Page 77 of Three Pucking Ex's Brothers
“Freddie, what?”
I don’t think, I just step forward, and she moves back, giving me space.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her gaze flashing up at me.
There are a hundred things I could say.
There are so, so many things I should say.
I should turn around and go and never speak of this again.
But I can’t.
I can’t let this go. I can’t keep it in anymore.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” I breathe, the water from my hair dripping to my lips. She looks past me as a clap of thunder sounds, and she sets the knife down on the end table, reaching for my arm. Her palm on my wet, cold, skin is like a cozy fire.
“Come inside,” she says. “You must be freezing.”
Quite the contrary, because her touch is so warm it spreads fire throughout my entire being.
When I get inside, and she closes the door, I get a good look at her. Her eyes are red, like she’s been crying.
“Are you okay, Nora?” I ask.
We stand there in the foyer, like two soldiers at war. Waiting for the other to strike.
In the light of the living room, she looks almost angelic, the incandescent lights lighting up her form like a halo.
“I don’t know,” she says as she steps toward me. “Everything is…”
“Confusing?” I ask, my voice dark. Low.
She nods as I step closer.
“Yeah,” she whispers, settling her hand on my hip.
“You’re soaked,” she says, but she doesn’t look at me. “Did you run all the way here from your house?”
I look at her from beneath my lashes. “Yes,” I admit. I know I’m wading into dangerous territory here, but I don’t want to lie to her. I don’t think that would do either of us much good.
“To see if I was…okay?” she breathes as her hand slides underneath the hem of my shirt. Her palm on my skin is warm like a brand, and I think I’ll always remember what it feels like, even if I never feel it again.
Because Eleanor Brighten is burned into my bloody soul right now.
I nod, leaning down toward her face. “Yes,” I say solidly as I close my eyes. “And no.”
I feel her hand on my cheek, her fingers tracing my jaw.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I tell her as I open my eyes.
“Because of the picture?” she whispers, and I hear the shake in her voice. The embarrassment.
And that changes everything.
“No,” I tell her, settling a hand on her hip. I rub it lightly, the soft sweater fabric a balm to my heated touch. “Because you makeme feel things I thought I forgot,” I say. “Things I haven’t felt in years.”
She licks her lips as her hand slides up my chest beneath my shirt. I’m acutely aware of the way she’s touching me. Curiously. Her fingers trace the outline of my abdomen and my hip bones. It takes everything in me to grab her hand and pull her away.
