Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90009 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
He takes it from my hand before securing it around his waist.
“Look at me, Lilah,” he murmurs, the words coming out rough and strained.
It’s so tempting to bolt. Instead, I force my gaze to his.
We stand still, towels clinging to damp skin, tension thick and electric like the air before a storm.
I don’t know who moves first.
Maybe we both do.
Maybe neither of us do.
But suddenly, his forehead is brushing against mine, his breath fanning across my parted lips.
“Steele,” I whisper, barely able to get his name out.
His fingers find my waist before flexing around it.
With a sharp exhale, he steps back. His jaw is tight and his expression is unreadable as he plucks another towel from the rack and dries his hair. “Would you grab me a pair of boxers and then help me to bed?”
My fingers twitch at my sides as I nod and then spin toward the door, escaping to the safety of his bedroom where I can finally clear my head.
The longing I feel for him is frightening. I’ve never felt this kind of need thrum through me.
Certainly never for Devon.
Or any of the other boyfriends I’ve had.
I pull open the dresser drawer and grab the first pair of boxers my fingers come in contact with. When I step back into the bathroom, Steele is slouched against the marble counter, eyelids half-closed, swaying slightly, like he’s seconds away from face-planting.
When he reaches out to take the underwear, I gently brush his hand aside.
“Let me,” I murmur. “It’ll be quicker, then you can get to bed. You look like you’re about to collapse.”
A tired half-smile tugs at his lips. “Funny, because that’s exactly how I feel. Like I got hit by a truck.”
“You pretty much did,” I say, crouching in front of him. “And that truck’s name was Henrik Sundström.”
“Remind me to return the favor next time we play Dallas.”
For a second time, I drop to my knees in front of him, then help as he steps into the boxers. He lifts one leg, then the other, silent except for the occasional sharp inhale. I guide the fabric carefully up his legs, over his muscular thighs, until it settles at his hips. He clutches the towel at his waist, holding it in place while I finish.
Then I rise, wrapping an arm around him. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you to bed.”
With a snort, he leans into me as I guide him into the other room. His steps are heavy, sluggish, but he doesn’t fight me. I pull back the covers and help him slide between the sheets, then tuck the blanket around him.
Waffles hops onto the bed and settles against his side.
I run my fingers gently through his damp hair. “I’m glad you’re okay,” I whisper. “You scared the hell out of me.”
His eyes stay locked on mine. “I’m sorry, Lilah. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do.”
I lean down and brush a kiss across his forehead. The caress lingers before I finally pull away. His fingers find mine, tightening around them, making it impossible to retreat.
“Stay,” he murmurs.
I freeze.
His request is quiet and laced with exhaustion.
I’m torn. With the way I’m feeling, staying feels dangerous.
“Please?” he adds.
And just like that, leaving doesn’t feel like an option.
“I need pajamas,” I say, weak with the fight I’ve already lost.
“Just grab my robe.”
After a moment’s pause, I nod and walk away. In the bathroom, I drop the towel, peel off my damp underwear and bra, and reach for the oversized plaid robe hanging on the back of the door. It smells like him. Clean soap, mint shampoo, and something undeniably Steele. I wrap it around me and tighten the belt at my waist.
When I return to the bedroom, the only light illuminating the space spills in from the hallway. I flick it off, crawl into bed beside him, and settle against the pillow.
Steele shifts toward me until we’re only inches apart. The weight of him beside me settles something deep inside my chest.
“You know I love you, right?” he whispers into the darkness.
My heart skips a beat. “Steele—”
“I always have.”
I shudder as every wall inside me crumbles. I want to tell him it’s the concussion talking, and that he won’t remember this in the morning.
But I don’t.
Because I know he means it.
“I love you too,” I whisper.
A quiet, contented sigh escapes him, and within seconds, he’s out.
I lie there in the dark and watch him before reaching out and brushing a stray curl from his forehead.
I’ve never cared for anyone the way I do this man.
And I don’t think I ever will again.
16
STEELE
Iwake slowly, surfacing from sleep like I’m swimming through fog. My head still aches, but it’s dull now. Less of a pounding and more of a persistent throb.
Manageable.
But something feels off.
Not wrong, just different.
There’s something warm and delicate pressed against me.