by RB Hilliard
“You want to talk about it?” She nodded her head at Mom’s door.
“Nope.”
She eyeballed the stairs, and said, “I’m not sure I can climb those yet.” I carefully lifted her into my arms and carried her up the stairs to her bedroom. She tensed when we reached the top, and I wondered if she was reliving what Conor had done to her. Between the two of us, we were seven kinds of fucked up. “What’s so funny?” she asked, once I’d opened her door and lowered her onto the mattress. I wasn’t sure what she was referring to, so she explained, “You just laughed, and I want in on the joke.”
“I was just thinking that between the two of us, we are all kinds of fucked up right now.”
She let out a deep sigh. “Tell me about it. Do you want to talk about Maeve?”
“Nope. Do you want to talk about Conor?”
“Nope.” She chewed on her lower lip, and I could tell that she wanted to say something.
“Spit it out,” I told her.
Her beautiful green eyes narrowed at me. “I want to take a shower, but I need you to help me. I can’t use this arm,” she held up her broken arm, “and I still can’t lift my arms above my head.” She got that look on her face, like she was about to burst into tears, and I felt like shit. “If it’s too much of a hassle, I can try and take a bath, but I’m really tired, and I hurt, and I’d like to lie down, but I feel–” Before she could finish the sentence, I scooped her up into my arms and carried her to the bathroom.
“I’m sorry. I thought you wanted to talk about Mom,” I whispered against the side of her head. This living together business was obviously going to take some adjusting to.
“I won’t bug you about Maeve if you promise not to push me about Conor, okay?” she asked.
“Deal.” I sat her on her feet, and said, “Now, tell me what you need me to do.”
“I’m going to get undressed while you go downstairs and get my bag. I can do most of it, but I need for you to wash my hair.”
“Be right back,” I told her. The moment I stepped out of the bathroom I could breathe again. How in the hell was I supposed to do this? I mean, seriously. I glanced down at my rising cock, and sighed. By the time I made it back upstairs with Rowan’s bag, the shower was running. “What do you need?” I called out.
“My shampoo and conditioner,” she responded.
I found both, and, after taking a deep breath, called out, “I’m coming in.” I stepped into the bathroom and froze when I saw the bruises on her upper chest and stomach.
“Is it that bad?” she asked.
Our eyes met through the shower glass. I clenched and unclenched my jaw, before responding, “If he wasn’t already dead, I would hunt him down and kill him.” Her eyes softened and her lips turned up into a sad smile.
“Thanks, Nash. In the meantime, would you please wash my hair, because my scalp is really starting to itch?” Her sweet tone made my cock twitch.
I would do anything for you, I thought as I stepped up and set the two bottles down on the bathtub ledge. Pouring the shampoo into my hand, I rubbed both hands together before placing them on top of Rowan’s head. Slowly I began to massage the shampoo into her hair. I had it all under control, until I accidentally scraped my nails across her scalp, and she moaned. The sound took me straight back to the night I was balls deep inside her. Thank fuck her eyes were closed, because my cock had no shame.
“God, that feels so good,” she said, and I seriously thought I might bust a nut in my pants. Her tits, capped with the most beautiful nipples I’d ever seen, bounced to the tempo of my fingers as they stroked back and forth through her hair.
“Rinse,” I thickly rasped. Once I’d gotten all of the shampoo out, I lathered her up with conditioner. While massaging it through her hair to her scalp, I tried not to perve on her body, but I was stuck with nowhere to look. Straight ahead and my eyes were on her gorgeous tits. Down, and I was staring between her legs. I would give anything to taste her right now. My cock strained uncomfortably against my zipper. “Rinse,” I rasped again.
“I can take it from here. Thanks, Nash,” she said after I helped her rinse the conditioner from her hair. I stayed long enough to dry her off and help her get her top on, and, with one last glance at her gorgeous body, I fled to the comfort of my room, where I quickly stripped off my jeans and my boxers, and took care of business. By the time Rowan was ready to go downstairs I had it back under control…or so I thought.
