“Not in so many words,” I muttered.
“I just thought this might help,” he said, wisely avoiding the issue. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”
I didn’t want to be affected by his consideration.
Yet I was.
“You didn’t hurt me,” I whispered.
We lapsed into silence. Intimacy clouded the room; it was far thicker now than when he’d actually been inside me. There was something very intimate about him touching me, about him caring for the most secret spot on my body, without the suggestion of sex.
Oh my God, what had I done?
A few minutes later, he withdrew his hand—leaving the cloth in place—and cleared his throat. “I still don’t like you.”
Some of my freakout actually calmed.
“I still don’t like you either,” I agreed.
Chuckling, he flipped the comforter up over me. He reached for his cell lying nearby before he lay back down beside me. I should’ve been running out of this room.
I wasn’t ready to do that yet.
He checked the time and grunted. “Couple hours ‘til the sun comes up.”
Was he saying that because he wasn’t ready for me to leave yet either?
Of course not. This was Braeden.
“Relax. I have no intention of sleeping over. I’ll be out of here in a couple minutes.”
“Like it never even happened,” he murmured.
Something pierced my chest. “Believe me. I’m not telling anyone.”
The screen on his phone lit up again and shined in my eyes when he held it up in the air above us.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Taking a selfie.” The image of us lying in a rumpled bed—me with swollen lips and messy hair and him with a look of smug satisfaction across his face—reflected back at us.
The image was exactly like the fleeting moment we shared before.
Intimate.
I turned my head and looked at him. He was looking up at the screen, smiling for the camera. I took just an instant to stare. His strong, square jaw, his full lips and high cheekbones. He was incredibly good looking and at the same time, incredibly maddening.
“I thought you said this never happened,” I remarked, still watching him.
I heard the click of the camera. I knew he’d taken his selfie.
He tossed the phone aside and turned so our faces were mere inches apart and his dark, unreadable eyes stared into mine. “Maybe some things shouldn’t be forgotten.”
My stomach did a flip. Beneath the comforter, my hands flexed
“I still don’t like you,” I told him again.
A ghost of a smile appeared on his face. “I still don’t like you either.”
“This can never happen again,” I said, serious.
“I’m not interested in a repeat.”
I felt a pang of something I didn’t want to acknowledge.
I rolled out of the bed and tried to take the comforter with me, for coverage. The jackass was lying on it and wouldn’t move.
I dropped it. “You’re such an asshole.”
“Yep.”
I hurried to pull on my swimsuit cover up. It was made out of combed cotton and so comfortable. Suddenly the idea of being naked with him nauseated me.
After I gathered up the pieces of my bikini and crept to the door, I stopped and turned. “I’m not this person… not anymore. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone this happened.” Damn the emotion in my voice. I’d already given him too much. Showing him anything more was suicide.
A wave of guilt washed over me. Guilt for so many different reasons.
“What happens in spring break stays in spring break,” he quipped. I relaxed, realizing he probably hadn’t even been paying attention to the sound of my words. Hell, I’d been lucky he even heard them.
I slipped out of the room, into the dark hallway.
Braeden’s words echoed behind me.
Funny, they didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, now I felt worse.
Chapter Five
Braeden
I honestly had no intention of ever touching Ivy.
From the moment we met, she irritated me. Sometimes just looking at her made me want to run my fist through a wall.
And that kind of emotion was dangerous. Especially for a guy like me.
I only tolerated her because of Rimmel. Even with all of Ivy’s faults, she was loyal to my little sis, and that alone kept me in check.
I’m not really sure what came over me.
Fuck.
That’s a lie.
I know exactly what came over me. I couldn’t ignore the way she wrapped herself around me. The way she fit in my arms like she belonged. I had every intention of tossing her on her shapely ass the second we hit the deck.
But there was no one.
No one between us in that moment. No Romeo, Rimmel, or Missy. No sarcastic jokes hanging in the air. The irritation I always felt seemed distant, and undeniable desire was front and center.