Survivor (First to Fight #2)(27)

With her safely tucked in the bathroom and out of my reach, I check on the boys and clean up the mess in the kitchen. As I put away the dishes and wipe down the tables and countertops, I force myself away from thoughts of Sofie naked and wet just a few feet away. The boys are amusing themselves with a movie in the living room, for f*ck’s sake.

The bathroom door opens with a click and I straighten, my gut tightening. Steam billows out and her head peeks through the crack in the door. Water drips down her tanned skin and splatters on the floor at her bare feet.

“Jack,” she says with her brows raised. Shit, had I missed something?

I toss the dirty washcloth I was using to wipe down the sticky counters and the sink. Turning, I say to a spot about two feet above her head, “Yeah?”

“I said could you grab me some clothes. I forgot to get some.”

“Yeah, sure.” Fuck my life. The last thing I want to be doing is touching her bras and panties and thinking of her wearing them.

“Thanks. They’re just in the office in my suitcase. I haven’t got around to unpacking yet.”

“Right,” I mutter and book it as far away from her as I can get.

It’s only been a couple of days, and already the house is starting to feel like hers, smell like hers. I groan, instantly regretting my decision to help her fix up the place. Her suitcase is splayed open on the desk and I rifle through it, randomly grabbing the first things my fingers come in contact with.

The door to the bathroom is still propped open so I slip through, setting the clothes on the sink. Her body is a striking silhouette on the other side of the shower curtain, but even with the barrier between us, I can see she’s grown into her generous curves.

“Will these work?” I ask when I manage to get my voice back.

She glances out the curtain offering me a tantalizing view of her shoulder. Her laugh breaks me from my fantasies about exactly what I would do to her there. “You forgot a shirt, genius,” she says.

I groan. “Fine. Your plate is ready when you get out. Do you need anything else?”

“No, thanks. You really didn’t have to do all this,” she says from the other side of the curtain.

“I know. Consider this a favor owed if it makes you feel any better.” With any luck, I can get the repairs on this place knocked out, the gym squared away, and then get the hell out of dodge, where the most tempting thing will be which MRE to eat for dinner.

“Not that I asked you to help, but fine,” she says. “I can owe you one.”

“We’re on a fast track to becoming besties. I can feel it,” I tell her to dispel the growing tension.

She chuckles and I have to turn away from the sight of her breasts outlined in the light coming through the window. I can barely hear her response over the blood rushing from my brain straight to my dick. “Well, you’ve held my hair while I puked and played with my underwear. I’d say you’re closer than Livvie and me at this point.”

“I don’t know how to process Livvie and your underwear in the same sentence, so I’m going to ignore all of that and go grab your shirt. Then Doctor Jack says it’s time for breakfast.”

“Yes, doctor.”

I stop myself short of the office and press a forearm into the wooden doorframe. Resting my head on my arm, I exhale one long, slow breath. I thought she was dangerous when she was younger, but Sofie all grown up is lethal.

The water stops behind me, so I straighten and hunt for a shirt from her suitcase. It’s one of those deals where the top part of the suitcase has a clip that unhooks and hinges down for another layer of storage. I undo the clip and shirts tumble out onto the table. I flip through them, guiltily enjoying the scent of her perfume when my finger slices along the fine edge of a piece of paper.

Cursing, I pull it out from between two T-shirts to set it aside and find a letter addressed to Sofie. From Damian.

What the f*ck?

I read it before I even make the conscious decision to do so. I should feel bad about it, but when I process its contents, I move passed guilt and straight into pissed off. In it he writes about their amazing night together. How he can’t wait to see her again now that she’s back in town. I have to read it two more times before I can fully process the words.

Wet feet slap against the wooden floor followed shortly by a soft inhalation. I turn, the world shifting on its axis, to find Sofie wide-eyed and dressed only in a towel. Thrown back ten years, unable to make my thoughts align, unable to catch my breath, unable to think, I growl, “Sofie, what the f*ck is this?”

She blinks a few times, otherwise unresponsive to the letter I thrust in her direction. Glancing down at the piece of paper, she knots one hand in the towel at her chest and takes it in her hand. Her eyes flick across the words and then back at me. “It’s a letter,” she says calmly, striding passed me.

My throat constricts with ten years of angry arguments. “Care to explain it?” I say after I collect myself.

She jerks a thin robe from her suitcase with quick, efficient movements and wraps it around her, ditching the towel and cinching the robe up at her waist. “I don’t think it’s any of your business anymore, Jack.”

My vision flashes red. “Don’t f*cking play games with me.”

Coolly, she wraps a towel around her damp hair and curls it on the top of her head. “None of this is a game to me.”