Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(54)

Sighing, I pushed away from the wall and went to sit down on the edge of the bathtub. There was no use in going back out there and making more of a fool of myself, so I turned on the water and waited for the tub to fill.

I’d always loved baths, usually first thing in morning, sort of like the calm before the storm, a way to relax before the day turned hectic and busy. Not that my days had been hectic, they hadn’t been for quite a long time, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

I was back home, back in Miles City, and hectic was a rather mild word for what tended to be the status quo for the good—and not-so-good—citizens of my small town.

When the tub was full I undressed quickly, leaving my clothing in a heap on the floor, and stepped tentatively into the steaming water. I sighed contentedly as I sank down, my muscles loosening as the water lapped over my body and instantly ebbed away my frustration. Letting my head fall back against the cool porcelain, I closed my eyes.

Alone now and comfortably relaxed, my thoughts returned to my conversation with Eva, and to what I’d had planned for tonight. And then they turned to the man himself, the story of us, how we’d begun, and all the stolen moments we’d shared over the years. With every latent memory I allowed to rise from the cobwebs, I found myself growing more and more aroused, excitement building inside me until I was burning, aching to be touched the way he had once touched me, hoping he still wanted me as badly as he once had.

Whimpering, I arched my back, sinking even deeper into the bathwater. Cupping my breasts, I kneaded them softly before reaching down. My fingers whispered over the soft skin of my stomach, across my hips, before sinking between my thighs.

Panting, air shuddering from my lungs, I squeezed my legs, closing them tightly around my hand, putting pressure where I needed it most.

And then, as I often did when I was alone and turned on, I envisioned Hawk. Dressed in head-to-toe riding leather, covered in road dust, his Mohawk matted and messy from his helmet. But it wasn’t his appearance that was appealing to me, it was the look on his face after a run, refreshed and rejuvenated. His dark eyes would lighten, his thunderous walk would slow and relax; at those times he always looked as happy as a man who never smiled could look.

And then his eyes would find mine and in his gaze, I knew instinctively what he wanted from me. Then later, when we could be alone and I was in his arms once again, I would wrap myself around him, breathing him in, the sweat and soap on his skin, the scents of leather and smoke that always clung to him.

They were my favorite smells, ones I could conjure even now, despite the strong-smelling scents of my shampoo and body wash. All I had to do was close my eyes and inhale . . .

Suddenly my eyes flew open and my hands fell still.

What was I doing?

What in God’s name was I doing?

I sat up quickly in the bathtub, my jerky movements causing water to slosh over the side and onto my clothes.

“Dammit,” I whispered, slapping at the water. Forget my clothing, I was upset with myself. For doing what I did best and, once again, hiding. Here I was, about to pleasure myself while thinking of a man who was right outside the damn door! A man lying in a bed with hardly any clothing on, no less!

I didn’t have to hide anymore—not my feelings, not myself, nothing. Everything was finally, blessedly all out in the big wide open. I’d said good-bye to Jase, and I’d admitted my true feelings to both myself and Hawk.

I finally had everything I wanted.

And what was I doing? I was hiding.

I shot up out of the tub and snatched the towel from the rack. Wrapping it around my body, I began internally chastising myself. I wasn’t that weak-willed woman anymore, afraid of everyone, but most of all afraid of herself.

I was stronger, maybe not as sure of myself as I wished I were, but definitely stronger. I’d walked away from my demons, learned how live on my own, living my life how I saw fit, and all without any help from anyone else.

A handful of days back in Miles City, and I was once again acting the part of a woman afraid.

Grabbing a hair tie off the bathroom sink, I pulled up my partially damp hair into a messy top bun and continued drying myself off. My thoughts were spinning, my nerve endings flaring to life as my stomach tingled with nervous excitement.

I was going to leave this bathroom a strong woman, a woman sure of herself, one who knew exactly what she wanted. For the first time in my life, I was going to take what I wanted without having to worry about the repercussions, without having to worry about hurting anyone in the process.

Until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

For a moment I simply stood there, gazing into the reflective glass, feeling a strong sense of detachment. Unlike when I’d lost my memories, I wasn’t greeted with a sense of unfamiliarity, but I was still left wondering where the time had gone. Where I had gone.

The image in the mirror didn’t mesh with the one in my dreams and fantasies: a younger woman, her days and nights filled with hot, sweaty lust and love. And men, their big tall bodies hard and thick, their skin inked, their hands strong and calloused from years of hard work, covered in dirt that had coated them so long, it would never wash away.

This woman was getting older, had lost her youthful cuteness, and although I’d never classify myself as ugly, I still felt inadequate.

Letting my towel fall to the floor, I cupped my breasts, pushing them up as high as they would go. Turning sideways, I studied my self-imposed lift. Yes, my face wasn’t the only thing that had changed.