Page 52 of The Contractor's Rose
“You did.” I glanced up at him. “And you’ll do it again.”
His eyes darkened. “Damn right I will.”
And somehow, in the aftermath of being completely wrecked by this man, I’d never felt more whole.
TWENTY-SEVEN
ROSEMARIE
I woke up warm.
Not just from the cocoon of Gavin’s soft, oversized comforter, or from the heavy arm draped across my bare waist—but warm from the inside out. His body was a furnace behind me, solid and reassuring, his breathing slow and deep against the back of my neck. For a moment, I just let myself exist there, in that stillness.
A flicker of soreness pulsed between my thighs, a low ache that was not unbearable but memorable. I shifted slightly and winced—but then smiled.
I wasn’t a virgin anymore. And if last night was any indication of what I’d been missing, then I had been missing out ona lot.
It hadn’t been just sex. It hadn’t even beengoodsex. It had been consuming—devastating and charged with years of longing neither of us had dared to name until recently. Gavin had given me every part of himself last night: the gentle man who’d put everyone he cares about before himself, and theone who’d pinned me to his mattress while he warned me how possessive he could be in bed.
God, I’d been so nervous that my first time was going to be awkward or clinical. Something to just get over with because it was overdue and I was twenty-seven, still holding on to something most people let go of in high school. I thought maybe sex would end up matching the rest of my life—quiet, routine, predictable.
But Gavin … Gavin wasnoneof those things. He was big and intense, and when he was inside me last night, whispering things that made my skin burn. I felt alive.
I turned my head slightly, just enough to glance back at him. His mouth was parted in sleep, one arm over my hip with a hand resting on my lower stomach, holding me in place like I might disappear. His hair was a dark silvery mess falling across his forehead. He looked younger like this—unburdened.
And completely unaware that what we did last night meant we really needed to face the music now. Because we would have to tell my parents soon.
My heart skipped a beat thinking about it. Not just because of what it meant—being honest, ripping the Band-Aid off—but because this was real now. It wasn’t just teasing glances, stolen kisses, and whatever base that night in the kitchen was. I had sex with Gavin Miller. My dad’s best friend. A man twenty-five years older than me.
A buzzing sound vibrated through the quiet bedroom.
I blinked, confused. It wasn’t coming from the nightstand. It sounded … lower? Muted and distant, like it was somewhere on the floor or beneath the bed.
Gavin groaned behind me. “If that’s Harry calling again while his daughter’s naked in my bed …” His voice was thick and sleep-rough, and somehow still sexy. “I’m buying a damn lottery ticket.”
I laughed under my breath and slid carefully out from under the covers, wincing slightly as my legs adjusted to being vertical. Definitely sore, but definitely worth it.
I padded across the hardwood floor, goosebumps prickling my bare legs as I crouched beside the bed. Gavin’s phone was vibrating in a slow spin, skittering slightly between his boots and the clothing he’d discarded last night.
I picked it up, immediately recognizing the caller ID image and name as another close friend to the family. “Might be just as uncomfortable as a call from my dad.”
He was sitting up now, sheets pooled low on his hips. Still half-asleep, he didn’t even glance at the screen before swiping to answer.
“Hello?”
I watched his face shift—brows pulling together, lips parting slightly, shoulders tensing.
“Wait—what do you mean,arrested?”
My stomach sank.
He sat up straighter now, leaning forward and rubbing the back of his neck with the hand not holding the phone. His eyes darted to me, but he didn’t say anything yet.
“Uh huh … Drunk tank? Anyone hurt? No charges?” He exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. Thanks, Monson.”
He dropped the phone onto the comforter and let out a long sigh, staring at the ceiling like it might offer an answer.
I moved closer, climbing back onto the bed and sitting beside him. “What happened?”