* * *
It took a week before Rowan was finally able to wash her own hair. It was a week of staring at her naked body every day and then racing back to my room and jacking my cock like a fifteen year old. Never, in my entire life, had I wanted anything more than I wanted Rowan Burns, but she’d made it clear. She was hurting and confused, and as much as I wanted to take advantage of the situation, I wouldn’t. So I cooked our meals, cleaned up our messes, and became the perfect caregiver. The positive was that I could see Rowan getting stronger. The negative was my inability to resist her. She was a siren, a seductress in sexy pajamas. The harder I fought, the more I wanted her. I found myself lurking outside her bedroom and waiting for her to call out my name. She was killing me slowly, and I was happy to let her.
Living with Rowan was not without its faults. It definitely took some getting used to. Living with Mom was easy. She knew my quirks, and I knew hers. Rowan, however, was a different story. Even though we knew each other, we still had so much to figure out. By the end of week one I’d learned that she hated being told what to do, loved her hamburgers and french fries slathered in ketchup, mayonnaise, and mustard, and absolutely hated being confined to her bedroom. Whenever I carried her downstairs to hang out with me, her mood would immediately improve, so I made an effort to get her downstairs as much as possible.
Our first real argument came at the beginning of week two when my lawyer, John, showed up with papers for Rowan to sign. When he explained that Mom had left half of the house to Rowan in her will, Rowan turned to me in surprise, and said, “I thought you were kidding.” In her usual bullheaded fashion, she then outright refused to sign the papers on the grounds that it was my house, and not hers. When I told John to hold off for a week or so, she got angry with me…as in really angry. I didn’t understand what the big deal was. It’s not like we weren’t already living together. When I approached her about it after John was long gone, she blew her top.
“I’m not Rowan Burns, Nash! Rowan Burns doesn’t exist. Legally, I can’t own anything, because I don’t exist!” she’d shouted.
“Babe, all we have to do is get your name changed. Plus, my lawyer says that he simply has to submit proof to the probate court that you are the same person that Mom intended to leave her interest in the house to.” From the look on her face, I could tell I’d surprised her with my suggestion. I could also tell that she was seriously mulling it over.
“I can do that now, can’t I?” she finally asked.
“You can.”
“But…I don’t want to own half of this house.” My heart dropped at the conviction behind her words.
“Can I ask why?”
“Because it would make me your roommate,” she responded. Her answer made no sense to me.
“And that would be a bad thing?”
Her gaze lifted to mine. She looked conflicted. Maybe she was right not to sign those papers. Hell, if she was planning on walking away, then it was a good thing she hadn’t. For the first time since we’d been home, she asked to go back to her room, and I was more than happy to oblige.
Neither of us mentioned John’s visit after that day, but it remained at the back of my mind. Rowan didn’t seem to be making moves to leave, but she hadn’t completely unpacked either. The duffle Garrett had given her sat like a ticking time bomb at the bottom of her closet. Each time I stepped into her room and saw it sitting there, taunting and teasing me, my frustration increased. I wanted Rowan here, forever. Why couldn’t she see that?
Around the fourteenth
night of what I called “The Resistance,” Rowan nodded off during the movie we were watching. For the past few days she’d refused her nightly pain medication. I’d mentioned it to Mallory on the phone when Grant had called and she said that Rowan knew her own body, and to give her space. I was worried that she was overdoing it, but she claimed that the meds dulled everything, and she was ready to feel again. After flipping off the movie and making sure the downstairs doors were locked, I carried Rowan upstairs to her bed. I wanted to talk to her about us, our relationship, her feelings, but I didn’t want to rush her. When I asked her to come home with me, I’d left things in her court. What if she never made the next move? I was starting to think she didn’t feel the same for me as I did for her. I kept playing that day she’d called me from Conor’s apartment over and over in my head, and the words she’d spoken. “I’m sorry. I love you.” What had she meant by that? Did she love me, love me, or just love me as a friend? I wasn’t sure, but the wondering was beginning to drive me crazy.
