Page 64 of Where We Call Home

I needed a cold shower. That would do the trick. I needed to douse this fire I felt inside me.

Did I reallywantto?

Maybe this was my chance to make a move and put the desire to rest.

My nipples ached; they were hard against the tight clothing.

Fuck it.

A feral part of me took over; I was blinded by my libido. Rummaging through my drawers, I found a tank top and shorts that were barely a scrap of fabric.

I stepped out of my clothes from last night and into this, something suggestive enough to give Rhodes a tease. Running my hands through my messy hair, I left it wild and untamed as it cascaded around my face.

My mind was made up. The no-shit, get what she wants woman wasn’t at rest, she was ready to play. I’d pull out the big guns to reel Rhodes in. I was tousled, horny, and ready to shake shit up.

I stepped out of my room, my bare feet padding down the cool hardwood hallway. Each slow, deliberate step was a performance, a reminder of the confident persona I always wore. When I reached the kitchen, my practiced calm faltered.

Rhodes was already there, one step ahead of me.

He stood at the counter, his back to me, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung pajama pants that clung to his hips. His broad, muscled back was a masterpiece, every ridge and dip tempting my fingers to trace the lines. When he turned, the expanse of his chest and abs—defined, utterly devastating—came into view.

My mouth went dry.

I’d walked out with every intention of making him squirm, but now I felt like the one out of her depth, striding into a gun fight with only a knife.

Forcing a breath, I pushed down the looming nerves and wore a sultry smile. “Good morning,” I said, casually raking a hand through my hair in an attempt to feel loose and free.

Rhodes turned his head, his green eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my pulse kick up five notches. The mug in his hand paused mid-lift as his gaze flicked down, taking in my tank top and bare legs.

“Morning,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down my spine.

I sauntered to the cabinets, letting my hips sway just enough to catch his attention. As I reached for a glass, I deliberately overextended, the hem of my shirt riding up to reveal a hint of skin.

“Could you help me?” I asked, glancing back at him with wide, innocent eyes.

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t move, his gaze lingering just long enough to make the air between us crackle. Then he cleared his throat. “Sure.”

Rhodes stepped closer, his presence as commanding as ever. He reached over me, his chest brushing lightly against my back. The scent of him—clean, woodsy, with a hint of soap—wrapped around me, making my knees weak.

I stayed frozen, every nerve ending alive as his arm hovered above me. I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension tangible. He grabbed the glass and handed it to me, stepping back before I could react.

“Thanks,” I murmured, my voice slightly unsteady. I turned and poured juice into the glass, taking a seat at the island to ground myself. “How’d you sleep?”

Rhodes leaned against the counter, mug in hand, his biceps flexing just enough to draw my attention.

“Pretty good. You?”

“Like a baby,” I replied, swirling the juice in my glass before looking up at him. “Though I did have an... interesting dream.”Tease. I’d use the dream to play with him, have him at my mercy. What man could deny hearing more about a dirty dream, especially if it involved him?

Rhodes’ brow arched slightly, the corner of his mouth curving in a way that was maddeningly attractive. “Oh yeah? What about?”

He stepped closer, resting his elbows on the counter across from me, his stupidly attentive eyes locking onto mine. The heat between us was almost unbearable.

I hesitated just long enough to let the tension build, then lowered my gaze to the rim of my glass, running a finger along its edge.

“Well,” I said softly, lifting my eyes to meet his. “You and me.”

“Hmmm.” He hummed, leaning in closer. Not an ounce of shock appeared on his face. “And?”

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