Page 31 of Knox Unleashed
“Okay,” North says. “Call me as soon as you can, though, yeah?”
“Will do. And get me an update on who that truck belongs to as soon as you can.”
“Get some sleep, Prez.”
The line goes dead, and I look at my phone. I just lied to my vice president. And I haven’t ever lied to one of my men. That should bother me a lot more than it does.
But very slowly, my brain catches up. I look down at myself. Bare chest. Bare legs. A towel wrapped loosely around my hips. Water still dripping down my spine.
Tell me if you want me to stop.
I will. But don’t. Please.
“Goddamnit.” I’m standing in Maren Caldwell’s boathouse, half naked, by choice, thinking about what just happened in the shower and all the ways I want to violate the sheriff’s daughter. I drag a hand down my face. This is all a clusterfuck. Except maybe the part where I came all over the tanned skin of her stomach and hip. “Because that felt pretty damn spectacular.”
In spite of my predicament, my cock starts to stir again.
“Jesus. And now, I’m talking to myself.” I push away from the wall and head for the stairs, making sure the door is properly sealed behind me.
Halfway up, I catch the smell of food. Something savory. And my stomach immediately reminds me that the last thing I ate was a gas station sandwich on the way back from the run I made with the cash.
When I reach the top, Maren is standing in the kitchen. She’s humming some song, but it’s her hips I can’t stop watching.
Her back is to me; her hair is damp and drying slightly wavy. She’s changed into some soft gray lounge pants and an oversized T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder.
Her feet are bare, and there’s something intimate about that.
When she turns slightly to put a tin of spices away in the cupboard, the T-shirt stretches across her chest, and I can tell she isn’t wearing a bra.
Christ.
I must cough or grunt or something, because she turns to face me, and for a second, we just stare at each other.
There’s that awkwardness in the air when you just did something intimate with a near stranger but neither of you has any idea what happens next. Like two teenagers who made out on the bleachers and now have to avoid each other for the rest of spring term, if not forever.
“Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” I repeat awkwardly.
“Steak fajitas.” She tips her head in the direction of the skillet. “I stocked this place yesterday when I knew the storm was coming. Sadly, I only planned the meals for one, but this should stretch. I’ve thrown in a few extra fresh veggies, and we can split what there is out over a few tortillas. But there’s guacamole and salsa and cheese.”
“Didn’t know you could cook.”
Maren shrugs, but the smile drops from her face a little. “You don’t know anything about me.”
She looks back to the skillet, and I feel like an ass. Even worse, when I notice that she’s hung my wet clothes over a rail to dry.
“Fuck. Sorry. I’m grateful. Thanks. Can I do anything to help?”
Maren shakes her head. “I got it covered. I found a couple of hoodies from the store in the closet and popped the biggest of the two on the table. It’s gonna be tight on you but might be better than sitting in…well…nothing.”
I look at the hoodie. It’s pale blue like the store polo shirts. I can’t remember the last time I wore anything pastel. But, grateful, I tug it on.
Maren is right. It’s a ridiculously snug fit, and the cuffs are about three inches above my wrist. Combined with the towel, I must look like a disaster.
“Thanks,” I say when I pull out a chair at the small round table.
“It looks good on you.” Maren doesn’t even try to hide her grin when she sees just how tight the hoodie is.
