Page 17 of Break The Ice

Kit smiles.

I move closer, taking in the different textures, the mesh, leather, and satin. It’s a weird combination, but it makes for something that appears comfortable but still sinfully sexy.

It even extends to heels and built-in gloves.

“This is a work of art.”

Kit has moved close, and as soon as I register him behind me, I forget about the suit.

“Let me show you your room,” Kit murmurs.

“Let me take photos of your clothes. You don’t have to put them up online or whatever, but you’ll at least have them.”

I turn, and Kit stumbles back, blinking a couple of times. I step into his space but freeze when he steps back again. His cheeks flush, and he looks away, clearing his throat. The awkward tension that floods the room has my head spinning.

“Sorry,” he says.

I shrug. “For what? Nothing happened.” But maybe he wanted something to happen? Maybe as badly as I did.

No, no. We aren’t going there. This is short term only.

Kit’s phone trills into the silence, and, perhaps it’s because of the tension, but I don’t have a good hold on my reaction. It’s instant. I suck in a breath, recoil away from it, and look around.

Instinctive.

Stupid.

Giving away a vulnerability.

By the time I look at Kit, he’s got his phone in his hand and has declined the call. He reaches out and touches my upper arm. The warmth of his fingers can’t dispel my reaction.

I can’t escape the memories.

“Ryann?”

I shrug it off and force a smile. “Sorry. Habit. I really hate phones.”

It was a timely reminder. I can’t fall into the fantasy that this pack is. I can’t forget.

I jog up the stairs while Kit follows more slowly.

He takes me to a room that is distressingly white. Still, I force another brittle smile and thank him.

This room is situated at the front of the house and has one window with very thick blackout curtains. The queen-size bed is nice. I find my bag already up here and mentally thank Callan.

I pull out my wet coat and check everything else. My camera is fine. I’m glad I invested in several waterproof carry bags. My only spare change of clothes is filthy, so I grab them, wrap the jacket around them, and wander downstairs to where I saw a laundry.

Score.

A washing machine and dryer.

The guilt of using things that aren’t mine when I stay in people’s houses is long gone. I shove them in, set it up, and turn, almost letting out a shriek when I come face-to-face with Callan.

“I noticed you were travelling light. Kit is making you some clothes, but I ordered you a toothbrush, hairbrush, and other things you might need. They’ll arrive in an hour. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Give me your cardigan so I can feel safe for five minutes.The thought is so random and out of nowhere that I can’t find my tongue to speak.

Callan walks into the laundry room cautiously. “Hit me if you don’t want this.”

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