Page 30 of Sterling Touch
I’ve been thinking a lot about what she said the other day, that I was ignoring her. The truth is, she’s all I’ve been thinking about.
Pressing my luck, I step forward, brush past her, and enter a house I haven’t set foot in for more than two decades.
Instantly, I fight the memories of trying to face my friend like a man, when I’d fucked up. When I’d been weak and betrayed him during his most vulnerable time. I’ve never forgiven myself. But my being here isn’t about Stone. Or even me and my back. This is about Vale.
And this strange, inexplicable need to have her hands on me.
Vale steps back as I enter a living room I no longer recognize. Once dark and dingy with threadbare furniture and a slew of spent alcohol bottles, the room is now light and airy in shades of sandstone and sapphire with comfy looking chairs and an overstuffed couch centered around the fireplace. Photographs line the mantel, and the old brown brick has been whitewashed.
The soft snick of Vale closing the front door draws my attention back to her.
Coming here was a risk. A dangerous dare. But unexplainable relief also rushes through me. Or maybe that’s just anxiety mingling with adrenaline, because Vale could say no, and have every right to do so.
“This is unprofessional and unethical. I don’t do house calls.”
While she glares at me with those cool clear eyes, I don’t correct her that I’m the one calling at her home. Her eyes are the prettiest I’ve ever seen. To boot, her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she’s wearing a pink athletic shirt with black leggings. She takes my breath away.
“Stone could be home any minute,” she adds.
“But he won’t be,” I counter because I saw him earlier at Randy’s in his uniform.
“Where did you park?” Vale turns toward the window in the front door, noticing the absence of my truck in the spacedesignated for several vehicles. The night is pitch black and this house is miles from town, which makes the woods nearby even darker.
“Behind the barn.” I might be reckless, but I’m not an idiot. I pulled down the lane along the side of the house and parked behind the old building.Just in case.
“Hudson is here.” She sounds like she’s reading off a checklist of reasons I shouldn’t be standing in this house. I have my own list, but something supersedes all my concerns.
And she’s standing here, glaring at me.
“I was hoping he’d be in bed.” The excuse is weak, but it’s nearly ten-thirty on a Friday night.
“Mom?” Hudson calls from the upper level.
Vale steps around me like she can hide me behind her back. I’d chuckle at the scenario of her slimmer frame trying to block out my bulkier body, if I wasn’t suddenly holding my breath.
“Be right up, bud,” she calls out.
“Just letting you know I’m out of the shower. Atticus is going next.”
My brows pinch. “You got the Stanton kid here?”Fuck that Henry Stanton guy. Hitting on Vale. Making snide comments. Then out on a date. Poor woman must be blind to what he’s like.
“Yes,” Vale whispers, turning back to face me. “And you need to go.”
For a long minute, we stare at one another. Me not wanting to leave. Her . . . saying a thousand things with those eyes that I cannot read, because she’s so beautiful when she looks at me, even in irritation. Plus, I don’t know her well enough yet to interpret those eyes. Don’t know her at all, now, as a woman, and a mother, but I want to. God help me, I want to learn more about her.
How does she kiss? Does she hiss when she’s touched? Does she lose her sting when she fucks or embrace it?
I clear my throat, accepting I’ve gone too far. I shouldn’t be here. It’s late. She has kids here. Her brother hates me.
Twirling my hat in my hand one more time, I admit defeat. “I’ll just?—”
“Let’s go to my room.”
Never in my life did I think such words would cross her lips or turn me on. I shouldn’t want to be turned on. I’m here for my back.
But who am I kidding?
I’m here for Vale.
