He stroked his hand down her arm and stopped at her wrist. He hesitated a moment before lacing his fingers with hers, letting their palms kiss while she slept.
As the air in the room faded to a murky blue, he tried to sort out his feelings when it came to Faith Walters. Moments ticked into minutes and the answer became no more clear-cut. When it was time for him to finally get out of bed, he had no clearer idea what those feelings were. He only knew that one night with her wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to do this again. Except doing this again meant talking . . . and that would lead to defining what it was they were doing. The define-the-relationship talk. No thanks. He didn’t do those. The moment a woman wanted the DTR, he took it as his cue to go. Although that would be tricky business when he lived next door to her . . . And she happened to be the sheriff’s sister. Yes, he had known that before last night. These had been the reasons he told himself to keep his hands off her.
Not that those reasons had stopped him. Still, he regretted nothing. He would change nothing.
But it had to stop now.
He had to stop.
He slid his jeans on and reached for his T-shirt. He pulled it over his head and caught a whiff of Faith. The coconut scent of her hair. He cursed softly. He needed to wash the shirt as soon as he could.
The sheets on the bed rustled and he glanced down as she rolled onto her back, bringing the sheet with her and unfortunately covering up her nakedness. “North?”
Her voice was groggy with sleep and seductive as hell. Every fiber of his being screamed for him to climb back into that bed with her. To spend all day with her, touching and loving every inch of her body until he had her memorized.
He couldn’t do that though.
“I gotta get ready for work. Go back to sleep,” he said, his voice gentle.
She settled back into bed. She was exhausted. He’d kept her up late. She probably wouldn’t even remember this verbal exchange later.
She’d asked him to ruin her, but she didn’t really mean that. She didn’t know what that meant. He knew. He’d seen it firsthand. He’d lived it. He still was living it. He had to leave her alone before he actually inflicted wounds that went too deep and became irreparable. Before they became scars.
Before it all became more than words between them.
Before he wrecked her like he did everything else in his life.
TWENTY-FOUR
North slammed out of his truck and stalked up to the front door. It happened from time to time. Occasionally the past came knocking. Like it had today. Only this time, his guard had been down. He’d been humming as he worked. Humming. His thoughts wrapped up in a long-legged brunette. Even if he had told himself to keep last night buried in last night like any self-respecting one-night stand, he could still taste her mouth. Still feel her against his hands. Her coconut-scented hair chased him as he moved around the garage.
He made a beeline for his fridge and popped open a beer. Collapsing on the couch, he found a ball game on TV and nursed his way through a couple beers, trying not to think about the customer who’d rolled in today and recognized his face. Apparently the man had been Mason Leary’s second cousin. He had choice words for North. Not willing to risk his job, North had stood by and done nothing as the man called him every foul thing he could think of. If prison had taught him anything, it was how to take a beating—be it physical or verbal.
Still, it was a shitty day.
He heard Faith moving around next door. That didn’t improve his mood. He glared at the wall and went and got another beer.
His phone dinged and he saw it was a text from her. An innocent Hey stared back at him. He ignored it. Dropping his phone, he fell back on his couch again.
An hour rolled past. She didn’t text again. He figured she would get the picture eventually. Last night was a onetime thing. If anything, today’s fiasco at work drove that home more than ever.
People like you should be in cages. You shouldn’t be free and allowed to share the same space as the rest of us.
He shook his head, trying to chase away the words and the venom in which they had been uttered. It was harder than it should have been. He was going soft. That must be it. He had heard far worse insults in his life. Maybe he was getting too domesticated. His gaze slid to the wall separating him from Faith Walters again. Yeah. That must be it. Domesticity. He needed to purge it from his life. Stay hard. It was the only way he could protect himself.