Love Bug (The Prescotts Book 3) by Tara Wyatt (electric book reader .TXT) 📗

He ripped himself out of his impossible fantasy and headed for the fridge, pulling out another bottle of water. He took a long drink, struggling to get a handle on the lust raging through his system. Fuck, how was he supposed to survive being around her now that he knew how incredible they were together? Now that he knew she’d wanted him all this time?

He turned to find her studying him, her head tilted. The oversized shirt had slipped down a little, leaving part of her slender shoulder exposed. He clenched his jaw, fighting back the urge to go to her. To drag her back to bed.

To do the opposite of what he knew he had to do.

“Mmm,” he said with a curt nod, his stomach churning sickly at the way her tentative smile faltered.

She took another sip of her juice and licked her lips, shifting slightly on the stool. “So, um. Thank you. For last night. For saving me and Kayla and for…” Her eyes flashed to his, burning with need. “For last night.”

He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “You shouldn’t be thanking me, Willa.”

She frowned, her delicate eyebrows furrowing together. “No?”

“No. Listen, last night…” He felt like he’d swallowed a mouthful of sawdust, struggling to get his mouth to form the words he knew he needed to say. “I’m glad you’re safe, but us…It never should’ve happened.”

She adjusted the shirt, pulling it up over her shoulder. Tucking herself away from him, as she should. “But it did.”

He braced his hands on the island, keeping the slab of marble between them so he wouldn’t reach for her. He felt the need to pull her into his arms like a vibration in his bones, almost painful in its intensity.

“And for that, I’m sorry,” he said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. Forcing himself to look at the hurt he’d put there. Accepting it, because that was who he was. He was a man who hurt people. Who deserved to be alone.

She took a sip of her orange juice and shot him a tight smile. “Nothing to be sorry for. It’s…” She trailed off, glancing away. “It’s fine.”

It was anything but fine, but this was the way it had to be. “Do you have someone you can stay with? I don’t want you going back to that apartment alone.” He felt like the worst kind of slime asking her that. She’d just been through a terrifying ordeal and he was kicking her out before the sheets were even cold.

She nodded, her eyes darting around the space, looking everywhere but at him. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. You don’t need to worry about me.” She pushed her empty glass away and slid off the stool, and he couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling down her slender legs, remembering how perfect they’d felt wrapped around him last night. “I should go.”

He clenched his jaw so hard his molars ached, and then nodded. Pushing her away because it was what he had to do. She glanced at him once more, her eyes bright and sad before she disappeared down the hallway that led to his bedroom.

Fuck washing those sheets, he was going to have to burn them. It was bad enough he’d let this happen and he’d still have to see her—see this gorgeous creature he’d tainted with his hands, with his mouth, with his pain—every day at work. He’d never survive the smell of her everywhere. The memory of her spread out on his bed, telling him she wanted him.

He opened the fridge and started pulling out the ingredients for his usual breakfast—an egg white omelet with spinach and granola with yogurt. Leaning against the counter, he tipped his head back and closed his eyes for a minute, treating himself to the fantasy of how he wished things could be.

Coming down the stairs from his workout and finding Willa in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his shirt and taking her on that island, then dragging her into the shower. Then he’d say forget the egg whites and order in whatever she wanted, no matter how extravagant. They’d eat it in bed, looking out over the city and then—

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice a little raspy. She’d put on her clothes from the previous night and she held her phone in her hands. God, the fact that she was worried about him while he was kicking her out of his apartment after having sex with her just confirmed how much he didn’t deserve her.

“I’m fine.”

She nodded hesitantly, her eyes roving up and down his body. “I’m gonna go. My brother’s meeting me for breakfast nearby.” She moved toward the elevator, jabbing at the call button.

“If you need to take some time off, just let HR know.”

She whirled, her eyes suddenly bright. “I don’t need any more of your pity, Max.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t. Please,” she cut him off. “Let’s just…” She shook her head and then the elevator doors opened. “I’ll see you at work.” The doors slid closed, sealing her away from him.

He leaned against the counter, rubbing a hand over his face, guilt and self-loathing crawling over his skin like bugs. But a woman was dead because of him, and if he did one good thing in this life, it would be staying the hell away from Willa Banks.

4

Six Weeks Later

Willa smiled to herself as she walked down 7th Ave, the spring greenery of Central Park at her back. It was an absolutely stunning late April day, with the sun shimmering through the new leaves, a few puffy clouds dotting the sky, a light breeze stirring the air. The temperature hovered somewhere near seventy, and the gorgeous weather was why Willa had decided to walk back to her apartment from Sloan-Memorial instead of cabbing it or taking the subway. Even though her unicorn onesie was getting at least a few strange looks—mostly from tourists, native New Yorkers didn’t even bat an eye at her costume—she was glad