“Laurel’s not very deep. I don’t think it would take more than a week to get to know everything about her,” I joke. “She likes to shop and spend money. Other people’s money since she doesn’t want to lift a finger for it.”
“Of course,” he agrees with a widening grin.
“And she thinks the world should revolve around her every second of the day.”
Barrett nods. “That sounds like the woman I remember.”
“So why did you marry her?”
He shrugs. “Looking back now, I don’t know. Maybe because I liked making her the center of my world. I guess it was too much to expect her to do the same for me. Whatever it was, I’ll never make that mistake again.”
He doesn’t want to get married again? Like ever? Before I have time to digest the rest of his comment, he says, “That’s all I can do for your knees and palms since I don’t think Band-Aids will stay on them long. How do they feel?”
I look down at my messed-up hands and legs. “Fine. Thanks for mending them.”
“No problem.”
“I guess we can get off the floor now. Are you hungry?” I ask as we both get to our feet. I have to use the counter to pull myself up.
“Not really,” he answers.
“Me either. I just want to get out of this dress.” I grab the skirt and let it go again. “Could you get the zipper started?”
“Sure.”
I turn around and gather up my hair to hold it off my neck so he can get to the zipper, but nothing happens.
“Barrett?” I look over my shoulder at him, wondering what’s taking so long. His expression just looks confused and guilty, which doesn’t make any sense.
CHAPTER NINE
Barrett
One second, everything is going fine. The next thing I know, Lyla lifts her long red hair off her neck, and my dick twitches to life.
Finally.
Other than waking up with morning wood a few days here and there, it’s the first time I’ve gotten aroused by a woman since the divorce.
And of course, she had to be my ex’s sister.
It’s probably just their resemblance – the red hair, some sort of Laurel flashback. Maybe I’ve developed a hair fetish. Or a neck fetish because my mouth waters, wanting a taste. I would run my tongue right up the side…
“Barrett?” Lyla glances over her shoulder at me, and I instantly feel guilty, as if she can tell what’s going on in my pants with one look at me.
If I unzip the back of her dress, the problem with my dick is only going to get worse. If I can hold off, think about something else fast, I may not get full-on hard.
But I’m out of time since she’s waiting.
Fuck, I feel like a werewolf trying not to shapeshift on a full moon as I reach for her dress’s zipper tab and start slowly sliding it down her back.
“If you can get it to my waist, I can take it from there,” Lyla says.
If nothing else, knowing she’s all banged up from her fall should make her off-limits tonight.
Instead, my dick grows heavier because I’m a bastard for enjoying getting to take care of her, for being the one to help her get home, tend to her wounds, even if they were small. She doesn’t owe me a damn thing for that, though, I tell my now half-hard cock.
I’m a grown-ass man. It should take more than a bare neck to turn me on. But after years, it seems like Lyla’s is the sudden trigger.
Because when I get the zipper down to her white, lacy bra, I lose the fight. May as well howl at the moon because there’s no stopping the transformation. I brace a palm on the sink counter when I get dizzy from the surge of blood leaving my head and heading to my lower body. There’s no denying it. I’m horny. And the lack of blood to my brain means I’ll make some bad decisions here if I’m not careful.
I tell myself that it’s not even the fault of the woman in front of me. She just happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe the oil rubbing from earlier had a delayed reaction because now it feels a little intimate as I remember her fingertips running over my bare skin. Whatever it is, at least Lyla won’t have to find out about my inappropriate reaction.
Or so I thought.
Off in the distance, bells chime. It could be a doorbell. All I know is that it startles the shit out of both of us.
Lyla gasps and stumbles a step backward at the same time I move forward, my arm banding protectively around her waist to keep her upright. I temporarily forget about the problem in my pants until her ass brushes it.
There’s no way she didn’t feel it. Instead of mentioning it or getting away from it, she just says, “Someone’s here.”
Her family members would all have a key and not ring the doorbell.
“Do you want me to answer it?” I ask when she doesn’t move.
“N-no. I’ll go. Maybe just stay close in case it’s not someone I recognize?”
I start to ask why she thinks it could be someone she doesn’t recognize but say instead, “Of course. If you need me to intervene, just say my name.”
She nods, and the doorbell rings again. “Zip my dress back up?”
Damn, I sort of dread having to lift the zipper, covering her bra and back again, but I do it, promising myself that I won’t unzip it again. She’ll just have to cut it off or wear it to bed tonight.
The doorbell chimes a third time.
“Doesn’t look like they’re going to leave anytime soon.”
“Nope,” she agrees. “I’m ready.”
She starts out of the bathroom, so I follow her down the hall toward the front of the house. “Stay here,” she says since the door is just around the corner.
“See who it is first,” I tell her.
“My dad will know before I do.” She stands on her toes to look out the peephole, and then her shoulders relax. “It’s just Thane.”
I don’t know who “just Thane” is, but she shoos me away, so I get out of sight.
“Thank god you’re home,” a man’s voice says, sounding relieved. “Can I come in?”
“What? Why?”
The door closes again, and he says, “So your father won’t hear every word we say. Where the hell did you go tonight? How did you get home?” he snaps at her. “What happened to your dress?”
“I fell,” she tells him. “When I was walking through the parking lot. Guess drinking and heels don’t mix.”
“Are you okay?” he asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Who is this asshole?
“I’m fine, so you can go home.”
“You shouldn’t have snuck out without me.”
“You were taking too long going to the bathroom!”
“Yeah, well, I ran into someone who wasn’t supposed to be there tonight. We had words.”
Oh shit. Is he talking about RJ? Why didn’t my brother mention any problems?
“The blond guy?” Lyla asks him.
“Uh-huh.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it was a misunderstanding. We cleared it up.”
Now I know what took RJ so long. Guess he didn’t want to tell me just how close to shit hitting the fan he got.