Page 21 of Wrecked
Something warm dripped into his eyes. Throat raw and burning.
A groan.
He turned to Adam…
No. Please, God, no.
Bang, bang, bang…
Something smashed through the car’s rear window.
Cole rolled to his back, eyes flying open.
The banging in his head continued, but the sound became distorted, morphing into a boom, boom, boom.
An incessant thump of a bass beat, rattling his apartment windows.
Rubbing his hands over his face, he let out a shuddering breath and worked at shaking off the confusion, the fear. His body was coated in cold sweat, shivering. The sensation of being trapped still with him.
Shoving back the sheet, he sat up. His body was covered in reminders of that day, scars that told the story of all he’d endured. His left leg was more scar tissue than healthy skin. His vocal cords irreparably damaged. He’d never be the same again.
Sometimes he wished he’d lost the leg completely. Maybe it would’ve helped with the guilt, the guilt that he’d survived when Adam hadn’t been so lucky.
Holding his knee, he maneuvered his leg from the bed. It was stiffer in the mornings, ached like a bitch, too. A constant reminder of what he’d done. He’d allowed emotion to take over, and because of that he’d made a phenomenally bad judgment call. All it had taken was a split second’s loss of concentration, and he’d caused the death of a good man.
Like he could ever forget.
The noise coming from outside got louder. He tagged his jeans from the floor, yanking them on, and limped to the kitchen window.
And immediately wished he hadn’t.
The music was coming from Piper’s, of course. The woman loved music, always had, and she liked it loud. All the doors and windows were open so she could hear it outside. The sun was up, the heat of another day already making itself known, lighting up her pale blond hair like a halo.
Piper stood on a chair, painting the window trim of her cottage. She had on shorts that were near indecent. The smooth golden skin of her thighs making him think of squeezing them in his hands, of spreading them, wrapping them around his waist. The top she wore clung to her, and when she lifted her arms to reach a higher section, her full breasts lifted as well, swaying and bouncing as she moved. The woman was either not wearing a bra or one that struggled to hold all that she had going on.
Piper’s breasts had taken a starring role in more than a few of his fantasies. What would they feel like overflowing in his hands? Would her nipples be brown or pink? Would they turn cherry red after he’d sucked and nipped them, until she was writhing beneath him, begging for his tongue, his cock?
The song changed, and she did a little dance, shaking her round ass, and he bit back a curse. Couldn’t she stay in her house for one damn day? When she wasn’t working, she was outside, parading around her backyard in next to nothing.
A car full of young guys drove past, and they honked and hollered out the window at her. Piper just shook her head and carried on painting. The car did a U-turn, and when they drove past again, they slowed right down, and the comments fired out the window were a lot more suggestive.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had the door open and was halfway down the stairs. He limped across the parking lot, the asphalt hot beneath his bare feet, the sun heating the skin of his shoulders and back. He hadn’t even put a shirt on, but right then didn’t care. He ignored it all, couldn’t think straight. He sure as hell couldn’t take much more of this.
He was close to breaking point. Pushed to the brink by flimsy, pink satin nighties, orange lace panties, short shorts, and tiny goddamn bikini tops. He was this close to dragging her into her girly pink bedroom and fucking her into the mattress.
What am I doing?
The car full of guys had gone, but he was still moving forward. He needed to turn around and go back inside.
But he couldn’t do it.
He had to get close to her, had to be close to her. He was suddenly desperate for just a hint of her strawberry scent—the body wash or shampoo she used, mixed with Piper’s own unique sweetness. Whatever it was, it was fucking addictive. He needed a close-up look at those full lips, needed to feel those soft blue eyes on him.
Needed to hear her voice, her laugh. He just needed her.
He didn’t stop until he was standing right behind her, her succulent ass almost at eye level. An ass that was out for the whole damn world to see.
“What the fuck are you doing?” he growled, before he could stop himself, before he could tame the anger, the hunger, the frustration that came through loud and clear in his broken voice.
