Page 26 of Infinite

Without warning, the heat from his body strokes against my back in a boorish caress, rough, its only care to feed its desires and need.

My heart rate speeds up as the warmth increases to a raging fire.

“You’re wringing your hands,” Hale murmurs, his breath tickling the ridge of my ear. “Do I intimidate you?”

I squeeze my eyes closed, just barely managing not to curse aloud. I’d told him about my mother’s nervous habit. He had to remember now.

Slowly, I open my eyes, gathering the nerve I’d evidently kicked aside. “This is what I mean, Hale. You know me. Just like I know you and how to help you.”

The way he snaps his towel has me jumping out of my skin. The fabric shuffles and I think he’s wrapping it around his waist. It’s what I’m hoping. Seeing Hale naked again will be the knock-out punch I don’t need.

“People change, Becks, and it’s not always for the better.”

He eases away from me and walks away. From the front of the penthouse I hear Neesa giggle and the faint sound of Mason’s chuckle. Somebody closed the door to the suite only partly. My money is on Mason. He knows we needed to talk. He also knows he may need to step in if things grow heated between us.

With a deep breath, I follow Hale into the bedroom. He’s donned a pair of black briefs. I should be thankful. I would be if he didn’t look like he should be on a giant billboard in the middle of Times Square with a giant bottle of vodka shoved between his thighs.

In a way, the briefs are more alluring than seeing him naked. My inner sex kitten would love to snap the waistband with her teeth.

“Hale, about New Year’s . . .”

Jesus. I don’t mean to start where I do. I’m not even certain I know where I’m headed. But I can’t stop. Not now. “The last few months haven’t been good,” I finish, not bothering to explain that the last few years haven’t been great, either. Not when it comes to us.

He tugs on his jeans, the waist falling just below his hips to give me a grand view of the “V” at his waist. Incidentally, it’s just as tempting as the rest of him.

He snaps his jeans closed. “What about the New Year’s before that? You sorry about what happened then, too?”

My hands slap at my sides. I’m frustrated with him. But I don’t fault him. Not when all that frustration stems from my mistakes. “I’m sorry about everything, Hale. I never wanted to hurt you.”

He meets my eyes. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of the young man I used to lay my blanket beside, whose head of hair would illuminate like a halo in the sun and whose irises would twinkle when we couldn’t stop laughing.

Hale places his hands on his hips. The jeans he’s wearing are one of those that appear old and well-worn. His favorite kind. Aneesa knows him well.

I’m not certain what he’s thinking, but he doesn’t bother speaking until he pulls on a black long-sleeved T-shirt. “It’s not just about New Year’s or what happened that night at your father’s place.”

I stop breathing. I didn’t want to bring up that night, not yet anyway, even though my apology was a part of it.

“You haven’t been there for me, Becks. Not in long time,” he accuses.

“I know I—”

Hale cuts me off with a look. “Did you know my daddy died soon after I got here?” He walks forward, his stride easy, unlike the memory pummeling his features. There’s pain among those hard planes, despite the softness his skin promises. Pain he’s reminding me I wasn’t there to witness.

He pauses in front of me, this time keeping at least two feet between us. “Did you know my Momma followed a few months after that?”

“Yes,” I reply. He doesn’t mention she drank herself to death. He doesn’t have to. Everyone from the area soon knew.

“Mason told me,” I explain, once more fussing with my hands. But then I stop, simply stop. He’s not the only one who’s been hurt. When I meet his gaze, I don’t blink. I allow my torment to reflect in what I say and how I say it. “He also told me you didn’t want me there and that you didn’t want me to know.”

“Doesn’t matter what I said,” Hale says. “I knew he’d tell you.”

He squares his jaw, like any man expecting a fight would do. But I don’t take that verbal swing he expects.

I tilt my head, my brow knitting tight. “Were you hoping I’d show?” I ask. I shake my head, knowing his answer when he doesn’t reply. “Things were so screwed up between us, Hale. I was humiliated about what happened.”

He laughs without humor. “Yeah, well, your daddy never did think I was good enough.”

“I wasn’t upset by what happened between us,” I snap, my sharp tone surprising us both. “Youwere never the problem, Hale. He was.”

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