Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
“I still don’t trust it.”
I duck inside and leave their voices fading behind me.
My mom and Aidan are laughing down the hall as I climb the stairs. Something about this house still doesn’t feel real—heated floors, towel warmers, entire rooms just for showering.
I switch on the warmer and slip into the private shower, sighing the moment hot water hits my skin.
It’s decadent.
The pressure is perfect. The lights can change color. The scent of the eucalyptus steam floods my senses like I’ve stepped into a spa. I tilt my face into the stream and close my eyes, letting the warmth sink into my shoulders, down my spine.
When I’ve soaked up enough of the heat, I reach for the warmer—
But my towel’s gone.
Frowning, I open the linen closet. Empty.
I crack open the door and peek toward my room, but just as I step forward, the bathroom door opens.
Cole steps in.
He’s shirtless, damp, a towel slung low around his hips—my towel.
His gaze lands on me, and everything in the room stills.
My breath catches. He doesn’t look away.
He doesn’t even blink.
His eyes rake down my body—neck, breasts, stomach, thighs—and the burn of his attention makes my skin pulse.
“Why would you take that towel when you knew someone was in here?” I manage, holding the door with one hand and my pride with the other. “Didn’t you hear the shower?”
“No.” His voice is unhurried. “It’s soundproof. I didn’t know this suite was occupied.”
“Give me the towel.”
“Okay.” He smirks.
He drops it.
My lips part.
He steps closer, completely bare. All lean muscle and sculpted heat, not the least bit shy. My eyes betray me—dragging down his chest, his abdomen, his hips… lower.
God.
I can't breathe.
He picks up the towel again and closes the space between us.
“You sure you want it?” he murmurs.
I say nothing.
He slips it over my shoulders, slow, like he’s draping silk.
His fingers linger, brushing my pierced nipple through the fabric.
“A virgin with a nipple piercing,” he says, voice dark. “That’s new.”
“It was a dare.”
“I like dares.”
He presses the towel tighter around me, gaze locked on mine.
“Anything else pierced I should know about?”
I blink. “Are you done?”
“Almost.”
His hand trails down the edge of the towel. Then he steps back—just enough to let the air cool where his body heat had been.
“I’ll check next time,” he says. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt again.”
“You didn’t interrupt anything.”
“Good.” His voice dips lower. “Then I can leave without feeling bad.”
He finally steps out of my way, but not before letting his gaze linger on me one last time—slow, unhurried, like he’s taking mental notes for later.
“Goodnight, Emily,” he says, voice low.
Then he walks out, stark-ass naked, like nothing about this moment has rattled him at all.
The door shuts behind him with a soft click.
And with it, any last illusion that I’m going to survive this summer untouched.
7
COLE
There’s no point in trying to sleep.
My cock’s still hard and I’ve taken three cold showers back-to-back-to-back. Nothing helps. Nothing dims the image of her—flushed all over, standing there in my towel, not even pretending not to stare.
I roll out of bed and throw on sweats, cracking the window for air. The ocean breeze does nothing.
I set up my easel, flip on the lamp, and tell myself I’ll paint the need out of my system.
I log into my site and pull the next order.
Can you paint me a picture of me and this girl [attached] kissing under the moonlight? And then in the skies or the clouds, add the words in a messy cursive, “I wanted to fuck you on day one?” as like a cheeky joke?
Oh and can you make sure that our work name tags show? Hers is kinda blurry in that photo, but her name is Emily.
I freeze.
It’s not her. It’s not even close.
But that name hits me like a punch to the chest.
Emily.
I run a hand down my face, jaw clenched, silently admitting something I’ve been neglecting.
I went back to that rest stop a week after I dropped her off. Didn’t even tell myself why at the time. Just sat in the parking lot like a damn fool, hoping she’d show up.
I refreshed my messages every day. Every. Single. Day.
And now she’s here. In my house. Sleeping right next door, and serving as punchline to fate’s twisted sense of humor.
I stare at the order one more time.
Then I toss the request onto the floor and grab a fresh canvas.
And I start painting her walking into the rest stop. Again…
PART 2
“Better to be hurt by the truth than comforted with a lie.”
Actually, some lies are more than necessary, and certain truths need to go to the grave…
8
COLE
Two days later
The strip-mall rehab center looks even worse in daylight. No windows, flickering lights, and a front door that sticks if you don’t yank it just right.
I park in the far corner, kill the engine, and take my time heading inside. No use pretending I’m in a rush to be here.