slammed the door and stalked toward the building, and Tony tried to remember why he wasn’t supposed to follow her.
He tried for what felt like forever, but she was walking fast, and the farther away she got, the more urgently the need pounded through him.
He wanted her. Wanted her way too much to deny himself, even knowing how much he would regret it later.
The truck door slammed behind him. By the time he hit the steps, he was jogging.
Chapter Eight
Amber dropped her purse on the table by the door.
She discarded her shirt in the middle of the living area and knelt down to take off her shoes in the short hallway that led to the bedroom.
She didn’t know if he would come in, but if he did, he was going to get an eyeful.
Was this her, unzipping her pants at the threshold of the bathroom? She felt as though she must be a different Amber Clark from the one who’d hung a cluster of carefully arranged photographs on the wall across from the toilet and bought a bowl of potpourri to sit on top of the tank.
Something had happened to her.
Strange to think that one afternoon could redirect her, reshape her—but maybe all she’d needed was a reason. A desire that made becoming different more important than the safety of being the same.
Someone to reach for.
She heard a soft knock. “Amber?”
“The door’s unlocked.”
Her khakis dropped to the floor, and she carefully pulled the ponytail elastic out of her wet hair. The strands brushed her back, right above her bra strap. Her nipples hardened with a shiver.
Tony was in her apartment, and she was in her bra and panties.
The floor creaked beneath his feet. “Where are you?”
“In the bathroom.”
She pushed aside the shower curtain and turned the spray on hot.
When she twisted around again, he filled the doorway, and he was staring.
He didn’t say anything. Not a word. But he
looked
at her, and she felt it as a flush of heat across her neck, a fullness in her breasts. She felt it on her lips, felt it brushing over her stomach and deep between her legs.
Amber reached behind her back to unhook her bra. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Tony braced his hands in the doorway. She couldn’t tell whether he was trying to hold himself up or keep himself back.
She let the bra drop.
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
She hooked her thumbs into her panties over each hip bone and looked for something in his eyes. Permission. An invitation.
“Go on.” His voice had melted—or maybe it was that it was melting
her
. That low, deep, rich sound puddling between her legs. “Get yourself warm.”
Amber bent over and pushed her panties off, aware of the way her belly folded when she leaned down, the way her breasts hung. These shapes were all her own shapes, but his now, too. To a man as hard and rough as Tony, she must look so soft and rounded. Rare and beautiful.
He didn’t move.
She didn’t want him to.
She stepped into the shower but left a gap in the curtain big enough to talk through. Or glimpse through.
As she tipped her head back and let the hot spray pound against her scalp, she gave voice to the sentence that had been tripping around the back of her head for more than an hour. “The first guy I had sex with cried afterward.”
She kept her eyes on the pebbly plastic texture of the shower ceiling as she lathered up her hair.
“His name was Brian. He went to the Naz, too, and we dated junior year. I was … I was really unhappy back then.”
After losing her faith in God, she hadn’t known how to get it back. Hadn’t even
wanted
it back, but she’d felt an aching need to fill the hole it had left behind.
“Do you want to hear this?” she asked. Because the sound of the water was soothing, but it wasn’t nearly as good as the darkness for burying her apprehension.
“Yes.”
Curt and gruff, even for Tony.
Still, it was what she needed to hear to continue.
“So I kind of latched on to Brian.”
Brian had been so easy, so
good
. She’d
He tried for what felt like forever, but she was walking fast, and the farther away she got, the more urgently the need pounded through him.
He wanted her. Wanted her way too much to deny himself, even knowing how much he would regret it later.
The truck door slammed behind him. By the time he hit the steps, he was jogging.
Chapter Eight
Amber dropped her purse on the table by the door.
She discarded her shirt in the middle of the living area and knelt down to take off her shoes in the short hallway that led to the bedroom.
She didn’t know if he would come in, but if he did, he was going to get an eyeful.
Was this her, unzipping her pants at the threshold of the bathroom? She felt as though she must be a different Amber Clark from the one who’d hung a cluster of carefully arranged photographs on the wall across from the toilet and bought a bowl of potpourri to sit on top of the tank.
Something had happened to her.
Strange to think that one afternoon could redirect her, reshape her—but maybe all she’d needed was a reason. A desire that made becoming different more important than the safety of being the same.
Someone to reach for.
She heard a soft knock. “Amber?”
“The door’s unlocked.”
Her khakis dropped to the floor, and she carefully pulled the ponytail elastic out of her wet hair. The strands brushed her back, right above her bra strap. Her nipples hardened with a shiver.
Tony was in her apartment, and she was in her bra and panties.
The floor creaked beneath his feet. “Where are you?”
“In the bathroom.”
She pushed aside the shower curtain and turned the spray on hot.
When she twisted around again, he filled the doorway, and he was staring.
He didn’t say anything. Not a word. But he
looked
at her, and she felt it as a flush of heat across her neck, a fullness in her breasts. She felt it on her lips, felt it brushing over her stomach and deep between her legs.
Amber reached behind her back to unhook her bra. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Tony braced his hands in the doorway. She couldn’t tell whether he was trying to hold himself up or keep himself back.
She let the bra drop.
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
She hooked her thumbs into her panties over each hip bone and looked for something in his eyes. Permission. An invitation.
“Go on.” His voice had melted—or maybe it was that it was melting
her
. That low, deep, rich sound puddling between her legs. “Get yourself warm.”
Amber bent over and pushed her panties off, aware of the way her belly folded when she leaned down, the way her breasts hung. These shapes were all her own shapes, but his now, too. To a man as hard and rough as Tony, she must look so soft and rounded. Rare and beautiful.
He didn’t move.
She didn’t want him to.
She stepped into the shower but left a gap in the curtain big enough to talk through. Or glimpse through.
As she tipped her head back and let the hot spray pound against her scalp, she gave voice to the sentence that had been tripping around the back of her head for more than an hour. “The first guy I had sex with cried afterward.”
She kept her eyes on the pebbly plastic texture of the shower ceiling as she lathered up her hair.
“His name was Brian. He went to the Naz, too, and we dated junior year. I was … I was really unhappy back then.”
After losing her faith in God, she hadn’t known how to get it back. Hadn’t even
wanted
it back, but she’d felt an aching need to fill the hole it had left behind.
“Do you want to hear this?” she asked. Because the sound of the water was soothing, but it wasn’t nearly as good as the darkness for burying her apprehension.
“Yes.”
Curt and gruff, even for Tony.
Still, it was what she needed to hear to continue.
“So I kind of latched on to Brian.”
Brian had been so easy, so
good
. She’d
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