Page 51 of The Wrecked One

She was wearing my shirt as her pajamas. Of course you are. Who needed singing birds and the sun shining when there was a vision like her before me? She’d light up any dark room, and I was the antithesis now, only capable of dimming that brightness of hers.

“One of us should speak.” She frowned.

“You just did. Congratulations. Now we’re done.” Time to face the other way. To not remember how those long legs of hers felt wrapped around my hips while we made love. Or over my shoulders when I’d devoured her pussy.

“Are you okay? Last night was . . .”

She had as good of an idea of how to finish that sentence as I had a chance of answering it. “I’m going outside.”

Escape. Run. My new MO in dealing with situations. It suited me just fine.

Only this time, she decided to play with fire and not move out of the way. She blocked my path, keeping her gorgeous self in the doorway.

“Mya,” I warned. An empty threat, because what would I do? I couldn’t lift her up and physically move her. I would’ve done that in the past. Thrown her over my shoulder and slapped her ass while she squealed. Now? Now she couldn’t handle being touched, and it was my fault. I’d let some asshole nearly do the unthinkable to her. I should never have let her be captured.

“We need to talk.” She slowly inhaled through her nose, taking her time to release that deep breath.

I had to use every ounce of restraint not to check out her breasts and confirm whether or not she had on a bra beneath my shirt.

I’d gone months without being able to even get hard, dealing with a limp dick since hell came to earth that day in Thailand. Not that I’d tried getting off, but I didn’t even wake with morning wood. I was broken. Well, I’d thought my cock was broken until little miss before me was standing in my bedroom yesterday while I was in a towel. My dick basically saluted her.

And now, with her looking sexy in my shirt, I was getting stiff again, and in gray athletic shorts, yeah, she’d notice.

After everything she’d been through, the last thing she needed to deal with was my poorly timed arousal.

“Nothing to talk about. I don’t want you here, let alone to speak to you.” My vinegar to her sugar wouldn’t win me any nice-guy awards, but I wasn’t in a contest and shooting for gold. Quite the opposite, I needed to piss her off and push her away.

“Well, we do have a lot to talk about, and whether you want to talk to me or not, it’s going to happen.” She boldly braced against the interior frame and walked her hands up to shoulder height (hers, not mine), then stared at me with as much intensity as she could.

I needed her to take a step back, give me space to take a breath instead of accidentally leaning in to kiss that sexy mouth of hers. “I’m going to work out. You’re welcome to talk as much as you want. I have no plans to say anything.” I lifted my chin as a directive. “Now move.”

She arched her brow, continuing to lock eyes with me. “Make me.” Her skin was bare of makeup since it was the morning, but a natural pink hue made it to her cheeks anyway.

“You know I can’t do that.” I’d like to, though, very much.

Despite our semi-heated exchange, there was one thing I’d suddenly realized—I was no longer in a horrible mood. The anger and tension that’d still been clinging to me post-nightmare was gone. My cure was peering at me with challenging eyes and determination. She also had the nerve to smell like my cologne. That shirt had been washed, so it wasn’t because I’d worn it and . . .

“You put on my cologne?” I folded my arms, confused.

The color in her face deepened. My girl was embarrassed.

Shit, not my girl. Not anymore.

“I sprayed it. I like how it smells.” She shrugged, trying to play it off, but she really was as horrible of an actor as I was.

Our hate-game back in the day had always been pathetically obvious that it was pretend. For me, at least. I only hated how much I’d wanted her and never thought I could have her. But then I did have her, and . . . I lost you.

“I have such a long list of topics to go through that I don’t even know where to start.”

I’d rather talk about my cologne smelling much better on you. “Then don’t start. Great idea.” I winked. Wait, where’d that come from?

She reacted the same. Arms falling to her sides in surprise at my eye twitch. Because yeah, that’s what that had to have been. Not a purposeful flirty tease from me.

“You have my permission to move me, but the only way you’re getting around me is if you put your hands on me.” Her stubbornness knew no bounds. “I need to see if I don’t freak out when you touch me, and your mission is to get by me. Kill two birds with one stone.”

Fucking birds. Now I couldn’t help remember the last time we’d had sex. Valentine’s Day. We’d been arguing a little after I took mostly photos of her instead of those damn racing pigeons, and one thing had led to another.

“Don’t make me do this.” I grimaced. “I don’t want to touch you.”

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