Wild Side (Rose Hill, #3)(76)

My brow furrows. “Like what?”

“At my worst.”

I tip my head toward her. “Then it’s all uphill from here, baby. It’s going to make seeing you at your best so damn special.”

A sad smile wobbles through another strangled sob, and I watch a droplet leak from her eye as she sucks in a few breaths through her parted lips.

“Rhys, what are you doing? I mean, this is… What are you even doing?”

I know she means the question on a much bigger scale. The wedding, the flying back to her unannounced, the way she’s always on my mind even when I’m doing something else. And the truth is, I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It just is.

But I know what I’m doing here in a freezing cold shower with her.

“Trying really hard not to touch you, Tabby.”

She whimpers, hand covering her closed eyes as though that extra layer will help her hide from me.

I expect her to tell me to leave again, but with no preamble, she turns and crawls into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and dropping her head on my shoulder.

Then she sobs.

And I hold her.





CHAPTER 33


Rhys





WE SIT UNDER THE FREEZING SPRAY, WRAPPED TOGETHER, for I don’t know how long. All I know is that eventually her sobs abate and all the tension in her body melts away until she’s slumped, limp in my arms.

My thumb hurts from rubbing circles on her temple, my tailbone is sore from sitting on hard tiles, and I’m cold to the bone, but I’ll hold her for hours more if she needs me to.

Except a shiver races down her spine, and her jaw quivers.

“Okay, Tabby Cat.” I swipe her wet hair back, gently urging her up. “Let’s get you warmed up now.”

She nods and lets me lift her. I take her from the shower and step onto the bath mat, easing her down to her feet. Water drips heavily from both of us. When I reach back in to crank the handle to off, a hush falls over the space. What felt loud now feels unbearably quiet, save for the odd chatter of her teeth.

My lips flatten, and I shake my head, irritated that I let her get so cold.

I cup her shoulders with my hands, rubbing up and down briskly. “You need to get the wet clothes off, honey. You’re freezing.”

She nods again, but I don’t get the sense she’s absorbing much of what I’ve said. Her eyes are far away, and her typical perfect posture has slumped down into something deeply sad.

I set my jaw for what I’m about to offer. “Do you want me to help you?”

Now her eyes meet mine, red and devastated.

She nods, and I nod back. Then I reach for the hem of her sweatshirt. I don’t let my hands linger—I make quick, respectful work of peeling the wet fabric from her body. Her arms lift, and I tug it over her head.

And fuck me, she isn’t wearing a bra.

I drop the sweatshirt to the floor in a sopping pile and take Tabitha’s naked body in for the first time. My throat goes dry as my eyes snag on her breasts, and then I follow her shirt and drop to the floor in front of her, trying to focus on the task at hand, desperately trying to ignore the voice in my head. The one reminding me that this isn’t the way I’ve imagined kneeling in front of Tabitha’s naked body.

I start with each woolen sock, gently gripping her behind her knees and tugging the heavy fabric away.

“Pants next, okay?” I look up at her, searching her face for some sign of consent.

I get another nod, though her mouth doesn’t move. Her hair and her arms hang limp at her sides. She looks so defeated, and it fucking kills me.

I look away, focusing on the button on her jeans. When my fingers pop the metal open, her hand moves to my head, and she sucks in a sharp breath.

I’m not brave enough to look up at her, so I stay focused, even though the tips of her fingers trail through the strands of my hair.

My digits curl over the waistband, and I tug.

Her other hand falls to my hair as I peel the sopping denim from her hips. A plain black thong has never looked so appealing, but I ignore the stirring beneath my waist—and the way her hand slips down my neck to grip my shoulder. I tap her inner thigh when I get the pants low enough, and she lifts her foot for me to pull the jeans clear. We repeat the motions on the opposite side, her hands roaming more freely as I do.

I swallow before finally looking back up at her. Now her dark eyes are swirling, and there’s a light flush on her previously pale cheeks. Her palms slide back, cupping my head as her fingers continue twisting in my hair.

I don’t know how long we stare at each other, but it’s just vulnerable enough to make my heart race.

Eventually, she breaks the silence with a thin sounding “Thank you.”

It’s my turn to only offer her a nod. I don’t trust myself to speak at the moment, so I just press a quick kiss to her hip, right where the strap of her panties hugs the bone. Then I move on quickly, reaching for a towel, drying every inch of her. Her skin, her hair, all the way down her legs. I move over the top of her underwear, not willing to cross that line at a moment like this.

Once she’s dry, I push to standing and lift her small frame into my arms before striding from the bathroom.

I need to get her tucked in before I do something stupid. Like look too closely at the swirling heat in her eyes, kiss her, or peel her flimsy underwear off her body. This isn’t the time or the place—hell, there might never be the right time or place. But I’d rather live with knowing that than thinking I took advantage of a fragile moment.