Page 64 of Freed
I move away first.
Because I have to. If I don’t, I’ll do something stupid, like ask him to finish what he started last night.
I hate that the thought even exists.
I fold my arms again. “You still didn’t answer my question.”
His expression smooths back into something more controlled, though not entirely. I’m not the only one affected by that moment. I can see that much.
“You need clothes.”
“I have clothes.”
“You have a wedding dress and a hoodie.”
“I’m making it work.”
His gaze drops briefly to my legs, then returns to my face. “Barely.”
Heat flashes under my skin, hot and immediate. “That sounded like a you problem.”
A slow smile touches his mouth. “Trust me, it is.”
I should not react to that. My body, clearly, didn’t get the memo. He notices. Of course he notices.
The smile deepens, dark and infuriatingly satisfied. “There she is.”
“Don’t start.”
“I haven’t started anything this morning.”
The reminder lands low in my stomach like a lit match.
I glare at him. “You’re impossible.”
“And yet,” he says softly, “you’re still standing here.”
I look away before he can see too much.
Because that is the problem, isn’t it?
I am still here.
Still in his house, carrying the memory of his hands and the humiliating truth of how badly I wanted more.
“Get dressed. We’re going out.”
My head snaps back. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I set my jaw. “I’m not putting on any of those clothes in the bathroom. They show too much.”
Shit! I didn’t mean to say that.
He stills. Then, very carefully, “Shows too much of what?”
I force a shrug. “Of me.”
