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My breath catches. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Her breasts rise and fall rapidly in the beautiful lingerie she must have brought from home in the bag I pulled from her trunk that night she crashed into my life. “It’s hot out here. I’m going for a swim.”
Fuck.
She grabs the waistband of her pants, and my cock stirs in the chilly water. Wiggling her hips, she shoves the fabric down, and I have to bite back a groan at the way her body moves.
Seductive.
Suggesting exactly how good she’d feel pressed up against me, moving like that.
She toes off her shoes and kicks the pants free, leaving herself in only the bra and a tiny scrap of matching lace between her legs.
Sweet mother of God…
I thought I was living in Hell before with my curse, but now, I’m quite confident its fires are going to burn me alive.
CALLISTA
The heat radiating from Weston’s gaze sharply contrasts with the cool water that laps gently against my ankles in the light breeze. Goosebumps break out across my exposed skin from the chill, but more so from the longing I see so thick in his darkening eyes.
It matches my own.
What I’ve been feeling the last week without seeing him while knowing he’s so close—just out of reach by choice.
Momentarily frozen in place, this is my opportunity to change my mind, alter my course, retreat and find a better place and time to talk to the man watching me so intently from the lake.
I might find another chance to do just that, to corner him at the house as he’s cooking my meals, or in the library at night when he expects me to be sleeping…
But given the extremes he’s gone to the past week to avoid me, something tells me it won’t be easy to catch him with his guard down again.
The Beast doesn’t get caught.
This won’t happen again.
I wade in farther, moving slowly, second-guessing everything, yet he remains almost motionless, slowly treading water in the center of the vast lake. Perhaps as unsure of my intentions as I am.
Maybe this is stupid.
In hindsight, it seems reckless and rash to leave the safety of the house and comfort of the library to seek out a man who has intentionally avoided me for seven damn days.
But I couldn’t take it anymore.
Waking every morning to the perfect breakfast, heading up to the library, hoping he’ll be there, only to find it empty, save for the evidence that he was there while I slept.
Books stacked on the table he uses as a desk have changed.
The papers tucked away inside them at different places than they were the day before.
His woodsy scent filling the space, mingling with that of the books and their bindings.
All of it serves as a daily reminder of him not being there and how badly I want him to be. Not just because living alone and not speaking with anyone else for the last week has been unbearable, but because I miss him.
His low growls when he’s frustrated or angry…
The way his lips twitch when he fights a grin…
That little muscle that tics in his jaw when he’s biting back something he wants to say…