Once I made sure Rowan was asleep, I crawled into my own bed. I felt defeated. Not only was I feeling Rowan’s distance, I was also having a hard time living in this house. Everywhere I looked I was reminded of my mother. I missed her. I missed her sense of humor. I missed her never ending support. Most of all, I missed her love. I was afraid to go to sleep at night for fear of dreaming about her. I dreaded going downstairs each morning and facing the emptiness. I wanted to move, but her ashes were scattered in the backyard and I didn’t want to leave her here alone.
I must have fallen asleep, because suddenly I was scared awake by a blood curdling scream coming from Rowan’s room. Without stopping to think, I shot from the bed and ran down the hall. Rowan was sitting up in her bed, her eyes haunted.
“You’re okay,” I told her as I sank down next to her on the bed.
“He was here. I was running. He was chasing me,” she panted.
“It was a nightmare. He’s dead,” I whispered against the back of her head. Slowly, she allowed me to lower her down into the crook of my arm. Finally, her breathing began to slow.
After several minutes, she said, “It seemed so real.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I went downstairs to make coffee. Mallory was coming to pick me up. I was so excited to go shopping with her. I passed by the living room on the way to the stairs, and something caught my eye. It was so real, Nash, as if I was back there in the moment.” She shuddered, and I gently stroked my hand up and down her arm. “He was sitting in your mom’s favorite chair with an evil smirk on his face. I took off running. God, I’ve never been as scared of anything in my whole life as I was of him in that moment. I woke up right as he tackled me.”
“You’re okay. I’m here now. I’m sorry you had to go through that. If I could take it all away, I would.”
“Nash?”
“Hmmm?”
“Will you please stay with me tonight? I wouldn’t ask, except–”
“I’ll stay,” I said, cutting her off.
“Thanks,” she whispered. We lay in silence for so long that I started to drift back to sleep. I roused when I felt her head turn. “Nash?”
“Hmmm?”
“I’m really glad you’re here with me.”
Her mouth was inches away, and way too hard to resist, so I responded by gently pressing my lips to hers. She immediately opened up, and the tips of our tongues slowly touched. I wanted more. I wanted to touch her, taste her, devour her, but this was her call to make, not mine. She sighed against my lips. Hesitantly I pulled back from the kiss. As I settled her back into the crook of my arm, I whispered, “Sleep.” Once her breathing slowed, and I knew she was asleep, I allowed myself to relax.
I woke the next morning to the best feeling in the world. Rowan pressed against me with her hand down my pants. Praying she wasn’t sleep groping, I slowly cracked open my eyes.
Gorgeous, green eyes were staring down at me. She let out a sultry little laugh that my already engorged cock seemed to really like. “I see you peeking,” she teased as she slowly began to push my pants down. She bit her bottom lip in concentration as she masterfully stroked her hand up and down my cock. God, it felt so good. Better than music or movies. Better than…well, anything. I’d dreamt about this, wanted this, all but begged for this, but I had to know if it was real, because if it wasn’t, this woman was going to shatter me. Her eyes shot to mine and her brow arched in question as I halted her forward motion.
“I want this with you more than anything in the world, but not if it’s not real,” I told her.
“Okay,” she quickly responded.
“Okay?” I asked, clearly confused.
She pushed my hand away and smiled as she picked the pace back up. “Does it feel real?”
“You have no idea,” I panted.
“I think maybe I do,” she responded. “Now lay back and let me take care of you for a change.”
Happily, I complied.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oh, It’s Definitely Real
Rowan
Nash was killing me. At first it was a slow burn. I saw the way he looked at my body. I might have been physically damaged, but my eyesight was just fine. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy watching his body’s reaction as he washed my hair, or that I didn’t inwardly giggle when he ran off to take care of himself afterwards. I might have even given him an extra moan or two for the road. Nash saw me. He saw past what Conor had done to me. Not only did this empower me, but it helped me to heal both physically and emotionally. It also helped me to push past my insecurities. The day we argued about those papers, and I told him that I didn’t want to be his roommate, was huge for me. All I’d ever wanted was a place to call my own. Suddenly it was there, dangling in front of my face. All I had to do was sign on the dotted line, and for better or worse, Nash would be stuck with me. But that was just it. I didn’t want him to feel stuck. I wanted something more. I wanted him, and I wasn’t just talking about as roommates. I wanted all of him. Yesterday, I’d planned this big speech. I wanted Nash to know that I wasn’t going to break and that he could stop treating me like a delicate flower. Then I had the nightmare. When I woke this morning and saw his half-naked, very aroused body, my good intentions flew right out the window, and I reacted.
