Page 31 of Spark
Throwing back the covers, I find a skirt, a crumpled shirt, and clean panties and carry them into the bathroom with me. It’s amazing how after only a day here, having privacy and hot water has already stopped feeling like a luxury and gone back to being expected.
Stripping, I step into the shower and close my eyes, tipping my head back and letting the hot water rush over me. As myhands coat my body with soap, I try to imagine how it’d feel if it was Warrick touching me—and not myself—and when my sex pulses with arousal, I don’t immediately dismiss the way I’m feeling.
I enjoyed kissing him yesterday. I enjoyed being on top of him and having him touch me. I like being close to him, and as terrifying as it is to have these sensations awoken in me, I don’t hate that Warrick is the reason my frozen body is finally thawing.
I’m not sure of the time, but it feels late when I finally go downstairs. Warrick isn’t in the living room, but when I head for the kitchen, I spot him working out in his home gym in the garage. His huge torso is bare, sweat glistening over his mammoth arms as he lifts weights that are intimidatingly large.
Instead of walking away and leaving him to his workout, I pause in the doorway and watch, feeling newly familiar heat starting at my toes and rising upward.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” he says when he turns and finds me watching him.
“Hey.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should wake you. You missed breakfast.”
“What time is it?” I ask, glancing around to search for a clock.
“It’s nearly one p.m.”
“I slept till lunchtime?” I gasp.
“Yep. I still have two more sets to finish, then I’ll make us lunch,” he says, picking the enormous dumbbell up off the floor and lifting it over his head in one effortless movement.
I try really hard to turn away, but in the end, I watch his shoulders and arms ripple with intensity as he lifts and lowers the weight, first with one arm, then with the other.
He doesn’t speak again, but the smug grin on his lips says he knows I’m watching. By the time he’s done, my clean panties are damp, and my breathing is loud.
Smirking, he presses a kiss to my forehead as he squeezes past me, his damp chest millimeters from my pebbled nipples as he heads for the kitchen.
After we eat lunch, he turns on the TV for me, hands me the remote control, then heads upstairs. When he comes back down, he’s freshly showered and dressed in a tight white shirt that seems to cling to his muscles and dark green cargo shorts. “I think everyone is home, and I’d like to introduce you to my team. They’re my family,” he says, taking my hand in his and pressing a kiss to my knuckles as he pulls me up from the couch.
“Why?” I ask him, exhaling shakily as I look up at him, suddenly very aware of the difference in our sizes. He’s big, tall, and thick everywhere, and I feel small in comparison. I like it. I want to feel cocooned by him. I want his kisses and the safety that I’m starting to associate with him.
“Because I want them to meet you and for you to get to know them.”
“Won’t they think it’s weird that we’ve known each other for two days and I’m living in your house?” I question, suddenly hesitant.
“No.” He laughs. “Stuff like that is pretty normal here. My entire team knows and understands that when you find something good, you shouldn’t let it go.”
“So I’m not the first homeless girl your friends will have met?” I quip sarcastically.
“You weren’t homeless, you were just staying in an unexpected place while you waited for me to find you,” he says, like it’s the truth and not a convenient lie.
“Bullshit,” I snap.
His brows drop low as he frowns. “Your mouth is too pretty for curse words, amore mio.”
I feel my eyebrows arch, but I don’t really know what to say. I’m twenty years old; no one has told me not to curse since I wasa kid. A part of me wants to be outraged, but when he cups my chin with his fingers and thumbs at my bottom lip, I feel like I’d do anything he tells me to as long as he keeps touching me.
“I only want to hear pretty words from this mouth from now on. Okay?”
“Okay,” I answer easily, even though there’s a voice inside of me telling me to tell him to go fuck himself.
“Thank you, amore mio,” he whispers, leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss against my mouth. His tongue doesn’t slip between my lips, and a whisper of a second later, it’s over, but I want more. I want everything, and I don’t know why.
“Why do I want you?” I blurt.
“I don’t know, Verity. But I’m so fucking glad that you do.”
