Page 33 of Beyond the Spotlight Discreet Version
He scowls because I can’t stop smiling, even as I walk over to him and grab his hand. “Let me clean you up.”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
Ignoring his protest, I drag him into the bathroom.
I sit him on the closed toilet seat while I search his medicine cabinet for the supplies I’ll need. Then I step between his legs and get to work. I start with the cut on his eyebrow, soaking a cotton ball with witch hazel and dabbing it on. He jerks slightly, either at the cold liquid or the sting from the disinfectant. Once satisfied it’s clean, I cover it with one of Adeline’s Hello Kitty bandages.
I repeat the process for his lip.
The restraint I have while tending to these minor wounds is impressive. He smells so fucking good. His sweat mixed with that spicy wooden scent of his is making my panties wet enough I might need to change them. My nipples harden and poke at the fabric of my bra. Can he see them through my white T-shirt?
I’m carefully dabbing his lip with the witch hazel while avoiding eye contact when he suddenly seizes hold of my wrist.
“You should go.”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple dancing with the movement.
My nearness must be affecting him too, or maybe he sees my reaction to him.
“Please, Savannah, before I cross the boundary we set.”
What if I want him to cross the boundary? We’ve been approaching the line and one of us is bound to cross it sooner than later.
I stifle a groan when he stands and walks around me. I suppose he’s right. We set those boundaries because of me. Because it’s what I wanted.
I leave the bathroom and relieve my pent-up sexual tension in my bedroom.
Reynoldavoidsmeafterthe bathroom non-incident. Not going to lie, that hurt. I take it as a sign and stop flirting with him through text messages. He didn’t text-flirt with me either.
Reynold and Adeline spent last night painting her room orange. She invited me to help, but I declined, telling her I didn’t feel well.
Now it’s Sunday night. While Reynold and Addy ate the dinner he cooked, I walked to a nearby pizza place to grab a slice and ate it while strolling casually through the neighborhood. When I return to the penthouse, Reynold is in Addy’s room, putting her to sleep.
I head to the library, the one room I’ve been spending most of my time in. I don’t watch a lot of TV shows or movies. Brad always took the remote and would watch shows only he liked. I gave up on asking him to watch a rom com with me. Now, I’m perfectly happy cuddling up with a book and disappearing into worlds where magic, shifters, and mafia bosses live.
When Reynold showed me the library during his tour, I squealed with joy. Tall bookcases, packed to the brim, hide the walls. Each side has a rolling ladder to reach books placed higher up. I walk to one case, examining the titles—all classics and, if I had to guess, first editions as well. My finger traces along the spines. Not a speck of dust to be seen. I haven’t found one I want to read yet. I’ve mostly been coming in here with my kindle and curling up in the oversized chair in the corner to read.
“Do you have a favorite?”
I jump and yelp at the sound of Reynold’s voice behind me and twist around, clutching my chest.
“You scared me, you big ole jerk.”
He’s standing in the doorway, his shoulder perched on the frame. He’s wearing gray sweats, and it takes everything in me not to look down at his dick outlined by the fabric.
Get it together, you horny wench.
A smile stretches across his stupidly handsome face. “Big ole jerk? That’s a new one.”
I face the bookcase again, trying to hide my reaction to him. Walking along the wall, I let my fingertips skate over the spines again. I love the feeling of a book underneath my touch. I imagine all the hands it’s been in, the joy it brought to others, and the long life ahead for it.
“I’m not a classics girly,” I say, answering his initial question. “I had to read them in high school, and it turned me off because it felt like work instead of an escape.”
“Whatdoyou read then?”
I’m far enough away from him now, so I turn back around and raise an eyebrow, planting my hands on my hips, ready for his judgement. The types of books I read used to embarrass me, but not anymore. I take pride in being a sexual person—though it’s been a while since I stopped sleeping with Brad months ago. It still pisses me off he was fucking Cara while fucking me, which is why I went to a free health clinic the day after arriving in NYC to get tested. Thankfully, I’m disease free.
“Romance books... Ones full of sex.” Ones that helped me discover what I like—what turns me on.
