The quick flare of hope sputtered out as if he had dumped a bucket of water on it.
He wasn’t up to real emotion or truth. Never would be. Eventually, a woman would need to see the core, dig too deep for comfort, and he’d bolt. Textbook.
Even Gen didn’t know the whole truth.
His finger paused briefly on some singing reality show but he continued clicking. Anyone else would’ve tortured him to death by endless questioning. Not her. She respected their youthful pinky promise and never probed, but her eyes told him the facts. She hungered for him to share, to allow her to know the real him and trust her with his past. Wolfe hated seeing the naked emotions on her face. The disappointment when he changed the subject, and the cheerful way she always pretended it was okay.
It wasn’t though.
But that wouldn’t change.
He fingered his leather cuffs and remembered that night. Fought a shudder. And wondered what the hell he’d do if the nightmares came when he was here. He was in the living room, so maybe she wouldn’t hear. He had a full gym at his place and Purity, but there was no room to work out his demons in the bungalow. He made a mental note to check out the local gym and see if they stayed open twenty-four hours. If not, he’d have to rely on running, which wasn’t as effective.
“Is American Idol on?”
Her lilting voice caressed his ears. Wolfe figured it was that singing show so he shook his head. “Nope, went through the whole list. How about we call a truce and watch a comedy? I’m always good for . . .”
He trailed off as his gaze took in her figure.
Holy. Shit.
The blood roared in his head and beyond. He was used to leather bustiers, garters, and four-inch heels on naked bodies. Musky perfume. Red lips.
Her skin was still damp, and the cotton nightgown was simple, stopping at the knee, with a scoop neck. White, with pink flowers. Pink socks on her feet. Her hair hung loose, the wild curls springing around her head in joyous abandon. Her face was free of makeup. Her lips a pale pink, with a tiny smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose.
She was fucking gorgeous.
He tried to breathe and almost let out a moan. There were a few scents in his life he wished he could steep himself in. Fresh-mown grass. Clothing just pulled from the dryer. An orange just cut open. She smelled like all of his favorite things combined. Was that possible? He couldn’t gulp air fast enough, and his mind spun, wondering how she’d taste. Her breasts were unrestricted, and strained against the soft fabric in an effort to burst free. Was there anything in the world sexier than soft cotton clinging to damp skin? He always knew Gen’s body held amazing curves, but he hadn’t seen them on such stunning display before. Her hips were the perfect hourglass, with enough flesh to grab onto and hold tight. And her ass? It was a gift from the gods. Better than JLo’s. Better than Kim Kardashian’s. Better than anything.
His saliva dried up and his body went into a full aching attack. Ah shit. Was she going to sit next to him? His dick strained against his jeans and wept for release. His fingers curled into the pillow and he frantically searched for something to think about to let the tension ease. It was their first damn night. If Gen thought he was hot for her, she’d kick him out and never let him back in. And as much as it was torture, he wasn’t going to let her be alone until he knew she was safe from David.
“I think you’re lying to me.” She crossed her arms in front of her. The shadows of her nipples were clearly outlined under the innocent white. He stiffened and tried to drop his gaze.
Really, really tried.
“Uh, lying?”
“Idol. I bet it’s on and you lied.”
Wolfe shifted painfully and threw the remote across the couch to the farthest side. “You’re right. Here. You can have it tonight.” Please just sit down under the covers. Quickly. Please.
She cocked her hip and looked suspicious. The hemline crept up an inch. Her skin looked smooth, soft, and pale. He wondered what his hand would look like against her. Dark against light. She’d probably cushion his hardness, just like that night on the dock. No, don’t think about that. Not now.
“Take it!” he barked. “Here, get comfy.” He lifted the blanket and urged her underneath. Finally, she rolled her eyes, took a seat, and snuggled. The breath left his body in a relieved rush, but his dick remained hard enough to cut stone.
“You’re acting weird, but I’m not gonna fight you.” She happily clicked on to the end of the singing show, where contestants belted out on the stage for the judges’ and audience’s approval. Wolfe focused on some nerdy guy and tried to imagine him naked. His erection slowly softened. He’d reached a new low. Next he’d be imagining nuns. Yuck.
“I miss Simon on the show,” she chattered, moving a leg so it thrust out of the blanket. “He was rude but honest. Oh, it’s the end anyway.” She tapped the buttons, crossed her feet, and propped them up on the table. A long line of naked skin peeked out, running all the way up to the hip where the gown twisted.
His second head sprung back to life.
Shit.
“Hey, how about HGTV? House Hunters is on. They show three houses and the person has to pick one. I like to make a game out of it. My stats are impressive. Wanna check it out?”
He grunted. His gaze got stuck on the delicious curve of her hip. Where was her panty line? How come he couldn’t see it. Unless . . .
His eyes popped out of his head at the thought and he dove across the couch, yanking the covers up and over her.
“Hey! What’s your problem?”