These last three weeks since signing the lease have passed by like an ice age. And every day has been a leaden weight. I still feel like a Judas for leaving Katherine, for hurting her. An image of her this morning as I packed the last of my belongings in my car wavers in front of my eyes. Her blue eyes glistening with tears she didn’t bother to hide. Her slumped shoulders. The thick sadness in her voice as she wished me good luck.
Sighing, I thread my fingers through my hair, shoving aside the heaviness for the moment. Logically, I realize I can’t put my life on hold for my mother-in-law. But it doesn’t ease the guilt of hurting someone I love. Someone who’s been a mother to me.
“Damn, I’m glad you’re on the first floor,” Jude grumbled, carrying a large cardboard box through my front door. He set it down on the hardwood against the living room wall with a grunt then straightened. “I didn’t realize you had so much shit when I agreed to help you move.”
I snort. “Well, my shit and I appreciate your assistance.” Walking over to the kitchen, I grab one of the cool beers I had ready for him and his brothers and bring it back over to him. He twists off the cap and tips it back, swallowing a huge gulp. “You know I love you, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. Being sweet will only get you everything.” He winks at me and sets the bottle down on one of the new cherry end tables. Since Katherine and Dan would only accept a small amount of money from me for rent while I lived with them, I had a nice nest egg saved. Enough to pay for first and last month’s rent, security, and some new furniture to go along with some of the things I kept in storage from my old place with Connor.
“Coaster, man. Get a coaster,” I yell, snatching up the small canister holding my equally new, square mats. Slapping one down, I pick up his beer and place it on top.
“What did you do now?” Simon asks, entering the apartment hauling another box marked “kitchen.” Probably dishes and silverware.
“You don’t want to know,” Jude drawls, sliding an amused glance my way. “But a word to the wise. Mark up her furniture with a sweaty beer and die.”
“Shut up, you,” I mutter, following Simon and handing him his bottle. “Thanks, Simon,” I say as he sets the box on the kitchen counter. “You don’t complain like your brother.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “He’s a whiner, that one.”
“You know I’m standing right here,” Jude objects with a mock scowl. “I can hear you.”
“Oops. My bad.” I snicker. “The acoustics in this place must be wonderful.”
Simon laughs, tossing his bottle cap in the garbage can next to him.
“Hey, where’s this box going? It’s not labeled.” The deep, rumbled question echoes off the cream-colored walls, and as Knox moves into the apartment, the already small place seems to shrink even more.
I’d like to claim that my gaze doesn’t roam over his big, muscled, heavily-inked arms and the wide, strong shoulders straining the material of his plain, white T-shirt. I’d also like to positively state that my fingers don’t itch at the remembered silken slide of his dark brown and gold hair over my palms and between my fingers. That I don’t recall the faint scratch of his scruff against the sensitized skin of my breasts and torso.
Yeah, I’d like to be able to say all of that.
But then I would be a bald-faced liar.
Clearing my throat, I cross the room on the pretense of shifting another box out of the way so he can set the one in his arms down. This way I can pretend I wasn’t ogling his brutally masculine face, only marginally softened by his thick tumble of hair and the way it falls past his jaw.
“Here.” I wave toward an empty spot. “You can put it there for now.”
He nods, and I drag my gaze away from his broad back with the delicious play of muscle under the cotton material. And the firm slope of his ass.
My belly clenches, a dark, sinuous heat pooling low, warming my sex, pinching my clit. It’s been three weeks since the night in Knox’s apartment. The night when he treated me to an orgasm that could be termed an out-of-body experience. The night I careened into a spiral of grief that required days to emerge from.
Things between us have been…polite. I’ve longed to talk to him, broach the subject of what happened, why I reacted in the way I did. But fear has paralyzed my tongue. How can I admit that the pleasure he plunged me into felt like a betrayal of my dead husband, his brother? I’m afraid of—shit, I’m afraid of everything when it comes to Knox. Of his rejection. Of his silence. Of hurting him. Of him hurting me. Not physically. Never that. But emotionally? Knox could rip my fledgling, newborn confidence to shreds.
And through it all? I can’t. Stop. Wanting. Him.
If one of the lamps that I bought at the consignment shop miraculously housed a genie, my first wish would be that this…this clawing, aching, relentless need for him would disappear. Then, Knox and I wouldn’t be circling each other like wary wolves. I wouldn’t bear this not-so-secret shame. I wouldn’t suffer the constant anxiety that Katherine would somehow figure out that I lusted after her other son.
If only he’d never put his mouth on me. If only I’d never pushed him to touch me. If only I’d never discovered the delicious, sinful pleasure of his fingers inside me. If only, if only…
“Was that the last of it?” I ask Knox, forcing my attention away from the sexual minefield my life has become.
“Yeah,” he affirms. “What do you need us to do?”
My brain stops operating atwhat do you need. My nipples bead under my T-shirt, as if offering up their vote. It doesn’t take much for me to still feel his mouth working on my breasts, his tongue curling around the tips and tugging, sucking…
For a moment, I freeze and helplessly meet his gaze. Am I imagining the flash of heat in his eyes? The slight firming of his sensual mouth? Swallowing a groan, I jerk my head to the side and blindly scan the organized chaos surrounding us.
Over the pounding of my pulse, I wave toward the fifty-six-inch, flat-screen TV against the opposite wall. “Could you get my TV set up?” Turning to Jude and Simon, I ask, “Would you two mind putting together the entertainment center? I’ll order pizza and go pick up some more beer.”
The next three hours pass in a blur of work, food, alcohol, and male voices busting each other’s balls. By the time the three of them head for the front door, my living room is complete with sofa, coffee and end tables, a chair, and television inside the entertainment center. Satisfaction is a warm glow inside my chest. It’s beginning to look more and more lived-in. Like a home.
