Page 123 of Penalty to the Heart

I should respect her space and wait for her to come to me to explain why the very existence of that room caused such anxiety in her.

Yep.

That’s what I should do.

But is that what I actually do?

Hell-the-fuck-no.

While I keep an ear out for Roxie, just in case she decides to come back upstairs, I walk over to the door and quietly turn the doorknob. But when I look inside, I’m troubled by what I find.

As I step further into the bedroom, a thick layer of dust hangs in the air, swirling into tiny vortexes with each movement I make. Sunlight filters through the windows, illuminating the particles floating in the stale air, giving the room an eerie appearance. The once grand furniture is draped in cobwebs, and the bed is coated in a blanket of dust bunnies, untouched for what seems like years, a silent testament to the neglect this master suite has endured.

And then it dawns on me—this must have been the bedroom she shared with Gregg.

Fuck. Yep. Now I understand what they mean by curiosity killing the cat.

Seeing this room—this untouched shrine to her late husband—fucking guts me.

I quickly retrace my steps, closing the forbidden door as quietly as possible, and hightail it out of there, back to Roxie’s room.

Since I can still feel dust particles all over my pores and throat, I rush to her ensuite to brush my teeth and grab a quick shower. All the while doing my very best not to obsess about why the woman I’m in love with has such a fucking room in her house.

When I step out of the bathroom, I stare at the neat pile of clothes to the side and leave them exactly where they are, preferring to seek out my hostess in my birthday suit instead. Just because Roxie can’t ditch work doesn’t mean we can’t fit in a proper goodbye.

I walk downstairs and find her in her kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and staring into oblivion.

“Good morning, love,” I coo and place a tender kiss on her shoulder, coaxing her to turn around.

Her eyes bug out of their sockets when she sees me naked, walking into her kitchen.

“I… uh… put your clothes in the bedroom upstairs. Didn’t you see them?” she asks, averting her gaze from my cock.

“I saw them.”

“If you saw them, then why are you still naked?” she asks, her hand covering her eyes.

“Maybe because I like how flustered you get when I am,” I tease, brushing her red cheeks with my knuckles.

“Caleb,” she says, defeated. “Please put some clothes on. We need to talk.”

“Then talk.”

“Not while you’re naked,” she says, aggravated.

“Does my nudity affect the words coming out of your mouth? It sure didn’t last night when you asked me to fuck you.”

She spins around to face me, her hand no longer covering her eyes and falling flat on the marble countertop. Her disapproving glower is now aimed directly at me, and my state of undress no longer seems to be a problem.

“That was different.”

“Was it?”

“Fine. Have it your way.” She lets out an exasperated exhale. “As I was saying, we need to talk. Last night was—”

“Was incredible,” I finish for her.

“A mistake,” she states.

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