Page 78 of If Our Hearts Collide

Dammit.

I need to get my head on straight. I need to stop thinking about Penny sharing a room just yards away from my own. I need to stop guessing if she is wearing panties and a bra or wondering if her pussy has the scent of sweet strawberries just like her hair does.

I casually adjust my waistband of my pants, as every naughty image I have of my boss’s little sister plays on repeat in my head, an endless loop of curiosity over what Penny would sound like if she were lost in a moment of release. Would her skin ripen to my touch? How would her body respond as it learns its commander?

I am going to go straight to hell.

And that would be a better place to be than having to endure the wrath of Graham and Nic Hoffman. I’ve actually exacted revenge on men that have done their loved ones wrong—so I know exactly what they would want done to me.

And it would be fucking painful.

Sure, I may not die, but being blacklisted from every type of job I would want on this entire coast, while knowing that I betrayed the two men who have given me a life, will probably be equivalent.

I push open the door to the guest room, allowing Penny to enter first. When I remodeled my unit, I never expected this room to actually get used, so the furniture and decor are minimal but functional. However, watching Penny’s face soften, her eyes exploring the room, lets me see my place with a brand-new lens.

I think she likes it.

“This looks so nice, Collins.” Her voice is breathy, as she takes in the space.

The bed is a queen, with a big, fluffy, white comforter and a pile of pillows. All of the furniture is in a modern black style, with clean sharp lines that draw the eye in. Now that Penny stands inside, it’s easy to see what has been missing from it.

Sunshine.

That is Penny though. She’s a bright ray of light, a contrast to the sterile monochrome theme that I’ve grown accustomed to accepting. Yet she looks good here, like she belongs in every inch of my once quiet, undisturbed space.

Sometimes you don’t realize how lonely you are until you experience the comfort of someone else’s presence. For years, I’ve been a solitary man. I go about my business, never bothering to rely on others. I dine out for one, order takeout for one, and expect nothing from anyone.

I’m not bragging. It sucks to feel this cold in my own place—in my own skin. That’s what years of bitterness can do to a person.

Maybe it took Penny walking into my home for me to realize that it isn’t a home at all. I have rooms. Sure, they are filled up with materialistic possessions, but there is nothing warm about the actual atmosphere.

I lean against the doorframe as I watch her hand touch the fabric of the comforter, squeezing it between her fingers. I hope she likes it. I never cared before, and yet I’m already contemplating buying her a new one if it would make her happy.

“Feel free to adjust the temperature of the room. There’s a thermostat box outside of the closet. If you need anything to make yourself more comfortable, just let me know. I’m just down the hall.”

With a nod, she jumps onto the bed, splaying herself out like a deflated hot air balloon.

She looks ridiculous and perfect all at once.

“This bed feels like an endless cloud.”

I chuckle as I watch her roll around to her back, stretch her arms out above her head, and groan out a yawn. My eyes narrow in on the bare span of skin exposed at her stomach, and I adjust my stance. She looks content, and that makes me smile.

How can I not be happy she is happy?

Liking Penny is the easy part.

Controlling my impulses? That’s the impossible part.

The only way for me not to jump on the bed with her and tickle her until she begs me to stop is to walk away.

There’s no way out of this situation that doesn’t involve someone getting hurt.

“I’ll see you in the morning, Pen.”

“Good night, Collins.”

Just the way she says my name is a signal straight to my groin, and I’m certain she has zero clue the influence she has over me. I’m still trying to make sense of it myself.

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