While Nash was in the bathroom cleaning up, I was lying here kicking myself. Good move, Rowan. Nothing says I love you more than grabbing a guy’s package while he’s sleeping.
Nash walked back into the room with a sexy glint in his eyes and his pajama pants back in place. He looked ruffled, but satisfied. I, however, was a mess. The moment he rounded the bed, I made a mad dash for the bathroom where I stared in disgust at my reflection in the mirror. In an attempt to clear my head, I turned on the tap and doused my face with ice cold water. As I was drying off, I let out a frustrated scream into the towel. Lowering the towel to the vanity, I opened my eyes and gasped when I discovered Nash standing directly behind me, Nash…with his golden hair, piercing blue eyes, and a less than thrilled expression on his face. His hands suddenly appeared on the vanity, on either side of my body, and I found myself trapped between his body and the sink. My pulse fluttered with both trepidation and excitement. Nash was tall, but I wasn’t exactly short. My black hair was a stark contrast to his blond, and I wondered what he would think if he knew I was really a redhead. He pressed his front to my back and I felt it – hard, long, tempting – sandwiched between us. The same erection that had me tossing caution to the wind not even a half hour ago. Nash’s eyes sparked with emotion as he stared back at me in the mirror. He slowly lowered his head, and I sucked in a chest full of air when I felt his face nuzzle the side of my neck.
“Why did you leave, Rowan?” His quiet tone didn’t fool me. He was mad.
“I should have talked to you this morning. Instead, I – ahhhhh.” His lips on my neck felt so good.
“I liked what you did this morning. In fact, I’d really like to return the favor,” he
murmured against my skin.
I breathily repeated his words from earlier. “Not if it’s not real.”
His head shot up and his eyes burned through me. “Oh, it’s definitely real.” I let out a startled gasp when I felt his hands circle my hips.
“Nash,” I protested.
“Watch,” he said, as if I had any other choice. I stared at his reflection in the mirror, but I felt his touch as it scorched a fiery path across my body. My pajama bottoms dropped to the floor with a whoosh of air, and I slowly stepped out of them. I wasn’t wearing any panties, which embarrassed me, but seemed to thrill Nash to no end. “I’ve dreamt about this,” he whispered as he ran his fingers covetously over my ass. “Can you lift your arms?” My ribs were still tender, but nothing like they were right after I was first released from the hospital. With a nod of my head, I gingerly lifted my arms up far enough for him to be able to carefully pull my shirt over my head. His hiss of pleasure when he saw my breasts made my nipples ache. Once again, he ran his hands across my ass, only this time he continued around to my front, where he proceeded to dip his fingers between my legs. “God, you are so fucking beautiful,” he whispered against my ear. Pools of warmth gathered at my core as he massaged my clit. When his other hand grasped my breast, electric pulses shot through my extremities. Slowly my orgasm began to build. When he suddenly pulled back, I twisted my head around to see why he’d stopped, and was nearly bowled over by the white-hot lust in his eyes. “Do you know how much I want you right now? I just came less than thirty minutes ago, and look.” He pulled his hard-as-hell-cock from his pajama pants, and all I could do was stare. I wanted it, him, now. His naughty words were a massive turn on, his hands touching himself an aphrodisiac. I wanted him in my mouth, inside my body, down to my soul. Always and forever, Nash Bostwick was it for me. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but for some reason I couldn’t make them come out. “Now, if you’d stayed in bed instead of running away, I’d be deep inside you right now. I want to bend you over this sink and pound you to oblivion, but I know you’re still feeling pain. The last thing I want to do is hurt you, so we’re going to have to get creative until you heal. Trust me when I say I’m going to take you like this, Ro, but not today.” His tone of warning made me want to beg him to do it, but he was right. I was still too sore for a bathroom sink pounding. He held out his hand, and with a pang of regret, I allowed him to lead me back into the bedroom.