Page 27 of Breaking the Rules
His fully hard cock was already well aware of it. “Then go put something on if you’re so self-conscious.”
“Nice try,” she shot back at him as she stomped into the closet. He’d had a peek at it while she was in the shower. There were no men’s clothes in it, which was telling, just rods and shelves and drawers of all the facets of his Angel. There may be a section for club wear—which he would never let her out of the house in—and nearly double the number of shoes she’d had five years ago, but the majority of her wardrobe was still lounge clothes and workout wear. Maybe things weren’t as different as she wanted them to appear.
She returned wearing a pair of leggings and a tank top in rich garnet under a thick, cozy cardigan.
“Ground rules, Saint,” she said as she worked her thick, damp hair into a braid. “No kissing, no extraneous touching, no sexy talk.”
“Think you’ll still be able to control yourself?” he baited her.
“Shut up.”
She lay face down on the bed, and he made quick work of the wet bandage on her back. She was healing quickly. The stitches would probably come out in another day or two. He sealed the tape to her skin and told her to roll over.
He took his time here, rolling the tank up under her breast to bare her abdomen. When he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra every drop of blood in his body pooled in his groin. But he forced himself to focus on the wet dressing, not the sleek flat stomach or those perfect rounded breasts just inches from his hands.
“Your security system looks familiar,” he said, trying to focus on anything but her nipples that were demanding his attention under thin cotton.
“It should. It’s Invictus,” she told him. “Also, stop snooping.”
He’d done a lot more than just snoop, but Waverly didn’t need to know that, yet.
“You had Invictus install your system?”
She smirked up at him and tucked her hands under her head. “Micah did, actually. We never had the parting of the ways that you and I did.”
“Son of a bitch,” Xavier muttered, placing clean dry gauze over her wound.
“Don’t be a baby. After the whole Ganim thing, I asked Micah to come out to my parents’ house. I didn’t think it was right to drop Invictus right after that whole stabbing thing just because you were an ass.”
Xavier tensed. He’d never be able to joke about it, and there were nights when he wondered if there would ever come a time when he’d be able to fall asleep without reliving that moment, that terror, over and over again.
“It would look like I blamed the company for what happened,” Waverly continued.
“You should have blamed me.”
“I blame you for being a dick and walking out on me, not for Ganim. Anyway,” she continued. “I asked Micah to keep you out of any of my dealings with Invictus.”
“I guess I can add ‘pound on Micah’s face until his jaw is wired shut’ to my To-Do list tomorrow,” he said, gently sealing the tape the whole way around the gauze.
“Don’t blame Micah,” Waverly said rolling into a seated position. “It was good business.”
He spotted the scar then. A thin streak of silver against the tan skin of her neck. He nudged her chin up and trailed a finger over the jagged sliver.
“Did I not say no extraneous touching?” she reminded him dryly.
He ignored her. “What about the scar on your chest?” he asked.
“You’re just trying to see my boobs,” she joked.
He gave her a cool look, and she muttered a complaint, but when she pulled the strap of her tank top down Xavier considered it a small victory. The scar was there, another serrated mark, this one thicker, more obvious damage.
He ran his fingers over it.
“The plastic surgeon suggested I have scar revision surgery,” Waverly said, doing her best not to look at him. “But I wanted it.”
“Why?”Why would she want a reminder of the night he’d almost cost her her life?
Her smile was wry. “A souvenir of survival, I guess.”
