Page 71 of She Was Made for Me

He gives a slow shake of his head, fire igniting in his eyes. “Fuck, no.”

I shiver at the low, rough edge to his voice. He glances over my shoulder at the closed door and steps closer, lowering his mouth to my ear.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about how pretty you look when you come.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

I huff out a breath, feeling hot and restless all over. God, I want him to kiss me. Immediately.

But Phil starts whistling out on the landing and Kyle growls under his breath, yanking himself away from me.

“You need to go.”

I can’t help but frown at his change in tone, and he shakes his head.

“You need to go, so I don’t fuck you right here in the walk-in closet.” He swallows, raking his eyes up and down my body. “Stay away from me for the rest of the day, okay?”

My frown deepens and he looks pained.

“Stay away and I’ll reward you later, sweetheart.”

Oh, God.

Anticipation tingles in my stomach at the thought of seeing him again tonight. I’ve never wanted the workday to be over more.

27

Kyle

Ishould regret it. I should have rolled over this morning, taken one look at the daughter of my closest friend lying naked in bed beside me, and been riddled with guilt.

But the only thing I felt when I saw Violet’s sleepy face smiling at me from my stolen pillow—besides the stiffness in my neck—was happiness. A blazing, full-body joy I haven’t felt in years, if ever. It’s a sensation I never felt in the courtroom, or on completing a cabin renovation in Maine; a sensation I never felt with Lisa, even on our best days. It’s a feeling of completeness I can’t describe, something too intangible to put into words.

And just being able to reach out and pull her close, to feel her warmth and softness nestled in against me… it was impossible to dredge up any feelings of regret in that moment, despite what I knew I should feel.

It seems that what Ishouldfeel and what Idofeel are two very different things lately.

The afternoon drags on forever. Dale and Bob talk about going out for a beer after work but I make my excuses. I asked Violet to give me space for the rest of the day because it’s impossible to focus when she’s in the room. Every time I catch sight of her, I think of her beautiful, naked body spread out on my bed. I think of how it felt to be inside her. How it felt to pleasure her.

But the day is long and empty without her, and after lunch, when Dale and I are discussing the kitchen installation for the basement and he mentions how happy Violet looks today, I have to hide my smile. By the time the crew finally leaves for the day, I’m torn between asking Violet out to dinner and just taking her on the floor of the parlor room. I should be exhausted after we were up so late together, but being around her fills me with energy and makes me buzz in a way I haven’t for years.

I wave Dale and Bob off, impatient to talk to Violet. She’s not in the parlor room, and a quick visit to the top floors tell me she’s not there, either. I plod down to the basement, where Dale and Ryan were working today, but there’s no sign of her. Unease snakes through me as I consider that maybe she was all too happy to give me space today. Maybeshe’sthe one having regrets. She did spend the evening with a much younger man, after all. Maybe she’s decided I’m too damn old for a woman her age—and I couldn’t blame her one bit.

I notice the door to the yard is open, and tentatively poke my head out. Violet is by the back wall of the garden, a pile of weeds at her side. She’s made good progress out here, even though it’s not part of her job. I think she enjoys it.

She doesn’t notice me, but seeing her makes me feel a hundred times better. I think of how she came to find me in the walk-in closet today, the spark in her eye when I told her I’d reward her later, and any doubts I have vanish. It might be unconventional for a young woman like her to be attracted to a guy my age, but she’s made it very clear that she is. I can’t explain it. I only know I’m a lucky bastard, and I won’t waste any chance of being with her. Not anymore.

“Hey,” I say, approaching her through the tangle of weeds that’s swallowed up the old patio furniture back here. I rake a hand self-consciously through my hair, wondering if I should have showered or at least looked in a mirror before finding her. Probably, but I just couldn’t wait.

She spins around, wiping the back of her arm across her forehead in the warm evening air. At least she’s got gloves on this time. Her face lights with a smile when she sees me.

“Hey. Is everyone gone for the day?”

I nod, running my eyes over her. She’s in a purple cotton dress with thin straps, her shoulders taking on an olive glow from spending more time out in the sun. It suits her. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail again, like when we went to the concert, and I imagine pushing her up against the brick wall here to finish what we started that night.

But there’s something I need to tell her first.

“Last night wasn’t just a one-time thing for me,” I say firmly. I’ve thought about this a lot today. I might not know what the future holds—and I can’t even begin to think about Rich—but I can’t pretend last night didn’t change things for us.

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