Page 55 of No Turning Back
But my traitorous body doesn't listen. My heart still skips when I hear his footsteps on the stairs, and I quickly brush my teeth and hop in the shower.
The hot water cascades over my skin, washing away the day's tension. I linger longer than usual, trying to quiet my racing thoughts. By the time I shut off the water, my fingertips are pruned, and the bathroom is filled with steam.
I wrap a towel around myself, tucking the edge tightly above my breasts. The mirror is fogged completely, which is probably for the best. I don't need to see how flushed my face is right now.
From across the hall, I can hear Sam's footsteps, the familiar creak of floorboards as he moves around his room, the sound of drawers opening and closing. He's getting ready for bed.
I take a deep breath, willing my heart to slow down. This is ridiculous. We're just roommates. Two adults sharing a house. Nothing more.
Blue starts scratching at the bathroom door, her whines growing more insistent by the second.
I look down at her, kneeling to pet her damp fur. "I can't really blame you, baby," I say, opening the door. "I'd want to sleep with him too."
I step outside and watch Blue make her way to Sam's room. She scratches at his door, whining softly. The sound of her nailsagainst the wood echoes in the quiet hallway.
The door swings open, and there he stands. Sam. Bare-chested, wearing only low-hanging pyjama pants. The hall light catches on the planes of his chest, highlighting the definition of his muscles and the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath his waistband.
His eyes find mine, widening slightly as he takes in the sight of me standing there in nothing but a towel. I suddenly feel exposed, vulnerable. My hand instinctively tightens around the knot at my chest, securing it.
My breathing quickens. The air between us feels charged, electric. I watch as Sam's chest rises with a deep breath, his pupils dilating as his gaze travels slowly from my face down to my bare shoulders, lingering there before snapping back up to meet my eyes.
The look in them is unmistakable. Desire. Raw and unfiltered.
"Good night, Quinn," he says, his voice a rough whisper that sends shivers down my spine.
Then the door closes with a soft click, and I'm left standing in the hallway, my skin cooling rapidly in the night air.
Holy fuck.
Chapter Eighteen
Sam
Nobody knows restraint like me. Nobody.
I lean back against the closed door, chest hammering, trying to scrub the image burned in my head, Quinn standing there in nothing but a damn towel. Droplets sliding down her collarbone. Wet hair curling against her skin. Hands gripping that fabric like it might slip.
I drag a hand over my jaw, rough stubble scratching my palm. Stupid move, kissin’ her so soon.
But what else was I supposed to do? She said she’d stay, then grabbed my hand. Looked at me like a damn angel, and all my talk about waiting, waitin’ till she’s ready, till her divorce, flew right out the window.
Blue gives a low whine at my feet, eyes on me like she’s got an opinion.
“Don’t start,” I mutter, pushing off the door. “I know what I’m doin’.”
She tilts her head. Doesn’t buy it.
I pace, listening for Quinn’s steps down the hall. The soft thud of her door closing. Is she laying there thinking about me the way I’m thinking about her? About that damn kiss?
That kiss.
Hell, I can still feel it, her mouth on mine, that little breath she gave, the way she leaned in like she’d been waitin’ for it. Then it was over. Snatched back by reality before I could breathe.
I saw the look in her eyes today. She wants me. I want her. So what’s holding us back?
I drop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling. Quinn. Always Quinn.
I’ve wanted her since Baghdad. Back when she outshot half the team and laughed it off like it was nothing. Wanted her in the desert, on nights where everything was sand and silence. Wanted her when I had no business wantin’ her, when it could’ve wrecked everything.
