Page 141 of One Wild Wish

I wasn’t expecting his voice to be so close, or to be so timid. Need for approval rang clear in his one hesitant word.

I spun around and had to look up to meet his bashful eyes. It hit home then, how much making furniture meant to him. How touching it was like touching his soul. “Better than stunning. It’s real. It’s what a table is supposed to be—strong, built with integrity and heart.”

It was also the embodiment of this man.

“Thank you,” he said softly. A beat later, a lecherous grin lit his face. “We should move this conversation and talk about my wood upstairs.”

We should. We so should. So why was I still freaking out?

In seconds, he had the garage door closed and was pushing me up a narrow staircase. Each step toward our impending sexy time had my heart thrashing in my chest. I was horny as anything, wanting this sensitive yet powerful man moving inside me, but I still couldn’t calm down. My adrenaline rush from the Evil Bathroom was surely messing with my mojo. It couldn’t just be fear.

Before I could gather myself, we were in his apartment, his strong arms latched around me from behind. “You seem off. You still shaken from earlier?”

“Yeah, I think so.” At least I hoped that was part of it. Stepping to the side, I twisted from his grasp. “I also didn’t tell you, but I found out Anton will be at the build every Friday. I thought about confronting him, but I’m not sure if I’ll yell at him or grovel for his forgiveness.”

Owen scratched his jaw. “Considering what went down between you, I’d say that’s a normal reaction, but this is eating you up. You’ll regret letting it go.”

He was right. I’d have to sort through my emotions and face my past. Just another dilemma to an increasingly melodramatic life. Theatrics that were wearing me down. But the larger concern, the more pressing issue, was the hunky man who wanted to discuss his wood .

“Also,” I said, the stalling champion, “this is my first time in your place. I need to do a full recon mission. Make sure it’s safe.” Buy myself some time.

He cocked his head, amusement returning to his handsome face. “Did you bring a search warrant?”

“Matter of fact, I did.” I lifted my top and flashed my double Ds.

Owen assaulted me with his sunburst smile. “I fucking love that purple lace. You have five minutes. Then we can talk about my wood, or, if you’re not feeling up to it, we can watch a movie.”

I wanted to be up to it. I wanted to be all over his Hugo Boss-clad wood . Our phone sex had heightened his hot factor, ratcheting up my fascination with his magnetising self. Maybe snooping in his place could help tame my crazy. I could confirm he wasn’t hiding a second or third divorce, or a harem of exotic women.

I scanned the room, trying to decide where to begin. The space was small but neat. A leather couch and flat screen TV flanked a wood coffee table, a shelving unit made of something similar on the opposite wall. Likely built by his stalwart hands. The shelves were lined with books. Smarty-pants books. My English teacher, Mr. Lawrence, would have probably traded his first born for those well-worn volumes.

Shakespeare. Voltaire. Other long names I didn’t recognize.

“Were you one of those kid geniuses? Like your grandmother skipped your grades and you wound up at university at fifteen and couldn’t figure out why your facial hair was patchy?”

His rolling laugh filled the room. “Man, I don’t know where you come up with this stuff. But yeah, I worked hard in school. I got a scholarship, but didn’t fast track. I watch some TV—mainly HBO shows and movies. Otherwise, I built a deck off the back. I sit out there some nights to read.” His attention flicked toward his stove. “Four minutes left.”

Shoot. I hit his open kitchen next, studying the beer, deli meats, and condiments in his fridge. No girly vegetables or tofu or yogurt to be found. I kept up my peanut-gallery commentary, though, tallying up the items filling his apartment as if taking inventory. I then invaded his bathroom, scoping the space for fancy face creams and nail polish remover. His shower soap gave me pause. It smelled like him, like apple crumble steaming from the oven. I dragged my nail over the green bar, stealing a sniff.

Basically, I was acting like a lunatic.

“Ainsley.”

Heart pound, pound, pounding in my ears, I plastered on my most innocent face and turned. “Yeah?”

“Is this because of what I told you earlier? My divorce?” Owen scrutinized my fidgetiness. He was on point. We both knew it. Once I slept with him, this connection we shared would go from intense to transcendental. There was something bigger here than I’d ever shared with Brandon, and my ex’s betrayal had rocked me to my core.

If Owen hurt me—

I guillotined that thought. Owen was watching me, uncertain yet steadfast. A strapping man with a tender side who wanted me in all the ways a man could want a woman. It was time to start living and stop worrying. It was also time to get sexed up. “The fact that you never mentioned your divorce has thrown me for a loop, but I get that it might be hard to talk about. I’ll get past it. It’s just my issues rising to the surface.”

He crooked a finger, beckoning me closer. “Come here.”

He wasn’t giving me bedroom eyes. He was laying down serious eyes.

Warily, I approached. When I was within reach, he ran both his hands through my hair, skimming my scalp until his palms rested on my cheeks. “I care about you a lot, and I’m sorry I didn’t mention my divorce. If you just want to hang out tonight, count me in. I’m dying to be with you, but there’s no rush. I also love the idea of squishing with you on my couch. We don’t do anything more until you’re sure.”

His understanding loosened the knots inside me, reminding me how different Owen was from men I’d known. No matter his needs, he was putting me first. Only a good man would do that, and I was tired of letting Brandon infect my life. “My nerves are because of my past. Not my present. I trust you.”