutter and her eyes to haze over. Long enough for her body to respond, for her nipples to lift and pebble more. For goosebumps to cover the exposed skin of her belly.

But then she blinked and frowned, her lips pressed together in a tight line. Dropping her gaze to the sweatshirt, keeping it there, she took the two steps necessary to grab it, then quickly went back to her original spot.

Out of his reach.

Where she belonged.

Chapter 45

Verity yanked her sweatshirt on, trying and failing, not to notice that Reed looked even worse in the semi-bright light of day, his bruises more prominent. His messy hair was falling out of her hairband, and golden stubble scattered patchily across his cheeks and chin.

But it wasn’t how he looked that had her latent self-preserving instincts kicking in and her taking another step back.

It was how he looked at her.

Granted, she didn’t have a lot of sexual experience, but she had read plenty of steamy romance books, and it seemed to her that when lust bit into you, it did it with sharp teeth and razor-like claws.

But Reed wasn’t looking at her like he wanted to devour her in huge, greedy bites.

He looked at her like he wanted to savor her in gentle nibbles and long, languid sips.

And dear, sweet God, she wanted to let him.

If only so she could do some savoring of her own.

Luckily, Reed blinked then ducked his head for a moment. When he raised it again, all that hunger in his gaze was gone, replaced by the cool indifference he liked to pretend he had around her.

He sent her one of his stupid smirks—well, more like half a smirk, one that was seriously lacking its usual cockiness, what with his battered face and swollen lip, but give the boy credit for sticking to what he knew best.

But it seemed half-hearted. Like he was playing the part of an ass. One meant to get them back on even ground.

Except there was no even ground with Reed Walsh. No matter where she stood, she was unbalanced. No matter what steps she took, she stumbled.

Bending over, he reached for one of his shoes—which she saw now were a pair of worn-in leather work boots—and almost toppled off the bed.

She rushed over, but he was already straightening.

“I’ve got it,” he ground out quietly before she could help him.

No touching. Got it.

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