Page 44 of Aviator
“Dean, what are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KENNA
My jaw drops.
I knew the cabin had a view, but I never imagined it would be anything like this. His room is on the corner of the house, and two of the exterior walls are completely glass. The bed is opposite them, so you have damn near a panoramic view of the trees, the mountains in the distance, and the forest.
“Wow,” I whisper, drifting toward the view. “This is incredible.”
“You’d think you’ve had enough of the wilderness after the past few days.”
I turn back to shoot him a grin and notice his smile soften. What is it about a hard man showing vulnerability that’s so fucking hot? I turn away so I don’t do something stupid like jump him. I’ve got to keep myself together. We’re not stranded on the mountain anymore. We both have lives to go back to. I need to be realistic. . .
But that kiss.
I give myself a little shake. “I don’t care how much time I spend outside. I don’t think I could ever get tired of this view.”
The rustling of clothes is followed by Dean placing our hospital bags on a low-slung, rust-colored chair next to me. “That’s what I think every time I’m away from here for too long. After my deployments, it was like an oasis coming home. You don’t have views like this where you live? Where is it you live exactly?”
My throat goes a little dry when I realize how much we still don’t know about each other. “Champagne. A little suburb outside of Charlotte.”
“Do you like it there?” He’s moved closer, his voice right behind me. My nerves light up. A part of me wondered if the insane attraction I felt toward him would dim when we were back in civilization, but it hasn’t in the slightest. If anything, now all I can think about is how good he’ll look naked.
I lift a shoulder as I struggle to remember his question. Something about his smell totally short-circuits my brain. “It’s alright, but it’s where we’ve always lived. Where the girls have their friends and school.”
I don’t mention it’s where our whole family used to live, and moving feels like an acceptance that we’ll never be back together, even though I know that’s the case. There’s always going to be a little girl inside of me, hoping her mommy and daddy will get back together.
“Let’s get you that shower,” Dean murmurs and takes my hand, tugging me toward a door to the right of his bed.
“Really, it’s okay, you don’t have to go through all this. . .” My voice trails off as he flicks the light for his bathroom. It’s easily the size of my bedroom back home and looks like something from an interior design magazine. The warm hardwood floors match the wood tones on the walls. There’s a giant soaking clawfoot tub to my left, a large walk-in shower with multiple shower heads just beyond, and a large double vanity on the far wall. I assume the two doors on the right lead to an actual toilet and maybe a walk-in closet?
“Is this heaven?” I ask.
Dean chuckles. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll get some clothes you can wear.”
I don’t argue because I’m in the midst of some serious inner turmoil about whether I want to take a bubble bath or test out the shower heads. Seriously, how do you choose?
Eventually, the shower wins out because as much as I want a good, long soak, I don’t think I’ll really feel clean until I have a serious girl shower. Before I strip and get in, Dean returns with a stack of his clothes that are probably too big for me and some toiletries. I already can’t wait for that first silky-smooth slide into clean sheets with freshly shaven skin.
I’m gonna sleep so fuckin’ good.
“Thank you. I won’t take too long.”
His gaze meets mine. “Take all the time you need.”
I almost want to ask him to stay and climb in the shower with me, but I clamp my mouth shut. Not only am I still on my period—fuckingthanks, Mother Nature—but I am so gross from roughing it for the past few days. If and when Dean Tyler sees me fully naked for the first time, I’m at least going to be scrubbed raw and smelling like soap instead of sweat.
So, on the off chance of that happening, I turn the water from the dual shower heads as hot as I can stand it, step under the scalding spray, and let out a moan. I don’t doubt the whole state of North Carolina can hear—it feelsthatgood. For a while, I stand under the hot water, careful not to irritate my shoulder wound, and let all the dirt, sweat, and grime from the horror of the past few days slip down the drain.
With my muscles loose and warm, I lather my hair one-handed with the shampoo Dean provided. I can’t recognize the scent, but I don’t even care. It smells so good I nearly cry. Self-care was sorely missed out in the wilderness. I’m definitely a pamperer. I get my nails and hair done regularly, and facials, masks, body scrubs, and butters are a weekly occurrence. My skin routine has been perfected to an art.
I stop mid-condition and say, “Son of a bitch.”
Maybe Dean was on to something with the whole princess thing. Not that I’devertell him that.
