His face smooths away to seriousness. “Is that part of the past you don’t want to talk about?”
“Man-eating snake attack in a shower. It’s a reoccurring problem for me.”
He chuckles softly, but the mirth never reaches his eyes. Sliding his hand out from under my shirt, he pushes my sleeve up to expose the thin white line on my shoulder. Leaning in, his bottom lip grazes over it. “Sometimes it helps to talk, Kace.”
“Can we please just stick to the here and now?” I beg softly, confused by the conflicting reaction in my body, both rigid and liquefying under his attention. “I don’t want to spoil this.”
“Yeah, for now.” He lifts his head to look at me again, tucking a strand of my hair back behind my ear. “You don’t smile enough.”
“I smile tons. From eight p.m. until one a.m. from Tuesday until Sunday. Wouldn’t you know? It doubles my tips.”
His dimples are in full force now. “I want to make you smile. For real. Always. We’re going to go for dinners, and see movies, and walk on the beach. We’ll go hang-gliding, or bungee jumping, or whatever you want to do. Whatever makes you smile and laugh more.” His fingers toy with my bottom lip. “Let me make you smile.”
Trent doesn’t have his way with me that night. In fact, he handles me like I’m a porcelain doll that is two seconds from shattering. Instead, he talks. He talks and talks and talks. I listen, mostly. He talks about the Everglades, and about how a human can hold an alligator’s jaws closed with his bare hands and I ask him if he’s one of those Jeopardy freaks. He talks about how Tanner isn’t such a bad guy and our apartment building kind of has a Melrose Place feel to it, and I chuckle. I don’t remember hibachis and shriveled weeds in Melrose Place. He smiles when he mentions Mia’s name and how cute she is.
He talks and I listen to the low seductive hum of his voice and, although my hormones are planning a full assault to highjack my brain and take over all rational thought, I can’t help but get distracted by the shred of life flowing through my soul again.
I revel in the feel of my arms around Trent’s warm, strong body for the entire ride home, feeling no need to speak, wishing the night would last forever. When he walks me to my apartment door, I’m bowled over by the sudden tornado of emotion inside me—bliss and disappointment, excitement and fear, all converging, ready to knock me off my feet. I also sense a growing awkwardness in the air between us. Maybe because I’m silently wishing he’d invite me back to his apartment and disheartened that I know he won’t.
“So, thanks for showing me my first alligator and not having your way with me.” I busy myself with searching my purse for my keys. “I’m glad I still have all my limbs and—”
Trent’s soft lips cut my rambling short. His arms enclose around me, one hand skimming the small of my back while the other cups the back of my neck. He pulls me close against him, his mouth working slowly and controlled against mine, like he’s restraining himself from doing what he wants to do. That sense shoots jittery waves of heat through me. My arms lose all strength and drop to my sides, my purse and keys tumbling to the ground along with them.
Trent breaks free and crouches down in front of me to pick my things up. When he’s up again, he hands everything to me with a challenging smirk. “You going to survive?”
I hate that he can level me so completely and joke about it. Bastard. But I do love a challenge. I step forward and press my full body against his, chest to knees, hooking my hand around his back so I can jerk him forward against me, close enough that I can feel him in his jeans. He’s not unaffected. I look up into that perfect face and smile sweetly. “Nothing a long, hot, shower can’t fix.”
That did it. I feel him getting harder.
Trent smirks, no doubt fully aware of what I’m up to. What I would do to know what he’s thinking right now.
“Do you have a cell phone?” he asks abruptly.
I frown with the sudden change of conversation. “No, why?”
He breaks away from me and takes five giant steps back to get himself to his apartment door. He slides his key into his lock. “Because I don’t trust myself around you for more than a minute sometimes.” When he turns to size me up, it’s with a smoldering look. “Texting is good. It’s safer.”
“I’ll get right on it,” I purr, adding with mock innocence, “leaving so soon? You okay?”
“I will be,” he calls over his shoulder as he disappears into his apartment, leaving my mouth dry and my body on fire.
Stage Five ~ Dependence
Chapter Nine
I’m at the mall at nine a.m. on Tuesday morning to buy two cell phones. One for Livie and one for me. They’re nothing fancy but I can text easily and that’s all I care about after lying wide-eyed in bed all night, contemplating Trent.
At noon, as I’m heading out of my apartment door with my gym gear, I bump into him. With a grin, I decide that I really do love living next door to him. I really do.
“How’d you sleep?” He asks, stepping just inside my personal space. I note that I don’t mind a bit. In fact I thrive on Trent Emerson being in my personal space.
“Like someone slipped Rohypnol into my drink,” I lie, giving him my full-tooth smile. “I’m on my way to the gym. You interested?”
Blue irises take in my black tank top shamelessly. “I could burn some energy.”
My heart skips three beats. “Then go get your things,” I say and bite my tongue before I offer him a better way to burn energy.
With a smile, he leans in to kiss my cheek. “Give me two minutes.”
I wait in the commons area, no doubt with a stupid grin on my face, while Trent runs into his apartment. When he comes out, he’s in track pants and a fitted white t-shirt. I may not be able to see his tattoo, but I can see every ridge of his sculpted chest and flat abdomen. How the hell am I going to get through my rounds with that to look at?
“I’ll drive?” he offers with a smile, as if he can read my mind.
I can only muster a nod.
“You need a hand with the bag?” Trent offers.
“This way, Jeeves.” I stroll over to a free spot and toss my stuff to the wall behind it. I begin to stretch my body, feeling each muscle expand and loosen. I always marvel at how far I’ve come every time I’m about to work out. It took me so long to even move my foot after the accident. At one point, my muscles had deteriorated to nothing, and I was sure I’d never walk again. At the time, I didn’t really care.
Trent mimics my stretches, his arms lifting over his head, one arm bent and pulling against the other to stretch his triceps. His shirt rises, exposing the contours of his abdomen and the dark trail of hair running down below his navel.
“Holy f**k,” I mutter under my breath, turning around to finish my stretching in blissful ignorance of the god behind me.
“Okay. Ready?” I hear Trent call out. He swings his arms back and forth, clapping as they come in front of him. “Let’s show ’em what we’ve got!”
“Do you have any idea how to hold a kick bag?”
“Of course,” He leans against it, his arms circling the entire circumference.
I don’t think Trent’s ever held a kick bag. “I said ‘hold’ not ‘hump.’ You want your ribs cracked?”