Page 81 of The Retaliation You Deliver
Colt.
He’s the one who’s got a thing going on with Ella.
I’m sure she’d be thrilled to hear him suggesting I visit his room.
Shaking it off, I focus on the task at hand and climb the stairs until I’m on the top floor.
I pass the first door and head straight to the one at the end like Colt said.
Sucking in a breath, I lift my hand and knock.
Nothing.
“L-Leon?”
Nothing.
Not willing to come this far and get nowhere, I try my luck and twist the door handle.
It lowers, the latch releasing and the door swinging open.
“Leon?” I call, although I already know he’s not here. I can feel it.
Unable to stop myself from learning more about the man who’s thrust his way into my life, I take a step forward and into his space.
I know I shouldn’t but my need to know more is too much to deny.
The second his scent engulfs me, I instantly feel more settled. It’s a feeling that I try to not think about too much because it’s terrifying that one person—when he’s not even here—can affect me so much.
His room is tidier than I thought it would be.
Football trophies line shelves, clothes cover a chair and spill from drawers but the floor is mostly clear. There’s a desk with his laptop and books scattered over the top, and messed up black sheets cover his bed.
I walk around, taking everything in, and embarrassingly lifting a shirt from his chair and bringing it to my nose.
Where are you, and how are you coping right now?
With his shirt still in my hand, I walk over to the window and stare out at the backyard.
They’ve got an impressive pool, bar area and more loungers and chairs than I’m sure are needed.
I bet they throw some killer parties here.
I’m still standing there staring out of the window, completely lost in my own head minutes later when a shiver suddenly runs down my spine seconds before a door slams and locks behind me.
I damn near jump out of my skin, spinning around to find a sweaty and very angry looking Leon glaring at me. His chest is heaving, his shirt is sticking to his skin much like the other night, but today it’s sweat that makes it cling. His fists curl at his sides as his eyes darken the longer our contact holds.
“I’m… I’m sorry, Colt said you were…” I trial off when he reaches behind his head and drags his shirt up his sculpted torso, revealing the hard planes of his stomach and deep V which disappears into his sweats.
But it’s what I find below his waist that makes my breath catch in my throat.
He’s hard.
Really freaking hard.
My heart picks up speed as my stomach flips in anticipation as he takes another step toward me.
“You should probably leave,” he warns.
