Page 47 of The Wrecked One

He dropped the bag at his side, continuing to study me as if he’d walked in on me masturbating. I realized I’d been fisting the comforter at my sides as if lost to a fantasy. Partly true. I let it go, feeling a hot blush creep across my face. “That was fast.”

“I was gone for two hours.” He stepped around the shopping bag, and I sat fully upright as he approached. “You’ve been reading.” He picked up the book and thumbed the pages.

“Savanna’s upcoming release. That’s her pen name.”

“Brittney, huh?” He set the book down, eyeing me almost cautiously. “You good? You look . . .”

Turned on? I wish.

“Flushed.” He quirked a brow, then shook his head as if regretting his words, not really wanting to hear my answer.

So, I deflected for both of our sakes. “Looks like you found something for me at the store.”

He took my cue and went back for the bag. The whole situation spurred a serious case of déjà vu. It wasn’t that long ago when I’d gone shopping for Carter’s now-wife, Diana. She’d been working on a countermeasure to an EMP weapon, hidden and safe in Scotland. That was before Oliver and I gave in to desire in Ireland.

I highly doubted Oliver bought me lingerie like I’d done for Diana. I couldn’t resist the chance to give her an opportunity to toy with Carter and his sense of control. Clearly, it’d been mission success. They were now married, and she was pregnant with his son. Carter had been adamant in his belief his firstborn would be a girl, but God had other plans.

Oliver set the bag on the bed, but I was uninterested in seeing what was inside. Probably granny panties and shirts three sizes too big.

My body was still tense and fueled by desire. So, I did something that threw him off, and I reached for his arm. I brushed my fingers along the ridges of muscle there, and his bicep flexed in response.

“You should eat.” Those three words were basically grunts of breath as he backed up and away from my reach.

“No appetite.”

He frowned. “Too bad. Dad made sandwiches. He gets pissy if food goes to waste.” He hiked a thumb over his shoulder, walking back two more steps. A mission to get away from me. “So, go eat.”

I really wasn’t hungry. Still stuffed from the pancakes drenched in that delicious maple syrup. But I also didn’t want him to keep backing away from me like he was. “You don’t have to be afraid to be near me,” I reassured him.

His brows stitched together, his eyes darting to my mouth.

“I can’t be close to you.” Another step away. And as he scrubbed a hand over his beard, I could feel myself losing him all over again.

And with that, he left, and he didn’t speak to me again all day. Skipped dinner, too.

It wasn’t until the sun swapped places with the moon and he was asleep that night, that I saw with my own eyes how much this man had truly been suffering. And maybe even why he was more afraid to touch me than I was to be touched.

17

MYA

It was 4:03 in the morning, and I’d yet to even keep my eyes closed for more than five minutes, let alone sleep.

I set aside my phone and attempted to plump up the pillow before falling onto my back. I’d forced Oliver to take the second one, but now I knew why he had been grumbly and argued with me about it. This bed required two, because this one was, for the lack of a better word, unplumpable.

The lumpy mattress and pillow weren’t to blame for my lack of sleep. It was knowing Oliver was just outside my room. Four months of missing him, and worrying, and now we were together. Just not together-together.

The tension in my arms was becoming unbearable, so I pinned them beneath my body to try and help alleviate the stress I held there. I looked up at the ceiling fan, the only form of air-conditioning in the cabin, hoping if I stared at the blades slowly chopping the air long enough, maybe my eyes would close on their own volition. But not even ten blade-counting seconds later, a loud thud from the other room had me jolting upright. The covers were already at the bottom of the bed because it was hot, even for Canada at night, so I was able to quickly get to my feet.

Normally, a noise from another room would require the sidearm Mason gave me from my lockbox under my bed, but I wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Not that I’d once stepped foot in that state, but these last twenty hours had me feeling a bit like Dorothy being chucked into another dimension. A house might as well have fallen on top of me. Yet, I still took hesitant steps to get to the door.

I was wearing one of his tees instead of the hideous clothes he’d bought me. No bra, but I didn’t have time to work magic and put one on before going to find out what was happening in the rest of the cabin.

Once in the short hallway, I flicked on the light to find my way to the living room. I hadn’t expected to see Oliver on his back on the floor by the couch, so I hurried over to him and went to my knees.

His eyes were closed, but he was shaking hard. His face was scrunched up as if in pain as he groaned. He was shirtless and only in shorts, and his stomach muscles were clenched as if mid sit-up.

“Oliver,” I whispered, worried about reaching for him in this current state. He was clearly having a nightmare. I went to cup his cheek, pushing through my own issues, too concerned for his, but a deep voice from behind stopped me.

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