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Making my way back into the kitchen, I do all the things Went doesn’t want me to do. I dump the leftover coffee dregs down the drain and rinse the carafe before readying the machine for tomorrow. I put leftover cinnamon rolls back in their plastic container and set it aside before wiping down the counters with the kind of frantic energy that tells me just how nervous I really am.
Nervous because Went kissed me before he left.
Nervous because he can’t run around the lake forever.
Nervous because he’ll eventually come inside and I don’t know what happens after that.
Nervous because I do know what happens… I’m just not sure I can survive it.
No, Kaity—what you can’t survive is a lifetime as Mrs. Brock Morris. What you can’t survive is the future they have planned out for you—not without something to hold onto. Something good to remember. A few weeks of freedom before you let them lock you away.
Forcing myself to stop my anxiety fueled binge, I lay the dishcloth over the side of the sink to dry. Wandering back over to the window, I see Went. Finished with his run, he’s standing at the end of the dock. Reaching up, he pulls his hat off and drops it at his feet before toeing off his running shoes. Kicking them aside, he reaches up again, this time snagging the back of his shirt at the neck to drag it up, over his head.
Holy shit.
How is it possible that the back of him is even hotter than the front? Seemingly endless swirls of ink, stretched over golden skin, I watch, breath caught in my throat, as the muscles in his shoulders bulge and stretch while he turns, aiming a long, over the shoulder look at the house like he’s trying to figure out if I’m watching or not.
Feeling like a peeping Tom, I take a step back, only to immediately step forward again. Closer this time, nose practically pressed to the glass, I nearly swallow my tongue when Went, still looking at the house over his shoulder, lifts a hand and crooks a finger in my direction.
Come here.
Dropping his hand, Went hooks his fingers into the waistband of his sweats. Pulling them down, he steps out of them—giving me spectacular view of his bare ass—before he dives off the end of the dock and into the water.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Wentworth
To be honest, even though she promised she wouldn’t. I expected Kaitlyn to leave. Expected to catch sight of her, tearing out of here on her horse the second I was too far away to stop her. If she did that, I was prepared to change course. Chase her down the side of the mountain. All the way to her house and drag her back up here if that’s what it took.
Because I’ve suddenly become aware that time is running out. In less than two weeks, I’ll be gone and she’ll belong to someone else.
She already belongs to someone else—has since the day you met her.
I’ve crossed a lot of lines to get what I want but never that. I’ve never pursued someone or even showed interest in a woman who was involved with someone else—because what I wrote in that letter to Kaitlyn is true. Despite my parents’ best efforts, I know that love is real and I believe that once a promise is made, it shouldn’t be broken.
But she’s not the one who made the promise.
She’s being forced into a marriage she doesn’t want, to someone who’s already broken his promise to her a hundred times over.
She deserves better than him.
Someone who will keep his promises.
Someone who will consider what she wants and give her what she needs.
And you really think that someone is you?
I don’t like the answer to that so, I ignore it, just like I’m ignoring the rest of it and focus on now.
Right now.
Because then is going to come soon enough. Later will rear its ugly head and if I can’t stop it, I’ll just have to settle for pretending it isn’t coming.
Finished with my third lap, I mentally tick morning run off my mental checklist while I walk myself to the end of the dock. She’s watching me. even though I can’t see her, I know she’s there. Standing at the window, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing. I know she’s watching because I can feel the weight of her gaze on my back, the sensation of it making me half hard and all the way reckless.
Pulling off my ballcap, I drop it on the dock while I kick off my shoes. Next, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it aside before I turn to look at her, over my shoulder and crook my finger at her.
Get your ass out here, Sunshine. We’re wasting time.