Page 30

Steam billows out. Gabriel emerges wearing another pair of sweatpants from his go-bag: dark gray, slung low on his hips.

No shirt.

Just bare chest, six-pack abs and shoulders still wet from the shower.

Water drips down his torso. Traces the defined muscles of his V-line and disappears into the waistband of his sweatpants. There are scars. Several. A long one across his ribs that looks old. A newer one on his shoulder that's still slightly pink.

And tattoos. More than I expected. Something written in Latin along his ribs. Other designs I can't fully see in the dim light. He's toweling off his hair, completely unselfconscious about being half-naked.

"Feel better?" I manage to ask. My voice sounds almost normal.

"Much better." He hangs the towel on the bathroom doorknob. Runs a hand through his damp hair. "Thanks for letting me clean up."

"No problem."

He crosses to his side of the bed. The muscles in his back shift as he moves.

I force myself to look away.

Force myself to breathe normally.

Force myself not to think about how badly I want to touch him.

Gabriel settles onto his side of the bed. Still on top of the covers. The pillow wall is still intact between us.

"You should try to sleep," he says. "Long day tomorrow."

"Yeah." I lie down. Pull the covers up to my chin. Try to ignore the lingering wetness between my thighs. Try to ignore how badly I still want to finish what I started. "Goodnight, Gabriel."

"Goodnight, Paige."

The room goes dark and quiet.

And I lie there in the darkness, achingly aware of the half-naked man less than three feet away from me and wonder how the hell I'm supposed to sleep now.

Chapter 7 – Priest

Moments before…

The water is scalding hot, exactly the way I need it right now.

I stand under the spray with my head tilted back, eyes closed, trying to process the last few hours. Trying to convince myself that bringing Paige here was the right call. That sharing a bed, even with pillows between us, is the only practical option given the circumstances.

Trying very hard not to think about the fact that she's sitting on that bed right now wearing my clothes.

I look down.

Fuck.

My cock is hard. Has been since I handed her that t-shirt and sweatpants through the bathroom door. Since I imagined her stripping off her work clothes and pulling on fabric that smells like me.

This is wrong.

Paige is traumatized. Escaping an abuser. Trusting me to keep her safe. The absolute last thing she needs is me standing in this shower thinking about her body.

But I can't stop.

Can't stop imagining what she looks like right now. The way my t-shirt probably hangs off one shoulder. The way the sweatpants sit low on her hips. The soft curves hidden underneath all that fabric.