Page 46 of Knotted Laces

I frown, dragging the edge of the sheet over my face and chest and not missing that she watches the movement.

Watches me as though she can’t look away.

My heart thuds hard against my rib cage, hope blooming, but it’s quickly distinguished because that can’t be right—it’s the hangover and sleepiness talking.

Oh, and the fact that I’ve been in love with her for a decade and wanted nothing more than to have her hot gaze dragging over my naked body.

Small details.

And, speaking of small details, the only thing better would be her hands dragging over my naked body…or her tongue.

My dick twitches.

“Cam!”

“I’m up,” I rasp.

Too many parts of me areup.

“Yeah,” she snaps, turning away, my sweats and tee positively dwarfing her frame. “I see that now. But it took ten minutes of me shouting at youplusthe glass of water to get your ass to stir.”

Right.

Well…that sounds annoying. So annoying that I don’t have to worry about scarring her with my penis any longer.

I push out of bed, start pulling off the wet blankets. “So,” I mutter, “what’s lit the fire under your ass at”—I flick my gaze to the clock on my bedside table—”five in the morning?”

“It’s still raining,” she says, turning for the hall and I see that her shirt is dotted with drops, that I can hear the rain hitting the roof.

Okaaay…

“The weather report said that it’d be a big one,” I remind her.

She stills for a moment, her shoulders stiff. “Well, it’s a fuckingbig one, that’s for sure,” she says dryly.

My eyes shoot up.

Was that?

Had she?

I look down at my dick in confusion, see that it’s behaving, then shake it off and follow her to the front door, reaching her side just as she wrenches it open.

Immediately, I’m assaulted by wind, and a shock of cold slashes me across my bare torso, but before I can tell her to close it, she’s stepping out into the elements and disappearing from sight.

“Shit.” I grab my coat from the hook by the door, shove my feet into my boots, and hurry after her.

I don’t have to go far. She’s standing by my car, staring out at?—

“Fuuuck,” I groan.

Staring out at the river, which is rushing by. Staring out at a tree that’s been taken down by the wind or the water, a tree that’s currently lying across my bridge.

No lying where my bridgeusedto reside.

It’s mostly dark, so I can’t see everything, just the skeleton of the foundation, broken pieces of concrete and twisted metal and…

An unpassable gorge between us and the route home.

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