Page 79 of Trailer Park Billionaire
I need to find the charger.
26
BEN
Istep into the shower, tilting my head back as the hot water pounds against my skin.
It’s better than no pounding at all.
The heat is supposed to help, to loosen the tension trapped in my body, although I doubt it can wash away the image of Helena from my mind. The image of that smoldering stare that could strip paint off a wall. The glimpses of softness she tries so hard to hide. The way she turns every insult into foreplay.
Damn her.
Damn her sharp tongue, her relentless wit, the way she pushes every single one of my buttons without even trying. Damn the way she makes me feel—protective, hungry, always one breath away from losing control. And damn the fact that she’s in the next room, probably in her sexy little shorts that show off half her ass.
And what a fantastic ass it is.
My fingers curl around myself, my breath coming sharp as I give in, just for a moment. Just this. Just the fantasy. Just the fantasy of her in here. Because that’s all I can have.
I imagine her beneath me, her messy bun tangled in my hands, her dark eyes glassy. She’d fight it, of course. She’d fight me. Because that’s just her. She knows just as well as me that we could never. But in my mind, she digs her nails into my skin, pushes me away. Only to surrender to her desires in the end nonetheless. Because she wants it just as badly as I do. And that thought—the thought of her wantingme—nearly undoes me.
A low groan escapes my throat, the pressure building as I’m stroking myself, my body aching for something I can never have. ForsomeoneI can never have.
I’ve been on edge ever since the moment I met Helena, so it doesn’t take long before release washes over me. Except that it isn’t a release. Not really. It feels hollow, empty. A poor substitute for the real thing.
I brace myself against the cold tiles, catching my breath, the water washing away the evidence of my weakness. Because that’s what this is. A weakness. And I can’t afford it. Especially not now. Now that the biggest heist of our lives is under way.
By the time I’m on the couch, sweatpants hanging low on my hips, I tell myself I’m done thinking about her. I just have to shut it off, shove it deep down where all my other mistakes live. I’m good at that, at compartmentalizing things that don’t serve me.
Of course, that compartmentalizing gets a little harder when you can hear the subject of your desire right next door… by the sound of it, tearing through cardboard boxes like a raccoon that just discovered same-day delivery.
Did she let Reuben in?
I look at the front door. It’s still locked. She wouldn’t.
Besides whatever she’s doing, it’s none of my business.
So I close my eyes—not in an attempt to listen more closely—but because I need to sleep.
There’s more rustling.
Maybe she’s wrestling a bear made out of bubble wrap?
Maybe I should put in some earplugs.
A sudden thud against the bedroom door makes me sit up straight.
Is someone in there with her?
I check the front door again. Definitely closed.
Then I press my ear against the wall next to me.
A silent sob.
Before my mind can catch up, I’m pushing Helena’s door open to find her sitting on the floor, her back is leaning against the bed. A book lies before my feet. Looks like that caused the thud against the door. Helena is illuminated only by a ray of moonlight.
She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t acknowledge me. Just stares at the thing on the floor between us. It’s not a book, but a photo album.
