Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Still flushed from lifting.
My pulse thunders so loud I’m convinced he can hear it.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice rough, close enough that it brushes the shell of my ear.
I swallow. “I didn’t… I didn’t know you were there.”
“I noticed.”
He doesn’t step away.
The steam thickens between us, turning the air heavy, intimate. His hands linger a fraction too long before sliding from my hips.
“I just tucked her in,” he says, voice lower now. “Heard you two laughing.”
“She’s hilarious.”
“She likes you.” A beat. “A lot.”
The words warm something inside me that has nothing to do with the mist.
“I like her too.”
“I can tell.”
His gaze drags over me slowly, unapologetically. It’s not crude. It’s not careless.
It’s claiming.
My skin prickles under it.
He lifts his chin slightly. “I also heard what you told her.”
Oh.
Of course he did.
“About boys?” I ask lightly.
“About men not knowing how to show what they feel.”
My throat tightens.
He steps closer, not touching me, but close enough that the heat of him presses against every inch of my awareness.
“You think I’m like that?” he asks quietly.
The question isn’t playful.
It’s loaded.
I tilt my head, meeting his gaze. His eyes are darker than usual, pupils blown wide, jaw tight like he’s holding something back with brute force.
“Sometimes,” I say softly.
A muscle jumps in his cheek.
He moves then—slow, deliberate—closing the last inch between us. His hand comes up, fingers brushing my chin. A bead of water slides down my cheek from my hairline and he catches it with his thumb, wiping it away like it belongs to him.
My breath stutters.
The room shrinks.
He dips his head slightly, eyes dropping to my mouth.
Time fractures.
He leans in.
Slow.
Controlled.
Deliberate.
My heart slams against my ribs so hard it almost hurts. Every inch of me screams for him to finish the distance. To press his mouth to mine. To stop pretending we don’t feel this.
His lips hover a breath away.
I can feel his exhale.
Warm.
Shaky.
He growls—low and guttural—like it costs him something enormous to hold back.
Then he drops his forehead to mine instead.
The contact is devastating.
“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he whispers.
“Like what?” My voice barely exists.
“Like you’re daring me.”
I don’t deny it.
Because I am.
He drags in a breath. “This wouldn’t be a good idea.”
My hands tremble at my sides. “Why?”
He pulls back just enough to search my face. His gaze is fierce, protective, conflicted.
“You’re twenty-four,” he says roughly. “You’re bright. You’re good. You deserve someone who doesn’t come with this much damage.”
My stomach tightens. “I’m not made of glass.”
He huffs out something between a laugh and a curse. “You’re too young.”
“I’m not innocent.”
He closes his eyes like that lands somewhere dangerous.
“You don’t know what I’d do to you,” he mutters.
My pulse spikes. “What would you do?”
His jaw tightens. “Ruin you.”
The word hits like a spark to gasoline.
I should step back.
I should breathe.
Instead I lean closer.
“Maybe I don’t mind.”
His eyes snap open, heat blazing in them.
“Don’t,” he warns.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t tempt me.”
The power dynamic shifts, crackles, reshapes. He’s holding himself back by threads. I can see it in the way his fingers flex at his sides, in the way his chest rises sharply.
“You think you’re the only one trying?” I ask quietly.
He studies me, searching.
“I’m not a boy teasing you in a playground,” he says. “If I cross that line, Tess, I won’t half-step it.”
My stomach flips.
“Then don’t half-step,” I whisper.
Silence detonates between us.
He looks like he’s about to snap.
Instead, he exhales hard and presses a slow, lingering kiss to my forehead.
The restraint in it is almost cruel.
“I won’t be the guy who takes advantage of a woman who works under my roof,” he says roughly. “I won’t be the reason you regret something.”
“I wouldn’t regret you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
He shakes his head once, like he’s arguing with himself more than me.
“This stops,” he says, though his voice lacks conviction. “Before it turns into something neither of us can walk back from.”
His fingers trail down my arm as he steps away, the touch light but scorching.
“I’ll take a shower upstairs,” he mutters, already turning toward the door.
“Sawyer.”
He pauses.
Doesn’t look at me.
“If you’re trying to protect me,” I say softly, “you’re going about it the wrong way.”
He still doesn’t turn.
“Goodnight, Tessa.”
And then he’s gone.
The bathroom feels colder without him.
I stand there, soaked and shaking, staring at the doorway like he might reappear.
My lips still tingle even though he never touched them.
My skin hums where his hands rested.
I drag a breath into my lungs and glance at my reflection in the fogged mirror. Flushed cheeks. Dilated pupils. Desire written all over my face.
He thinks he’d ruin me.
The truth?
If he doesn’t stop holding back soon, this back-and-forth, this push-and-pull, is going to unravel me completely.
I shut off the light and step into the hallway, the sound of the shower starting up downstairs drifting faintly through the vents. Frustration vibrates in my veins. I suck in a deep breath, the urge to cry threatening to overwhelm my system.