Page 39 of Unmasking You

“Yep.”

“That fucker. I’m going to kick his arse.”

“He’s here.”

“What do you mean?” Then, as if realising what that means, he shouts, “Are you in danger? I’m coming over!”

“He saved Queen. He saved her from being run over, and he’s injured. I had to agree to take care of him.” I’m not sure why my eyes fill with tears and my voice breaks.

“That’s okay, J,” Alexi says to soothe me. “He did good, and you did good.”

“I have all these feelings inside me, and I don’t know what to do with them.” A long pause follows my words, and I’m afraid I’ve disappointed him.

“J, you don’t have to do anything. Take your time, talk everything through, and once you think you can deal with it, you do it.”

“Are you upset?”

“I’m not upset with you. Are you upset?”

“Yes, with myself.”

“Jamie, you don’t have to rush into anything. The fucker is there, and you can talk about what happened. If you don’t like his answers, you can throw him out. But please call me if you do, because I want to have the pleasure of kicking him while he’s down.”

I laugh, but I know Alexi is only half joking. “I love you, A.”

“Love you too, mate.”

My next actions are to ask, listen, and then kick out if I don’t like the answers.

We haven’t talked, but since I helped him clean up a couple of days ago, things have taken an unexpected turn.

I can still feel his smooth skin under my palm and fingers. How hot it was, and how every time I brushed against him, zings of pleasure would travel through my body. Keeping a straight face, my breath even, and my cock in check had been a nightmare.

Why does it have to be him? Why do I have to feel this way about Shane fucking Campbell?

We get into the habit of having meals together and then sitting on the sofa to watch TV or read, just like we’re doing right now.

The first time we sat on the sofa, we were at opposite ends, as far away as I could possibly be from him. Then the lines blurred, and now we’re so close to each other that if I move my leg, I’ll touch his.

Now, after nearly six weeks, he’s able to move around better, and I’m not needed when he has to use the bathroom, which is where he is now.

I watch him coming back, still wobbling around, but his face looks better, and his bruises are finally fading.

Tonight, though, after dinner, I watch in surprise as he’s leaving the bathroom and his crutch slips on the floor, causing him to stumble. I jump up to stop him from falling, but he’s heavier than me, and I fall back, bringing him with me. We hit the sofa with a huff, and for a few moments, we freeze, our faces close and our breaths fast.

“Are you okay?” I ask him, worried about his injuries.

“Yeah, I think so.”

Neither of us makes a move. Instead, our eyes lock. Whatever I felt when I was washing him comes back with a force I’m not prepared to handle. From the way Shane is looking at me, he’s having the same issue.

Am I imagining things because of my own desire? Or is his face getting closer?

While my brain battles with my heart, he moves in, and his lips gently touch mine.

What I felt at the charity event is amplified by the feelings I once had for the boy he was. My thoughts muddle the more our lips stay pressed together, and the lines between what I should be doing and what I’m actually doing blur.

The kiss is a non-demanding one. It’s as if he’s asking for forgiveness or asking permission to deepen it. He pulls back, looking at my face for a second, maybe looking for the rejection I should be giving him. When there is none, he leans in again, and this time it’s not only a press of his mouth.

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