Page 75 of Reckless Hearts

I shouldn’t be this relieved, but that doesn’t stop my breath from flowing out with enough force to puff up my cheeks.

I kick off my boots, letting them land wherever they damn well please.

It’s a rebellion of sorts, though not much of one, considering how many times I’ve gone through this same routine.

Shirt, pants, boxers. They all come off in a careless heap, my skin glad to be free of the day’s grime.

I should be ashamed of how I’ve let the place go, but Maverick’s quiet, orderly presence has always been enough to goad me into a small, defiant disaster.

The thing that gets under my skin is I’ve been acting more like a slob than usual, but he hasn’t once given me shit for leaving my stuff on the floor even though I know it must bug him.

Every time I see that he folded my clothes and put them on the table, my gut twists.

He doesn’t even have to say anything to make me feel guilty.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

At least he’s not here right now.

Thank God for small mercies and all that.

This way, I can take my shower and get the hell out of here.

Maybe even drink those beers the guys were promising.

I haven’t taken out my earbuds yet, which is why I don’t hear the sound of the shower until it’s too late.

I freeze, feet planted to the floor, gripping the doorknob so tight my knuckles bleach white as I’m met with a view of water rushing over Maverick’s naked body.

His back’s to me, giving me the perfect shot of his broad shoulders, wider than mine, weaved with thick, corded muscles.

I follow the way they taper in at the waist and swallow hard.

I’ve never really looked at a man’s ass before. It curves down, connecting with wide, thick thighs.

I’ve seen him a thousand times, more than that, but not like this.

Never like this.

He’s leaning into his palm, braced against the shower wall, head dropped down.

My mouth grows dry, and I run my tongue along my bottom lip, biting the corner.

I know it’s wrong.

I should say something. Should call out, turn away, anything but stand here, frozen.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Time stops as the world tips on its axis.

The muscles in Maverick’s back begin to tense and flex. His arm movement is slow and deliberate, and my eyes follow with a kind of dread fascination.

All of the blood abandons my brain, and it short-circuits.

Fuck.

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