Page 42 of Broken Roads
A scalding hot shower might wash away this strange, restless energy that's been humming beneath my skin since yesterday afternoon. Since I sat across from her at that small desk and finally listened instead of fighting.
I reach for the bathroom doorknob just as it turns from the other side and suddenly she's there, a cloud of steam billowing around her like she's emerging from some dream I shouldn'tbe having. Hailey freezes, one foot over the threshold, eyes widening as they land on my bare chest. Water droplets cling to the ends of her dark hair, trailing down to dampen the collar of her blue t-shirt. The fabric clings to places still damp from her shower, mapping the contours of her body in a way that dries my throat.
The narrow hallway shrinks around us, the space between our bodies charged with electricity. Her eyes travel over my chest, lingering on the scar that travels from my collarbone to my pec. Her pupils dilate slightly, her lips parting on an indrawn breath that's barely audible but might as well be a thunderclap in the silence between us.
My skin prickles with awareness, every nerve ending suddenly painfully alive. I haven't been this conscious of my own body in years—of the low-slung pajama bottoms riding dangerously close to indecent, of the morning stubble rough along my jaw, of the heat rising from my skin that has nothing to do with the steam escaping the bathroom.
Hailey's gaze finally lifts to meet mine, and something passes between us, something new and dangerous and thrilling. The hostility that's marked our every interaction has transformed into something else entirely, something that makes my heart hammer against my ribs like I've run for miles.
"Planning on blocking the hallway all morning, cowboy?" Her voice carries a teasing lilt I've never heard directed at me before.
The nickname should irritate me but from her lips, in this moment, it sounds different. Almost like an endearment.
"Depends." My voice comes out rough, morning gravel and something else entirely. "You planning on standing there dripping on my floors all day?"
Her eyebrows arch, and I catch the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Your floors? Pretty sure this is still your father's house."
"Semantics." I take a half-step closer, close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo—those damn berries that have been haunting me for days. "And you're still dripping."
She glances down at herself, seeming to realize for the first time that water is indeed beading on her skin, trailing down her throat to disappear beneath the neckline of her shirt. When she looks back up, there's a flush creeping across her cheeks.
"Maybe you should move then," she says, but there's no real command in it. If anything, she sounds breathless.
I should move. Should step aside and let her pass, end this charged moment before it goes somewhere we can't come back from. Instead, I find myself leaning against the doorframe, effectively trapping her in the narrow space between bathroom and hallway.
"Make me," I say, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Her eyes flash with something that makes my blood run hotter. "Careful what you wish for, Walker."
The way she says my name, low and slightly rough, sends heat shooting straight to my cock. This is dangerous territory we're entering, a line we probably shouldn't cross. But fuck if I can bring myself to care right now.
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
She takes a step toward me instead of away, closing the distance until there's barely six inches between us. I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin, can see the rapid rise and fall of her chest beneath that clinging t-shirt.
"Wouldn't you like to know," she murmurs, then brushes past me with deliberate slowness.
Her shoulder grazes my chest as she moves, the brief contact sending electricity racing along my nerve endings. For a moment, her scent envelops me completely—berries and vanillaand something uniquely her that makes me want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.
Then she's past me, padding down the hallway toward her room, leaving me standing in the doorway like an idiot with my heart pounding and my body responding in ways I can't control.
I watch her go, my eyes tracking the sway of her hips, the way her damp hair catches the morning light filtering through the window at the end of the hall. Just before she reaches her door, she glances back over her shoulder, catching me staring.
That smile that's been threatening finally breaks free, transforming her face into something so beautiful it actually hurts to look at.
"Enjoy your shower," she says, then disappears into her room, leaving me alone with the echo of her words and a hard-on that's going to make that shower a hell of a lot more complicated than I'd planned.
Holy shit. What the fuck just happened?
Chapter 18
Bradley
The curry comb moves in rhythmic strokes across Max's chestnut coat, my hands following a pattern established through years of repetition. The horse shifts beneath my touch, muscles rippling beneath his glossy hide as he turns his head to watch me with one liquid brown eye. He knows something's off. Animals sense these things, the distraction in my movements, the way my mind keeps replaying that hallway encounter for the hundredth time since it happened.
"Easy," I murmur, my voice low and steady despite the restless energy humming beneath my skin. Max huffs, clearly unimpressed with my wandering focus.
I've groomed this horse thousands of times. My hands know every contour of his body, every place he likes to be scratched, every spot that makes him stamp with impatience. The work requires focus, attention to detail. But today, my mind refuses to cooperate, instead conjuring the way Hailey's shoulder felt brushing against my chest, the scent of her shampoo, the flush that spread across her cheeks.
