Page 27 of Erik's Salvation
He grabbed an umbrella and her keys from beside the door. “The rain’s slowed. You should be okay. I can walk you over if you need me to.” Anything to get her and her scent away from him.
She frowned. “Oh. Um, okay. I’ll just go grab my wet clothes.”
It took every ounce of self-restraint he had to not stare at those thighs as she walked up the stairs. The second she was out of sight, he ran his hands through his hair, trying to get a damn hold of himself.
A text pulled him out of his turmoil.
Chandler: Marco just resigned.
Erik’s brows flickered. What thefuck? So he could take on more private contract work?
He shoved the phone back into his pocket, still wondering about Marco’s abrupt decision, as Hannah came back down the stairs, her blonde hair shining in the light. Because that’s what she was. Light. Fucking radiance. He tried not to stare at the outline of her breasts against his sweatshirt as they moved with each step.
Hedidlook though. And his body betrayed him.
“Got it. And thanks for the plastic bag you left outside the door.” She was about to shove her feet into shoes that had to be soaked when he spoke up.
“I need to take back my offer to let you water the flowers.” Shit, those words came out colder and gruffer than he’d intended.
Hurt skittered across her face. But both the fact that Marco was still on his case about that private job and had now terminated his government contract made unease stir in his gut.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” she finally said.
“I’m not.”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she spoke. “I don’t understand you. One second you help me, the next you won’t let me keep my promise to your grandfather. Why can’t I water the flowers? Will you at least tell me that?”
“Because I don’t want you here.” Shit, he hated himself for that. He wanted to soften his damn words, but he needed her to stay away more. The combination of this woman in his sweatshirt and no pants, and having to worry about Marco? It was too fucking much. And howelsecould he keep her away? Tell her about who Marco was? What he could do?
The hurt clicked into anger. “You know what? Fine, I’ll stop coming. I’ll stop watering Stanley’s flowers. Next time I’m stuck outside in the storm, I’ll freeze my ass off. At least if I die, you won’t have to see me when you look outside your window.”
His silence seemed to enrage her more.
She reached for the door, and he followed. “I can’t believe I was actually starting to think you were nice.”
“I’m not a nice guy.”
She spun. “Oh, but you pretend to be. Carrying me against your chest. Letting me use your million-dollar shower and feeding me.” She stepped forward and jabbed that familiar finger against his chest. “Whydo you do that if I repulse you so much?”
He had to clench his fists to stop from grabbing her. She was too damn close, and all he could smell was her sweet scent. The woman surrounded him. Choked and drowned him.
“Hannah.” The single word was a warning. He only had so much self-restraint, and the little he had was about to snap.
“Is it because you like to toy with women’s emotions? Playing hot and cold? Making me like you, making mewantyou, then switching back into an ass?” She stabbed him with that finger again, moving closer. “You are—”
He snapped. Grabbed her arms and crashed his mouth onto hers. Andfuck…those lips were as soft as he knew they would be.
For a moment, she was frozen, as shocked by his action as Erik, her finger still pushed into his chest. The second he swiped her lips with his tongue, there was the soft thud of the bag hitting the floor and she moaned. That moan twisted his insides. Gutted him. Changed him.
He pulled her closer. On her gasp, he slipped his tongue between her lips and tangled it with hers. Her groan competed with the raging storm outside. But that was nothing compared to the storm inside him. The one that writhed and howled and laid waste to his good intentions.
Having her in his arms, against him, almost made everything that had tormented him for so long go silent. Nothing else mattered but keeping her exactly where she was. Not the fragmented pieces that were his life. Not the age difference or the danger that was a constant threat in his world.
Her fingers smoothed up the planes of his chest, then tangled in his hair. For the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe without the oxygen being too thick for his lungs. Like he could touch someone without feeling his flesh recoil.
Her touch was soft and gentle, a complete contrast to his. Becauseshewas a complete contrast. His opposite in every way.
She curved a leg around his own, and in one fluid movement, he lifted her. Immediately, her thighs hugged him, and that sweatshirt tangled at her waist. He pressed her to the door like he was trying to mesh them together. Forge them into one.
