No. She's all woman now.
All hips, curves, and attitude, wrapped in that tight black T-shirt that clung to her tits like sin. And those jeans? Jesus Christ. They hugged every inch of her like they were custom-made to drive me insane.
I scrub a hand over my beard, exhaling through my nose like that'll help. It doesn't. Not when her voice is still echoing in my head, smooth and confident in a way that makes my chest, and jeans, tight.
I need space. Distance. Something to remind me that I'm thirty-two years old and she's Dylan's little sister, and there areabout a thousand reasons why the thoughts running through my head right now are wrong.
But when I close my eyes, all I see is the way she looked at me.
Fuck.
I head to the kitchen. The house feels smaller now with her in it, like the walls have shifted closer together. I've lived alone for so long that I'd forgotten what it feels like to share a space with someone other than Dylan in the last three years. Especially someone who now obviously moves through the world like she owns it.
I crack a beer, the sound sharp in the quiet. It's not late, just past nine, but it's pitch black outside. No city lights here, just stars and silence. That's why I live out here. Because people are messy, complicated and loud.
And Cassidy is all three.
The beer is cold and bitter, exactly what I need to wash the taste of want from my mouth. I lean against the counter, staring out the window at nothing, trying to get my head straight. She's only here for a week. One week. I can handle that. I owe that to her brother, regardless. I can be the good guy, the responsible adult, the man who doesn't take advantage of a woman who's clearly running from something.
I've been alone for three years now. Three years since Sarah packed her bags and told me she couldn't handle the isolation anymore, and couldn't handle dating a man who was more comfortable with trees than people. Three years of telling myself I was better off alone and that relationships were just another way to get hurt.
But thirty seconds with Cassidy and I'm remembering what it feels like to want something more than solitude.
I take another sip, forcing myself to focus on the burn of alcohol instead of the memory of her perfume.
I'm mid-sip when I hear the soft creak of floorboards behind me.
"Hope that's not the last one. I might have one before bed."
I nearly choke. Her voice is closer than it should be. I turn, and the beer almost slips out of my hand.
She's barefoot. Hair messy where she’s dragged it out of a ponytail and she is wearing a soft gray T-shirt that barely covers the tops of her thighs, the fabric thin enough that I can see the shadow of her curves beneath it.
Nothing underneath.
Or if there is, it's tiny. Miniscule.
My mouth goes dry. This isn't the teenager I remember, all awkward limbs and nervous energy. This is now a woman standing in my kitchen. One I'm reacting to.
"You always stalk the kitchen half-dressed?" I growl at her.
Her smile deepens, and I catch a glimpse of the girl she used to be. "I didn't think you'd still be up, mountain man."
"Well, I am."
We stare at each other for a beat. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears and can feel the tension between us.
This moment, this woman, the way she's looking at me makes me want to either run or slam her up against the kitchen wall and slide my hand under that damn shirt.
Cass walks toward the fridge, opens it and grabs a can of soda. The movement makes her shirt ride up, giving me a glimpse of smooth thigh that makes my hands clench around the beer bottle.
"You always keep it this cold in here?" she asks, not looking at me.
"It's summer."
"I'm cold." She turns, and her nipples are hard against the thin fabric of her shirt. My jaw clenches involuntarily.
I glance away, staring at the dark window. "Maybe put on some pants."
