And those golden-brown eyes were sexy as fuck.
And his house was sexy as fuck, in the sense that his bedroom was three doors down the damn hall from my bedroom, and I could imagine him fucking me sexily in all his damn spare bedrooms.
But since none of that sexy fucking was gonna be happening, now orever again, I figured I might as well use the rain shower to take care of some basic needs, you know? Needs likecleanliness.Andrelaxation.
Too bad I hadn’t gotten much further than closing my eyes and wrapping my hand around my dick before the fucking weirdnessof the situation assaulted me. I was jacking off thinking aboutmy husbandthe night before Idivorced him.
I wasn’t sure what the Gracious Guest Handbook had to say about that, but I imagined it was nothing good.
I could say for sure it was a boner-killer.
I ruffled my hair with my fingers, scattering droplets around the little shower, and wrapped a towel that smelled like Gideon around my waist to make my way across the hall. If the sheets smelled like the towels, I might possibly be awake all—
“JesusfuckingChrist!” I exclaimed as Gideon’s large form nearly ran me down as I stepped out of the bathroom.
“Oh.” He seemed as surprised to see me as I was to see him. He grabbed both my biceps to steady me, then let go and took a step backward just as quickly. “I… I wanted to know…do you need a blanket?” His words were aggressive, like he wasdaringme to be chilly.
“I… No. I’m fine.”
Gideon swallowed, his brown eyes tracking over the wet hair on my forehead. “I just… I was thinking… I want to talk.”
“Talk? Now?” I blinked. “Uh. Okay?” I lifted a hand toward my door across the hall. “Go ahead.”
He nodded once and stalked into the room. He got to the foot of the large, cherry sleigh bed, turned around to stare at my chest, and swallowed again.
“Look, I… I fucking hate talking.”
I shook my head in confusion. “So, then—”
“I made a choice, a minute ago. I don’t want to be angry anymore. And I thought you should know.”
“Angry? Angry atme?”
“No.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe. Or more like, atme. Maybe it would be good to figure out what I did or failed to do that made you leave. And apologize. And then we can both… move on. Or something. Closure is a thing, isn’t it?”
“Sure, but… You? Apologize?” I stared at him, my jaw hanging open like an idiot, but I couldn’t help it because all thought had fled my brain. It had never, not once, occurred to me that Gideon might feel likehewas at fault, that he’d think he’d ever been anything but… absolutely perfect.
“I do know how to apologize,” he said hotly, then he paused. “In theory.”
“Jesus, Gideon! You don’tneedto apologize. That’s what I’m saying. It wasn’t youat all. It was me. I just…” I rubbed my forehead. “I didn’t have the luxury of doing what I wanted. I had Hazel to think about, and you and me… after I left, it felt like it couldn’t have been real, you know?”
“Yeah.” Gideon exhaled slowly. He was staring at my chest again. “I get that. I don’t think about that time if I can help it, but when I do remember shit, I can’t remember what’s true and what I wanted to be true.”
I nodded. I knew that feeling exactly.
“I have this one memory, or maybe I imagined it. You were on your knees for me,” he whispered, and my heart thudded uncomfortably. “We were in the shower, and when you stared up at me, your eyelashes clumped together like stars. I touched your cheek, and I… I thought you were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, only I can’t remember if I said it out loud.”
Oh, sweet Jesus.This hurt.
“You did,” I admitted softly. “And I said that I’d never been as happy as I was right then, and—”
“And if you could choose the last thought that flashed across your brain before you died it would be that day.” His mouth twisted in a wry smile.
“Hey!” I bit my lip. “That was some deep shit right there, okay? Closest I’ll ever get to writing poetry.”
Gideon’s eyes crinkled at the corners as we laughed at how sappy we’d been, but… looking at him in that moment, I realized that whatever else had changed in the last five years, that sentiment hadn’t. I’d had happy moments with my daughter—a fuckton of them. But the happiest moment forme?The moments when I’d been mostLiam? The most pure, unadulterated joy I could ever recall? Was the handful of hours I’d spent with him.
And maybe some part of that showed on my face because Gideon reached out a hand as far as he could toward me, and the very tip of his finger traced a rivulet of water down my chest.
