Page 71 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
“Thane. I don’t know if you’re aware.” The shower door clinks shut. “But women do not shit, shower, and shave like men. Seven minutes isn’t even enough time to wash my hair.”
I smile—it’s one that starts in my chest, then pulls and tugs every inch of my body upward as if it’s reaching for the sun.
My sun is apparently Charlotte Sinclair.
“Six minutes.”
She doesn’t reply, and my shoulders sag closer to the one-inch gap in her bathroom door, straining to hear her. Water splashes, and I picture her rushing through her shower to meet my deadline.
Rafe would probably say this is a dick move, but he hasn’t been here with her. There were times when she wasn’t making any sense, and the only other time I’ve ever been that terrified was when Kara ran away.
These women in my life will send me to an early grave.
I’ve also decided that Charlotte can never get sick again. I add a mental note to ensure she’s vaccinated correctly every year.
A loud crash has every thought evaporating.
I lurch to my feet and burst through the bathroom door in a haze of fear. Scanning her head to toe, I’m unable to find an injury.
She’s upright, not crumpled to the shower floor with blood oozing from her skull as I expected, and she’s grinning. Fuckinggrinningwhile I search for hemorrhaging or compound fractures.
Shampoo, conditioner, and body wash lay on the floor. Did she fall into them and knock them over?
What am I missing?
I rip the shower door open, and it nearly comes off its hinges.
Water cascades in rivulets over every dip and curve of her perfectly intact body. No red spot, gashes, or bruises. No blood. Not even an indication that she’s lightheaded or off-balance.
She stands beautifully naked before me, wearing only a smile that instantly makes my cock harder than I ever recall it being.
“Oopsies.” It slips from her lush lips like a string tying my heart to hers. The word replays in my mind over again. And again.
Oopsies. Oopsies. Oopsies.
“Are you hurt?”
She bites the corner of her bottom lip and turns her head left, then right, never breaking our connection.
My cock throbs. It’s physically impossible not to see her gorgeous, perky tits with nipples that pebble like diamonds even though I’m focused on her face.
Peripheral vision is a blessing and a curse.
“Are you ill?”
Again, she shakes her head. Once to the left. Once to the right and no more.
“Are you lightheaded?”
“No.”
“Did you fall?”
“No, Thane. My lungs are heavy or full or something, but I’m not injured. I’m not faint, nor am I about to vomit. But I am naked.”
I scan her skin as though that were an invitation. Her flat stomach flares to perfectly proportioned hips that my fingers itch to squeeze. I want to press my large hands into her unmarred flesh and control her movements as she grinds against my cock. I swear my body is already primed and aching for her.
Looking lower, I groan at her bare pussy, slick from the shower water that streams down her front. Following the trail of water back to her tits, I memorize how it flows across her soft skin, parting at her hardened nipples and running back into one stream as it follows the valley of her waist, down her stomach, over her hip bones and back to her clit that I know is just out of sight.
