I Wish You Were Mine (Oxford #2)(31)

She flung her arms over her face and groaned.

Water. She needed a glass of cold water. A cold shower would probably be better, but if the running water woke Jackson up, a 3:00 a.m. shower wasn’t really something she was looking to explain. Oh, no big deal, nothing to see here! Just trying to unpicture you naked…

Mollie swung her legs over the side of the bed and went to her bedroom door, opening it slowly and sticking her head out, even though she knew she’d find only silent darkness.

Madison had gone hours earlier—alone. Mollie knew because she’d maybe been listening a tiny bit too hard to hear when her sister left.

Though Mollie had made up an upset stomach, leaving Madison and Jackson to eat dinner together, it turned out it hadn’t been much of a lie. After seeing the way Jackson stared at Madison when he’d first walked in the door, Mollie’s stomach really had been upset. And for all his grumbling about wanting to get the evening over with, Madison hadn’t left for two hours.

Two hours. For a man who’d been so reluctant to spend time with his ex-wife, Jackson had sure as hell found a lot to talk about.

And as for her sister…Mollie couldn’t even go there without wanting to throw something. For someone who’d been soooooo desperate for sister time, she hadn’t checked on Mollie and her “upset stomach” once.

Mollie crept slowly along the dark hallway toward the kitchen, one hand touching the wall. She hadn’t lived there long enough to know the place in the dark yet. Once in the kitchen, she didn’t bother turning a light on. The illumination from the city skyline was enough for her to find her way to the fridge.

Mollie opened the door and pulled out the Brita water pitcher.

“Thought you’d be making a kitchen appearance at some point.”

Mollie shrieked, so startled that the pitcher slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor with the dull thud of plastic hitting hardwood. Cold water immediately doused her bare feet.

“Crap,” she muttered. Not exactly what she’d had in mind to distract her from her dirty thoughts, but it certainly did the trick.

Then she glanced up at Jackson, and her thoughts heated right back up again. He was wearing nothing but boxers. Her mouth went dry.

She also wasn’t the only one doing some looking. His eyes trailed over her body quickly, then again more slowly.

“That’s what you sleep in?” he asked.

She glanced down at her shorts and tank top. “What? They’re legit pajamas.”

“Says who?”

“Victoria’s Secret.”

Jackson grunted, but neither of them moved.

Mollie knew she had to move eventually to clean up the puddle at her feet, but she let herself look just a little bit longer.

Jackson Burke nearly naked was, well…about what one would expect from a former star quarterback. She’d seen him shirtless in ads before—cologne ads, ads for some ab machine, even a Hugo Boss underwear ad when he’d been in his twenties. So she’d known his body was drool-worthy, but she’d always sort of figured that, even for Jackson Burke, there’d been a little bit of Photoshop action going on.

Nope.

He was every bit the fantasy in person as he was in a magazine ad. More so, because he was real. And just a few feet away from her, and—

Get it together.

“Paper towels,” she blurted out. “Where are paper towels?”

He jerked his chin to her right, and she tore her eyes away from him and all but pounced on the paper towel roll, desperate for something to do with her hands other than touch him.

Mollie knelt and began sopping up the spilled water. Jackson came around the side of the counter.

She glanced up to tell him to stop, only to find that her gaze seemed to be drawn to his crotch, and she immediately looked at the floor. “I’ve got it,” she said. “My mess.”

Mollie expected him to ignore her and bend down to help anyway, and was a little surprised when he stayed standing over her. Not that she minded, but Jackson Burke was a Texas gentleman despite all his rough edges. She’d have thought…

“If I bend down, I won’t be able to get back up again. Not easily anyway.”

Mollie frowned in puzzlement, and this time when she looked up, it was to search his face.

He crossed his arms and shrugged. “My shoulder got the worst of it in the accident, but my hip’s pretty messed up too.”

Having gotten most of the water sopped up, Mollie stood, hands full of cold, wet paper towels. “You don’t limp anymore.”

His smile was forced. “Because I don’t let myself. I don’t take a single step without thinking about it. Making sure I don’t favor the right leg.”

Mollie’s chest squeezed, not because he looked destroyed, but because he didn’t show any emotion. As though he’d buried all the pain and frustration so deep inside himself that he no longer knew how to access it.

Want to talk about it? she wanted to ask. But instinctively she knew that he didn’t—knew that he’d likely already betrayed more than he meant to. He’d talk about it when he was ready.

Probably to Madison, she thought, a little snidely.

There was a moment of tense silence, and she bent to drop the paper towels in the trash can.

There was still just the slightest damp sheen left on the floor. Desperate for something to do, she grabbed two more paper towels and did one last swipe, not wanting any water damage on the gorgeous wood floors.