The Complete Irreparable Boxed Set

Without thought, he reached down and brushed her tears away with the pad of his thumb.

The way she looked up at him when he did, all beautiful and vulnerable, her lips slightly parted, her face tilted up, basked in the moonlight… he realized he had made a mistake. The stirring in his groin and his slow realization that she was pressed up against his body, with only a thin layer of fabric between them verified it.

Her tongue peeked out, wetting her bottom lip, and he barely stifled a groan. He needed to let go. Loosen his grip, step back… hope like hell that his growing arousal wasn’t plainly visible.

For a split second, the wicked possibility of not letting her go crossed his mind as his gaze swept over her plump lips, her soft skin, the look in her eyes, the awareness of her breasts pressed up against his chest….

Before he did something else to regret, he released her and took a step back.

He wasn’t sure if she actually looked a little disappointed, or it was his imagination.

Ethan cleared his throat awkwardly, hoping her gaze didn’t drop as he shifted uncomfortably, attempting to accommodate his damn budding erection.

“I should probably take you home,” he said lowly.

Willow could only nod, her eyes widening as she quickly made her way around to the passenger side and opened the door, sliding inside.

He sat in the driver’s seat, a heavy ball of dread settling in his stomach. Should he say something? Should he ignore it? Maybe it was all in his head. Maybe she was just vulnerable, and he was just a fucking asshole who imagined an invitation that hadn’t been there.

Jesus Christ.

As if she wasn’t confused enough already.

When several minutes passed wordlessly, he glanced over at her and she glanced back. Then he turned his gaze back to the road, but since he had her attention, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she asked, a little cautiously.

Since he had more than one thing to be sorry for, and he didn’t want to acknowledge the moment that just passed if she didn’t, he said simply, “For everything.”

Willow nodded her head but didn’t say a word. They spent the rest of the ride back to her house silent, each stewing in their own thoughts.

As he pulled to a stop outside her house, she opened up her purse and dug around until she found her house keys, then she hesitated. He thought she was probably afraid to go outside alone and he was just about to offer to walk her to her door when suddenly she turned and leaned over the center console, throwing her arms around him in a sideways hug.

“Thanks,” she said simply.

Before he could think to respond—return the hug? Intentionally not return the hug?—she pulled back, flashed him a faint smile, and opened up the passenger door.

She hopped out of the car and sprinted to her front porch. He hated himself as he watched her dress ride up when she made her way up the steps.

“Jesus,” he muttered, nonetheless watching her until she was safely inside her house.

Although he was still a bit dazed, he also didn’t want to be castrated, so he pulled himself out of it long enough to put his car into drive and make his way down the road.

It was the longest ride home of his life.

Ethan hadn't talked to Willow since that night at the park.

His curiosity was killing him. Was she pissed at him after she had recovered? Did she feel like he’d tried to take advantage of her?

Since determining not to take advantage of her had caused many a cold shower, he thought it would be almost humorous if she did think that and she was pissed at him.

Almost, but not quite. He would feel terrible if she felt that way. He simply hadn't been prepared for anything like that moment. The dreams he had that night were X-rated, but they weren't memories or bad dreams, that was for sure.

She had been back in school for a little over two weeks, and he was curious as to how she was doing, but he felt weird about contacting her to find out. Instead, he checked her out online again. Her profile picture was still the picture of her wearing that damn tight dress that showed off her shoulders. He loved and hated the photograph—where most of the salivating males commenting only loved it.

Not that he could comment, obviously, but he could read the comments of the little shits who did and roll his eyes at them.

He hadn't checked her profile in a couple of days and he had some time in the office while he waited for a fax, so he found his way to her page, just to see if anything changed.