Page 77 of Beauty and the Beach
I reach for him, tracing one finger down his jaw and then over his cheekbone. His bone structure is nothing short of a masterpiece. His dark lashes flutter open as I trail my finger over his lips, and I smile.
“Hi,” I murmur.
“Mmm,” he says, inhaling deeply and then yawning. “Hi.” It’s a deep, gravelly voice, one that sends pleasant shivers down my spine.
“Who told you you could sleep shirtless in my bed?” I saysoftly, fighting my own yawn. I poke his bare bicep, and he responds with a sleepy smile.
“I took my own liberties,” he says. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” I say, snuggling into my pillow. “I’m sorry about last night.”
“Don’t apologize.” He stretches one hand toward me, as though to cradle my face or tuck my hair behind my ear, but then he freezes suddenly; his eyes widen as their sleepy haze disappears, and his smile vanishes as he stares at me.
And it hits me, clearly right as it hits him: We don’t do things like this.Ever.We don’t wake up next to each other; we don’t have murmured, sun-soaked conversations in bed.
I scramble away so quickly that I fall off the mattress and land painfully on the hard floor, banging my head on the corner of the nightstand.
“Ow,” I moan as the sharp pain ricochets through my skull. “Ow—” Tears spring to my eyes, and I roll sideways on the floor, feeling around beneath my hair. When I brush the spot and my fingers come away bloody, my vision swims. “Ouch.”
“What are you—goodgrief,Holland,” Phoenix says when his eyes land on me. He frowns right up until he sees the blood on my hand; then he swears and hurries out of bed and to my side. “You have tobe careful?—”
“Why are you in my bed?” I say as my pulse pounds behind my eyes. “Ouch?—”
“Stop whining,” he says, sounding irritated. He kneels by my side and tilts my head carefully, pressing gentle fingers to the bump. “Does it hurt?”
“Yeah, obviously it hurts,” I snap. “Did you not hear me sayingouch?”
And I’m telling the truth; my head hurts. But that’s notthe reason my heart is still racing and my thoughts are so frantic.
We were acting like a real couple—a genuine, loving couple.
“I mean when I touch it,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Come on—up. Stand up.”
“Ow,” I say as he tugs on my arm. “I don’t want?—”
“We have to clean it, Holland,” he says as he pulls me up. For all his grumbling, his hand on my arm is gentle as he leads me into the bathroom across the hall. He gestures to the shower. “Get in. Come on,” he adds impatiently. “Go.” His face is pale, his jaw clenched, and his gaze seems fixed on the side of my head.
I watch, dumbfounded, as he opens the shower door and turns the faucet on, holding his hand under the water until he’s satisfied with the temperature. Then he pulls the little lever that sends the water to the showerhead.
“In,” he says as he gestures once again to the running shower, his eyes still lingering on the bump on my head. “Let’s go.” He places gentle hands on my shoulders and pushes me toward the shower.
And honestly, I’m too shocked to do anything but comply. I’m still in my silk pajamas; he’s still in basketball shorts. But he leads the both of us into the shower anyway with me stepping in first, followed closely by him.
What on earth is going on right now?
“Turn around,” he mutters, taking me by the shoulders again and spinning me around. I’m facing him now, and he isso shirtless,and he doesn’t seem to notice or care at all; all of his attention is focused on me as he steps close and reaches around me, tilting my head under the stream of the shower.
I wince as the water finds the bump, and his eyes dart to mine.
“It’s not terrible,” I say quickly when I see the muscles tense in his shoulders. “It stings a bit, but I’m not in excruciating pain.”
He relaxes slightly and nods before returning to my hair; he rinses it gently under the water, his hands slow and soft, and my heart is going a million miles an hour. No, a billion. A trillion, even.
“Your face is turning too red,” he says, the words stiff. “Breathe properly, please.”
“Sorry, but we arein the shower,Phoenix,” I say in a tight voice.
His hands freeze, and I realize belatedly that I’ve called him by his name.
