Page 41 of From the Wreckage
I force my expression neutral, grateful for my own sunglasses shielding my eyes. Because there’s no way in hell I can stop looking at her.
And she knows it.
Every time her dad’s back is turned, she sends me a flirty little smile. The way she stretches against the chair, sunlight sliding over her curves, is temptation in its purest form.
I wrench my gaze away, gripping the hammer tighter than necessary.
God help me, if I’m not careful, I’m going to give myself away.
An hour passesin a haze of sawdust, sweat, and Grayson muttering about angles. The hammering should ground me, but every time I feel her eyes on me, my restraint frays thinner. When I glance up, she maintains eye contact before looking away.
It’s killing me.
“I’m gonna grab us some water,” Bri calls, standing and stretching. The move is innocent enough, but my chest tightens anyway.
Grayson nods absently. “Get Everett one too, would you?”
“Of course.” She winks at me before disappearing inside.
I keep working, telling myself I imagined the lingering sway of her hips—until a soft voice cuts through the heat. “Everett.”
I look up. She’s leaning against the corner of the cabin, half-hidden from where her dad’s crouched over a board, three bottles of water in hand. She tips her head toward the shaded side of the deck.
I drop the hammer, wipe my palms on my jeans, and mutter, “Gotta use the restroom,” before striding through the cabin and out the front door.
She presses a bottle into my hand, her fingers brushing mine. The air crackles.
Her voice drops, barely above a whisper. “You keep looking at me like that, and I’m not going to make it through the afternoon.”
My jaw clenches, the bottle slick in my grip. “Angel, you think this is easy for me? You step out here looking like that, and I’m…” My eyes drag down her body before I force them back up. “…I’m one second from losing it.”
Her lips curve into a dangerous smile. Then—just to wreck me—she trails a fingertip down my bare chest. “Maybe I like you losing it.”
That’s it.
The water bottle slips from my hand as I back her against the cabin, my body caging hers. The bottles of water in her hands hit the ground. Her breath catches the second my mouth crashes onto hers.
The kiss is hard, hungry, and desperate. She tastes like heat and trouble, her hands fisting in my hair, tugging me closer. The little whimper she makes nearly ends me.
“Christ, Bri,” I rasp against her lips. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
“Good,” she breathes, kissing me harder. “Because I’m already gone.”
I groan, devouring her mouth, my hand cupping her cheek, my thumb brushing her soft skin. She’s everything I swore Iwouldn’t let myself have again, and yet I’m helpless—every nerve in my body screaming to claim her right here, consequences be damned.
And for one reckless heartbeat, I forget her father is just on the other side of the wall.
I tear away, my forehead pressing to hers, both of us gasping. My chest heaves, guilt and hunger warring inside me.
“Angel,” I whisper, my voice raw, “we can’t… not here. Not with your dad right there.”
Her eyes blaze, lips swollen and glistening. “I don’t care.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, stealing one more kiss before forcing myself to step back, “that’s the problem.”
She presses the bottle into my hand like nothing happened, then grabs the other two bottles of water. She’s smirking behind her sunglasses when we step back into the sunlight.
Grayson is still bent over his work, oblivious to what just happened.
