Page 30 of That One Night
And she’d saved his goat. Wasn’t that the thing? He’d tried to push her away but now he wanted her even more.
She’s engaged, dumbass.
He tried to seize on those words, keep them in his head.
“I can stay here, with you and Frank.” Her voice was soft.
He shook his head quickly. He didn’t trust himself. That was the truth. He was already a hair’s breadth away from touching her. He wanted to pull those wet clothes off of her. He wanted to pull her into the steaming shower with him.
He wanted to slide inside of her until they were both breathless and aching.
As a kid, he’d never wanted what the other children had. He’d never felt jealous of a new toy or a pair of sneakers.
But right now all he could think about was how much he desired her. He wanted this woman who was taken.
And that, he knew, was the reason he’d tried to push her away. Not for her reputation. But because he wanted her and he couldn’t have her.
And now she needed to go home.Now. Before he did something he might regret.
“You’re wet and muddy. Go get cleaned up, get some sleep. I’ll let you know how Frank is in the morning,” he promised. It was a miracle that he kept his voice even.
“You’re wet and muddy too,” she pointed out. She had that stubborn sound to her voice again. But instead of infuriating him, it enticed him.
“I’ll take a shower in the morning.”
“No you won’t. You’ll take one now while I stay with Frank, then I’ll go home. Not before.” She folded her arms across her chest. Despite himself, his gaze dipped.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” he murmured.
“Nope.”
His lips twitched. He’d been brought up around enough strong women to appreciate them. And to know when he was beat. “I’ll be five minutes.”
“Take your time.” A smile pulled at her pretty mouth. “Frank and I have some chatting to do.”
Shaking his head, he stood, walking barefoot over to the laundry room to grab a fresh towel to dry himself with. He slid his dirty, goat hair-covered hands under the faucet to clean them before taking a black towel from the pile on the shelf.
And that’s when he saw them. Her panties. How the hell had he forgotten about them? He gave an internal groan, because not only were they in full view of anybody who walked into the laundry room,but she’d just been in here to grab some towels.
Christ, he hoped she hadn’t seen them.
Emery stroked Frank’s hair as he exhaled softly, his eyes closed, his body laid out on the dry towels. In the distance she heard the rush of water coming from Hendrix’s bathroom.
She’d never been inside this cottage before. Back when she was growing up it had belonged to an old farmhand of the Hartson’s – a loner who kept to himself. Her dad used to nod tohim, but he’d refused all offers of dinner or trips out to the town, much to her mom’s disgust.
The cottage was much smaller than the farmhouse she’d grown up in. And all on one floor. There was the living room, where she and Frank were, with whitewashed walls and a big brick fireplace. The rug was Persian, a red and gold pattern, and the sofas looked lived in but comfortable, with tan leather casings.
Behind the larger sofa was the kitchen. Again, it was nothing fancy, but looked like it functioned well. A huge fridge-freezer, a range, and plenty of workspace if you needed it.
To the right was the door to the laundry room. Hendrix must be using the bathroom next to the laundry, because he hadn’t emerged from the hall.
Her cheeks pinked up. She’d seen the pair of panties in his laundry pile, and at first she’d felt a tiny bit jealous, assuming they belonged to another woman.
But then she’d realized they were hers. She wasn’t sure what to think about that.
The door to the bathroom opened and Hendrix walked back out in a pair of sweatpants and nothing else.
“I’m clean and dry.”
