The last time you were with Maverick. The truth of that thought made her breath catch. “Yeah. I’d like that,” she managed.
He gave a tight nod and stepped back, and she missed his heat immediately. “Uh, good. That’s good. You remember your way around?”
“Of course,” she said. How much time had she spent here over the years? Even before they dated? At one point, Maverick’s place had practically been a second home. Though, as she’d finally calmed down enough to take note of her surroundings, all the changes he’d alluded to the other day jumped out. The hardwoods were refinished, new drywall replaced the old, dark paneling, and the fireplace had been redone with gorgeous stonework. The finishes, fixtures, and décor were a fantastic mix of modern and lakeside cottage.
“You okay?” he asked, watching her.
She pushed off the door. “I don’t know yet,” she said, coming to him. “But what I do know is how grateful I am to you. For everything. For being there when I told you not to. For listening. For just . . . being you.”
“Always.” He crossed his big arms and ducked his chin, like something about the exchange made him uncomfortable.
“I mean it,” she said, and then she pressed onto tiptoes and kissed his cheek, his stubble tickling her lips. “You saved me tonight.”
“No,” he said, eyes flashing, one brow arched. “You saved yourself, Al. I was just your getaway driver.”
Staring into one another’s eyes, the tender moment stretched out, morphed, suddenly flashed hot. Being so close to him set her body on fire, and finally she could actually consider acting on it. Need roared through her, a living, breathing thing. “Maverick,” she whispered.
“Fuck, Alexa, I think you better go take that shower,” he said, his jaw ticking. “Now.”
She released a shaky breath and nodded. He was right. Of course, he was.
So, showering. She could handle that.
Afterward, God only knew what she was going to do.
CHAPTER 13
Alexa woke up in the middle of the night and immediately knew where she was—and where she wasn’t. She was in Maverick’s guest room, not in her own bed at home. Though, she supposed, she actually didn’t have a home right now, did she?
Annnd that thought pretty much ensured she wasn’t going back to sleep.
Part of her was surprised she’d fallen asleep in the first place, because her thoughts were a stressed-out, confused mess. But then she’d emerged from the shower feeling like she was carrying a lead blanket on her shoulders, and it had been all she could do to keep her eyes open. Maybe her brain had just needed to shut down. Maybe her sanity had just needed a break from this new reality. One where she had almost nothing.
The only saving grace in the whole situation was that she hadn’t yet combined her savings account with Grant’s, which meant she at least had some money to provide a cushion. Not that it was huge, but it was at least something.
She threw back the covers, got up, and made her way out to the kitchen in the dark. Lucy hopped off the end of the bed and padded after her. After a moment of fumbling for a light switch, Alexa found it, and then she was squinting against the brightness while her eyes adjusted. Standing at the sink, she filled a glass with water.
“You okay?” came a voice from behind her.
“Oh, hey,” she said, the glass nearly slipping from her hand in surprise. Maverick stood at the edge of the room, sexy as all hell with his sleep-mussed hair and wearing an unbuttoned pair of jeans and nothing else. Which reminded her that he liked to sleep naked. Or he used to. His tattoo-covered muscles were lean and hard, and her brain unhelpfully supplied her with the memories—so many molten-hot memories—of how all that hardness felt against her. “Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”
“Wasn’t asleep.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the corner of the wall, the position emphasizing the bulge of his biceps and drawing her gaze to the maddening opening at his fly. Dark blond hair ran in a line down his abdomen and under the denim. And damn if her mind didn’t helpfully supply her brain with all kinds of images of exactly what lay beneath. She swallowed hard. “You neither?”
“I slept for a little while.” Sighing, she finished her drink and placed the glass in the sink. Everything inside her wanted to go to Maverick and burrow in against him. And at least a little of her wanted to go to him and push those jeans off his hips and down his thighs. Maybe reacquaint her mouth and fingers with every tattoo he had. The Live Free/Ride Free and crossed wrenches tattoos on his chest, the tribal black motorcycle on his arm that morphed into black flames, the black-and-white checkered flag that wrapped around his ribs on one side, the big piece on his shoulder that looked like he was mechanical under his skin—that one was new. Well, at least since they’d been together. But she’d lost the right to do any of those things. Worse, she’d thrown that right away.