“I don’t know how you can wear this shit. It feels like I have mud on my face.”
I turn him and pat the counter for him to sit on. But before he sits, he takes off his shirt and tosses it on the ground. “I don’t want any of that stuff getting on my clothes.”
I swallow . . . hard.
I’ve seen Tucker with his shirt off since I’ve moved in, but for some reason, with the recent close proximity we’ve shared, I feel my body start to heat up. I was spooned by that chest . . .
Don’t look down. Don’t scan his body, and for the love of God, don’t reach out and feel each intricate, well-defined ab.
LEAVE HIS BODY ALONE.
I got this. Taking a deep breath, I reach into the medicine cabinet and pull out my makeup wipes. “Here. Take one of these and start wiping.”
Together, we wipe our makeup off. And for the first time in an hour, Tucker smiles at me. Playfully, he nudges my side with his foot.
“Look at us, a bunch of ladies taking our makeup off for the night.”
That garners a snort out of me, which makes him laugh as well. God, his laugh. It’s so rich and velvety that it hits me straight in my core. Hell, that sound could make a feral cat moan out loud.
“We should do this every night together,” I joke.
“Or not. Honestly, you shouldn’t be wearing makeup anyway. You’re pretty without.” Cue the rapid beating of my heart. “You really didn’t wear a lot of makeup in high school. I liked that about you.”
“My mom wasn’t too keen on me wearing makeup. Still isn’t.”
“I agree with your mom.” Taking another wipe from the package, Tucker pulls me between his legs and starts swabbing my face clean. He’s gentle with each stroke, caressing my cheek with his other hand, giving me one of the most sensual experiences of my life. It’s weirdly intimate, a moment I almost feel like we shouldn’t be sharing, but a moment I wouldn’t trade for anything. How did we get so comfortable with each other? We were never like this. Never tactile with each other. He was always with . . .
“Tonight was fun.” I close my eyes as he holds my face and wipes off my eyeshadow. “Besides the whole makeup thing.”
“Ah, you liked it. Stop trying to be all manly around me.”
“I don’t have to try to be manly, babe.” I open my eyes in time to see him wink at me. Shit.
Change of subject. “I like Racer and Smalls. Did you meet them on the job?”
“Yeah. We’ve been working together for a few years now. Over the last two years, they’ve really been there for me. I would be lost without them.”
Tucker tosses the wipe to the side and hops off the counter as I stand still in the small, flamingo-covered bathroom.
They’ve really been there for me . . .
His comment brings back a truckload of guilt I’ve carried since I chose a side. I don’t think it was wrong that I looked out for Sadie. She’d been my best friend for over ten years. I had seen Tucker as responsible for her pain and heartache. But there are always two sides to every story. Knowing what he had done to embrace Sadie’s pregnancy, and a house in this area couldn’t be cheap, I wonder if I should have asked someone to reach out to Tucker. He wasn’t guilty as such. Now, with the blessing of hindsight, I wish I hadn’t so easily overlooked how lost Tucker would have been without the woman in his life who had clearly been his everything. He pursued her time after time, fight after fight, because he loved her. And that wasn’t a crime. But I didn’t have that perspective back then. No one did, really. But, considering my cool lack of concern for him and his emotional state, I feel sick.
“Emma, you okay?” He stands behind me, his stature taking up the small space. Every last nerve ending in my body is aware of his presence.
I turn toward him so I’m no longer looking in the mirror and say, “I’m sorry.”
His lip quirks to the side in confusion. “Sorry for what? The makeup?”
“No.” I shake my head and press my hands against his chest lovingly, hoping I can convey how sorry I am. “I’m sorry for not being there for you, for choosing sides.”
Understanding crosses his features. “It’s no big deal.”
“It is to me.” I reach up, and grip his face so he has no other option but to look at me. “I shouldn’t have chosen sides—”
Sternly he says, “Rule number six, Emma.”
“I know.” I let go of him and turn around, my hands braced on the counter, my mind going a mile a minute. Can’t he just let me get this off my chest. “But—”
“Rule number six,” he grits out, frustrating me more than anything.
Irritated now, I fling the bathroom door open and mutter under my breath about his stupid rules. I make my way into my room and like the “adult” that I am, I slam the door shut.
“Impossible man,” I say under my breath. “Can’t even let me freaking apologize.” I open my dresser drawer and start changing into my pajamas. My pants are the first to go, replaced by a white pair of flannel pants decorated in owls. Removing my shirt, I quickly toss my bra in the hamper and put on one of the camisoles I like to wear under my matching pajama shirts. Digging back in my drawers, I search for the matching top when my door opens.
Startled, I stand tall. Tucker walks in, his hand in his hair. He goes to open his mouth when his eyes travel down my body, stopping a few seconds longer at my chest. His gaze sharpens on me, on my outfit, and the way my camisole rides high and tight on my stomach, showing a few inches of skin. When his eyes meet mine, they’re not full of anger, or irritation, or frustration.
No, they’re full of heat.
Everything in me freezes and when he takes a step forward, my body ignites, and sweat breaks out all around me. What is he doing?
Nervous and unsure what to do, I pull the first thing I feel out of my drawer and try to cover my hardened nipples that are poking through my thin camisole. His eyes widen for a second before a grin spreads across his face. I look down to see I’m holding my purple lace bra over my chest.
“Goodness.” I shake the bra to the side and stand tall. “You’re supposed to knock before barging in here.”
“Was that on the rule list?” His voice is sultry as he takes another step forward. Yes, sultry.
What the hell is going on here?
One second he’s pissed that I’m breaking his precious rule number six and the next he’s closing in on me like a lion to its prey.
“No.” I take a step back. “It falls under being a decent adult. Remember that conversation we had? Oh, and do you know what else falls under being a decent adult?” I cross my arms over my chest. Of course, that draws Tucker’s attention back to that area. Good grief, his eyes feel like laser beams heating me up from my toes to my ponytail.
Another step, so now he’s only a foot away. “What else falls under being a decent adult?”