“Let me grab some shit from my truck.” I curl down and place a soft kiss against her lips, stepping away before things get out of control like they did when I showed up. “I’ll be right back.”
Releasing her hand, I’m stuck staring at the gentle sway of her hips as she walks into the kitchen. In baggy sweats and a tank top, she’s more attractive than any woman I’ve ever seen.
My body responds, and I’m thankful for the extra give that my track pants provide. I head out to the truck and take deep breaths of the cool night air. But as hard as I try to calm my nerves, I can’t clear my head of her. Warmth flares at my forearm where she touched me, and my chest is still wet from her tears.
Tonight I’ll be in a bed with her, kissing and touching, and shockingly nothing about that makes me sick.
If anything, I may be on the road to a cure.
After getting my gym bag from the truck, I head back toward Mac’s house and find her waiting for me at the door. Her arms are crossed over her chest, accentuating her full breasts and giving me a perfect view of milky white cleavage above the V-neck of her top. Her shoulders are hunched. Not good. I stop in front of her and watch as she tugs her lower lip. Yeah, she definitely seems uncomfortable.
“Too fast?” I’m pushing her too hard. From years of getting nowhere in my therapy to days of going somewhere, I don’t want to put on the brakes. But I won’t force anything she’s not okay with. It’ll suck if she wants me to leave, but I’ll respect it.
Her eyes go wide and find mine. “No. Not too fast.” She blinks and narrows her eyes. “If anything . . . too slow.”
Okay, read that wrong.
Pulling her into my arms, I hug her tight, easing up a bit to avoid crushing her with the strength of all I’m feeling. How does she do it? She always manages to say the right thing when I’m starting to doubt myself. Doubt us.
I have no idea how relationships work outside of the ones I’ve made in the octagon, and we beat the shit out of each other on a regular basis.
Her arms go around my waist, and I feel her relax into the embrace. She exhales heavily and squeezes me tighter. “Feels as if I’ve waited forever for you.”
There she goes again. Shit, this woman is perfect.
“Think how I feel. You’ve been right under my nose, and I’m only getting around to knowing you.” I run my hand up her back to the warm spot at her nape and hold her to me. “All that time wasted.”
“I say we stop talking about what we missed.” She puts her chin on my chest to look up at me. Her eyes—damn, those eyes—light caramel like nothing I’ve ever seen. “Move on to what we have.”
I drop a light kiss on her forehead, and when I pull back, her eyes are closed as if she’s savoring the touch.
My touch.
Her sweet island scent swirls up from her head in the light breeze. I breathe it in, sucking it up like a greedy kid who doesn’t like to share. The pounding of my heart reacts to her body being pressed to mine.
“Got a big day tomorrow, baby.” I grip a handful of her ass and pull her up to touch my lips to hers. She startles. I drag my lip ring along the seam of her mouth, and she turns to dead weight with a moan. “Yeah. Bed time.”
Her forehead pressed against mine, she nods. I grab her hand and lead her into the house. I stop at the mouth of the hallway, and she takes over, leading me down the darkened passage. We pass a couple closed doors—my guess is one belongs to Trix and the other a bathroom—until we stop at the last door.
I’m already feeling confined. The oppressive narrow hallway and lack of windows does nothing for my fear of closed-off spaces. I breathe and pray like hell when Mac opens the door it won’t be to some airless tiny-ass room. I wipe a light sheen of sweat from my forehead, and she opens the door a couple inches before slamming it shut.
What the hell?
“Oh shit.” She whirls around, faces me, eyes wide. “Can you just, uh . . . give me a second?”
I play with my lip ring to keep from smiling. “Dirty room?”
“Ha.” She dips her chin. “Yeah. I’d feel better about this if I had a second to tidy up.”
“Sure.” I step back and she moves fast, disappearing behind the door.
Makes sense. She probably thinks after seeing my place that I can’t handle a little mess. I want tonight to run as smoothly as possible, and if tidying her room helps make that happen, I’ll wait in this rat cage of a hallway.
I lean against the wall across from her door; only a few seconds later she’s done.
“Okay, we’re good.” She steps aside and swings the door wide.
Not at all what I expected, Mac’s room is immaculate and plain. No decorations except for a set of sea foam green table lamps and an old chair that looks as if it’s made from a quilt. There are no pictures on the walls or bookshelves, only a dresser. Her bed is big, perfectly made and covered in a multi-colored comforter with lots of bright pillows. My gaze moves around the room and there’s no clutter.
Something else we have in common.