His stomach clenched, and heavy tingling sensations shot straight to his groin. He pushed the guest-room door open, and when she eased by him, those silky strands of hair brushed his shoulder. He hardened at just the thought of her lying in a bed down the hall from him tonight, so very close. Her feet shuffled behind him, her sweet scent of lilacs drifted in the air. He picked up her bag, the one they’d driven out to Moss Beach to get, and headed up the stairs. “Come on,” he said, gesturing for her to follow. Even if it was only a fraction of his want for her. As much as he wanted-needed-to touch her, he wanted her to want him back. Her wariness was warranted, and he didn’t want to push her. He’d been an ass to her when he’d first found out who she was, and now they both knew he was indirectly responsible for her accident. Wanted to wrap her in his arms, slide inside her body, and block out the rest of the world.īut he knew he couldn’t. Wanted to pick her up and take her to his bed. He wanted to hear her say his name in that same sleepy tone like she had so many times before. Her tired voice was like velvet and sandpaper all wrapped up together.

Those deep green eyes, the high-set cheekbones, that mass of curly hair that fell to her shoulders and which he ached to slide his fingers through. Moonlight spilled through the picture window, illuminating her features.

The only thing that mattered now was keeping her safe. He raked a hand through his hair, knowing dwelling on that guilt wasn’t going to change anything. Guilt over the fact someone had purposely hurt her five years ago and that it could possibly be because of him. Guilt for not looking for her when he should have. Guilt slithered in as he watched her look from photo to photo, clamped on tight to his heart. His stomach churned like it was set on the spin cycle of a washing machine. What did she think when she looked at those pictures? Did she feel anything? His palms grew sweaty. Their wedding photo, the day they’d brought Julia home from the hospital, a picture of the two of them on a hiking trip up one of those stupid mountains she’d always been dragging him to. She wandered into his living room without a word and stopped in front of the fireplace, where a series of framed photos of their life together still sat on the mantel. Ryan tossed his keys on the entry table and closed the front door behind Kate.

Wait for me by elisabeth naughton