Page 60 of Endless Love

I can recall with perfect precision how good they feel in my hands—how perfectly they mold to my palms, hard nipples rubbing against my skin, the sounds she made when I leaned down and ran my tongue across?—

My cock twitches, stiffening at the same moment that Charlotte wipes the pad firmly across the bloodied gash, and for a moment, the abrupt clash of arousal and pain makes my brain stutter fully to a stop, my body unsure of how to process it. I’ve never liked to have pain inflicted on me in the bedroom, and the white-hot burn of the alcohol on my raw flesh isn’t arousing in the slightest. But for a brief second, my cock throbs, still stuck on how close Charlotte’s breasts are, before the pain takes complete focus, and my arousal fades instantly.

That, I think grimly as Charlotte continues to clean away hours’ worth of crusted blood,will go down as one of the more confusing moments of my life.

“This might need stitches,” Charlotte says with a frown, as she pulls back and looks at my forehead. “But we’ll have to make do with butterfly bandages. Hang on?—”

She turns, digging around in the first-aid kit, and I feel briefly dizzy as the shift of her body brings a wave of her scent, warm and sweet, directly to my nose. She’s not wearing any perfume—it’s just her own skin and sweat, but it triggers something primal in my brain, and it takes everything in me not to reach out and grab her hips, pulling her down into my lap.

Charlotte straightens, and I grit my teeth, willing my erection not to make a comeback. She leans in once more, her breasts shifting under her shirt distractingly, and I grip the edge of the bed as she spreads antibiotic ointment over the gash withher thumb, stretching the butterfly bandages over the skin a moment later.

“There.” She steps back, surveying her work. “That’ll do.” She bites her lip, as if she wants to say more, but she turns away a second later and starts putting the first-aid kit back together, her back to me.

I move my shoulder experimentally. It’s not dislocated, which is good, because as quick of a learner as Charlotte is, I don’t think she could put my shoulder back into its socket if need be. “Thanks,” I say quietly, looking at her back as she seems to take longer than strictly necessary putting the first-aid kit back together. The air between us feels thick with tension, and I know she can feel it, too. I know that’s why she’s not looking at me.

Charlotte goes still for a moment. “Of course,” she says softly. “You needed help.”

It feels like there’s so much more to that statement. More than I can begin to try to unpack, exhausted and in as much pain as I am. I swallow hard, wanting to ask her what she’s thinking right now, what she’s feeling, and if anything has changed since last night.

But that question is only going to hurt when I get the answer that I know is coming.

“We should get some rest,” I say finally. “We’ve got another long day ahead of us tomorrow, and another after that, before we get to Vegas.”

Saying it out loud sends a jolt of pain through me that has nothing to do with my injuries.Two days. Two more days with her in a car, driving across the country, pretending that ticking clock isn’t growing louder with every passing hour. Two more days before we get to Vegas, and then it’s no longer a ticking clock, but a countdown until the moment she leaves me.

Charlotte closes the first-aid kit, crossing the room as she unpacks the bags onto the small table, laying out our supplies—folded clothes, granola bars, beef jerky, a bunch of bananas, and several bottles of water. She doesn’t say anything else as she retreats to the back of the cabin, a pair of folded sweatpants in her hands, and I instinctively look away as she starts to unbutton her jeans.

That jolt of desire prickles along my skin again, my cock twitching as I lie back on the bed, reaching for one of the blankets with my good hand and shaking it out over myself. The fire has made the cabin toasty, and I can feel my eyelids getting heavy, sleep claiming me before I even see Charlotte cross the room to the other bed.

I’m not sure, exactly, what it is that wakes me several hours later. It might have been Charlotte’s soft footsteps on the wooden floor, because when my eyes flicker open, I see her standing at one window of the cabin, her arms wrapped around herself as she looks out. It’s dark, the fire burned down to embers, the moonlight the main source illuminating her as she stands with her back to me.

“Charlotte?” I push myself up to a sitting position, ignoring the throb in my shoulder. “Are you alright?”

She nods, and I see her shoulders draw up and drop again with a heavy sigh.

“You should get some rest,” I tell her quietly. “Tomorrow is a long day. You’ll have more long days, before this is all over. You need as much sleep as you can get.”

Charlotte is quiet for a moment longer. “I can’t sleep,” she murmurs. “I tried. I think I drifted off for a little while. But I keep dreaming about—” She breaks off, her voice cracking slightly, and I think I can guess what she was dreaming about.

I should tell her again to go back to sleep.Ishould be sleeping, gearing up for what is doubtless going to be a painful and tiring day tomorrow, but instead, I find myself sliding out of bed, walking silently across the cabin to join her at the window.

When I reach out, touching my fingertips to the small of her back, she doesn’t pull away.

“I miss them,” she whispers, still not looking at me. “Jaz, Sarah, Zoe. I miss my apartment. I miss mylife. Hell, my job was boring a lot of the time, but I even miss that. At least I wasn’t—” She swallows hard. “I wasn’t afraid all of the time. I didn’t feel as if I’d been beaten within an inch of my life because of a car wreck. I didn’t feel?—”

She shakes her head, her arms tightening around herself. “I even miss you,” she whispers. “Us. Back when I thought there wouldbean us. Isn’t that crazy?” She twists around, finally looking at me, and I think I see the shimmer of tears in her eyes. “You stalked me. Lied to me. Hurt me. Kidnapped me. And I was still laying there, wishing—wishing that you were next to me. That I wasn’t sleeping alone.”

The vulnerability in her voice threatens to break me. To undo all the walls I’ve tried to build up since last night. My hand is still resting on the small of her back, and the urge to wrap my arms around her, to pull her close despite my injuries, and not let go of her until the morning, is almost overwhelming.

But what point is there in that?It will change nothing. It will only prolong the hurt for us both. And I’ve spent my whole life avoiding this exact feeling, only to be swept under by it for a woman who wants to have nothing to do with me once my temporary protection has served its purpose.

“You said you were sorry,” she whispers. “In the car, when you were getting me out. You said you were sorry for all of it. Did you mean that?”

I know what she’s asking. And I know I can’t give her exactly the answer that she wants.

I guess, at this point, that neither of us can do that for the other.

“I’m sorry that it turned out like this,” I say softly, my hand brushing up her spine despite myself. I feel her shiver, and desire prickles through me. “I’m sorry that we’re on the run. That it’s my fault you’ve had everything you care about snatched away.”

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