Anger seethes through me, and Cav must realize I’m about to lose my shit. He releases his hold on my face and wraps both hands around my waist to lift me off his cock, which is still crazy impressive. My feet hit the floor just as I realize we didn’t use a condom.
How could I forget? I’m not an idiot kid. I’m a responsible, albeit unemployed, professional woman.
“Christ on a cracker. Isn’t this rule number one in fucking as a Hollywood star? Wrap it up? What if you knocked me up? Aren’t you afraid I’ll smear you in the tabloids? ‘Cav Westman’s Baby Mama Love Child Scandal.’” I gesture with my hand as I turn away and stalk toward my bathroom to clean up.
I freeze when I set foot in front of the mirror. Hot. Mess. My hair is wild, clearly from the just been fucked school of hair styling. The look in my eyes is even wilder than my hair.
Shower. That’s my only option right now. I turn the water to scalding and step right into the stream.
What the hell did I just do?
Cav Westman shows up out of nowhere because my crazy ad actually caught his attention, and then he whips his dick out, I grab it, and he bangs me against a wall.
I grab a bottle of body wash and squeeze a quarter of the bottle into my hand, as though the suds can somehow wash away the domino effect of bad judgment invading my life recently.
What a freaking disaster.
I’m reaching for the shampoo, still giving myself a mental scolding, when I feel a rush of cold air behind me.
“Careful, baby girl. You’re gonna scrub yourself raw if you don’t take it easy.”
Water washes the bubbles from my body and I spin around to face him.
He’s naked. Droplets splash off me and bead on his skin, sliding down one tanned inch at a time, rolling over muscles and sinew.
Words escape me as I watch one specific drop roll toward his cock. Why does he have to be so damn beautiful? He shouldn’t be allowed to be naked near me. I won’t be able to stop myself from touching him.
Then stop looking at him, Greer.
For the purpose of self-preservation only, I turn and face the wall and attempt to act casual. Like I’m going to be able to continue my regular shower routine while Cav Westman’s perfect naked body stands only feet away from me.
I grab my shampoo and squirt way too much into my hand because I’m concentrating really hard on the white grout between my cream-and-gold-flecked travertine tiles and not the naked man behind me.
“What are you doing in here?” I’m going for nonchalant, but the words come out strained.
“Following you.”
“Without an invitation?”
His husky laugh fills the shower enclosure. “The sight of your gorgeous ass walking away was the only invitation I needed.”
I turn again, this time determined to keep my eyes on his face. Except his eyes are not on mine. Nope, he’s taking in every inch of my nakedness, and my skin heats from more than the scalding water.
He steps closer, murmuring something that’s lost in the pounding of the spray.
“What did you say?”
The golden brown of his irises seems to glow. “Wasted three years. Not going to waste any more time.”
My heart slams against my chest. I can’t handle declarations like that from him. All my life, I’ve had an overarching sense of loss that started with never knowing my parents. That loss was exacerbated by having a brother who was sent away to boarding school when I was young. An uncle who was cold and distant and now missing. An aunt who alternately doted on me or pretended I didn’t exist, depending on my uncle’s mood. And then the time I started to fall for the guy standing before me and thought I might have found something real, but then he disappeared without a word.
No one stays in my life. At least, not for long.
With each slow breath I take, I reel in my rioting emotions, forcing my heart to slow to a regular pace. When I posted that ad, I was drunk and looking for validation. Someone to make Tristan realize he missed out on the awesomeness that is me. I couldn’t even truly admit to myself that I held a sliver of hope that this particular man would see it. I never expected it to work, and I certainly wasn’t prepared for the tidal wave of emotions that would come with it when it did.
I need space, but Cav clearly has other ideas because he’s moving closer. I can’t do this. If Cav’s water-slicked body presses mine against the wall and his lips find all the spots that make me shiver and moan . . . it will push me down a path I’m not sure I’m ready for.
What the hell was I thinking when I placed that ad? I wasn’t thinking. That’s the problem. But I’m thinking now.
“I . . . I think you should go.” My voice wavers on the first words, but strengthens as I find my conviction.