Searching for Beautiful(69)

“You got memory foam.”

She tucked in the top sheet and glanced over. He was holding the pillow with a look of wonderment. “Huh? Oh yeah, didn’t you tell me you got addicted to memory foam? I wanted you to be comfortable.”

A smile curved his lips. His face softened, and Gen tried very hard not to let a girly sigh of pleasure escape. She’d do anything to keep that smile on him.

Anything.

“We can watch Dancing with the Stars if you really want.”

Gen laughed. “You’re such a nut job. You get a jump on the television, I have to get in the shower. Are you sure you’re going to be able to sleep out here?”

He waved a hand in the air. “You wouldn’t believe the places I’ve slept. This is the Taj Mahal, baby.”

Her gaze flicked to his leather wristbands, wondering again what he hid beneath them. She couldn’t imagine him sleeping in alleys and hunting for food at fourteen years old. What types of horrors did he hide at night? Gen pushed away the nest of emotions, knowing she needed to leave it for the lucky female who’d be the one to completely earn his trust. Sure, she was his best friend, but Wolfe would only share his innermost secrets with the woman he’d love.

Gen hated her already.

She trudged to her room, grabbed her pj’s, and hit the shower. No more thinking in those terms. Especially when they were sharing space. She needed some type of distraction. Some type of antidote to Love Potion Number Nine.

Gen twisted the knob and made the shower a bit colder. Just for extra insurance.


WOLFE HAD TO ADMIT he was having fun.

Since he left Italy, he’d gotten used to being on his own. Calling the shots. But there was something about being with Gen in her home, hanging out, cooking dinner, sniping at each other. A sense of rightness and intimacy he usually only experienced around Sawyer and Julietta.

He adjusted his pillow, stretched his legs out, and channel surfed. He might not have the convenience of a short commute to Purity, but maybe it was a good thing. While Gen was resetting her priorities, he might do the same. The past five years had been a whirlwind, mostly good, but work was his driving force. Since meeting Nate and making another true friend, he added a weekly golf outing to his schedule, which he protected at all costs. Should he try getting back into the dating world? Maybe look for a woman with a bit more depth? Usually it scared the crap out of him, but Gen made him realize he might need more than his body scratched.

The quick flare of hope sputtered out as if he had dumped a bucket of water on it.

He wasn’t up to real emotion or truth. Never would be. Eventually, a woman would need to see the core, dig too deep for comfort, and he’d bolt. Textbook.

Even Gen didn’t know the whole truth.

His finger paused briefly on some singing reality show but he continued clicking. Anyone else would’ve tortured him to death by endless questioning. Not her. She respected their youthful pinky promise and never probed, but her eyes told him the facts. She hungered for him to share, to allow her to know the real him and trust her with his past. Wolfe hated seeing the naked emotions on her face. The disappointment when he changed the subject, and the cheerful way she always pretended it was okay.

It wasn’t though.

But that wouldn’t change.

He fingered his leather cuffs and remembered that night. Fought a shudder. And wondered what the hell he’d do if the nightmares came when he was here. He was in the living room, so maybe she wouldn’t hear. He had a full gym at his place and Purity, but there was no room to work out his demons in the bungalow. He made a mental note to check out the local gym and see if they stayed open twenty-four hours. If not, he’d have to rely on running, which wasn’t as effective.

“Is American Idol on?”

Her lilting voice caressed his ears. Wolfe figured it was that singing show so he shook his head. “Nope, went through the whole list. How about we call a truce and watch a comedy? I’m always good for . . .”

He trailed off as his gaze took in her figure.

Holy. Shit.

The blood roared in his head and beyond. He was used to leather bustiers, garters, and four-inch heels on naked bodies. Musky perfume. Red lips.

Her skin was still damp, and the cotton nightgown was simple, stopping at the knee, with a scoop neck. White, with pink flowers. Pink socks on her feet. Her hair hung loose, the wild curls springing around her head in joyous abandon. Her face was free of makeup. Her lips a pale pink, with a tiny smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose.

She was fucking gorgeous.

He tried to breathe and almost let out a moan. There were a few scents in his life he wished he could steep himself in. Fresh-mown grass. Clothing just pulled from the dryer. An orange just cut open. She smelled like all of his favorite things combined. Was that possible? He couldn’t gulp air fast enough, and his mind spun, wondering how she’d taste. Her breasts were unrestricted, and strained against the soft fabric in an effort to burst free. Was there anything in the world sexier than soft cotton clinging to damp skin? He always knew Gen’s body held amazing curves, but he hadn’t seen them on such stunning display before. Her hips were the perfect hourglass, with enough flesh to grab onto and hold tight. And her ass? It was a gift from the gods. Better than JLo’s. Better than Kim Kardashian’s. Better than anything.