He gripped the banister until his fingers stung, and a low groan ebbed from his throat.
“Have I ever mentioned that I love the way you say my name?” she asked, reaching into her hair and pulling the band holding it up. “Without the e.”
Trace had no idea what she was talking about, because all his blood was feeding the wrong brain. Her hair tumbled down in a ragged mess, and she combed her fingers through it.
“Especially,” she added, reaching between her breasts to grasp the clip on her bra, “during sex when you use that deep, throaty, can’t-get-enough-of-you voice. God, that’s so hot. I’m already wet.”
Snap.
The clip broke open, and Trace’s barriers shattered with it. She let her breasts fall free of the bra and looped the fabric around the banister, leaving her in nothing but sexy, sheer, skimpy panties.
Trace went up in flames.
With her hand on the matching banister at the top of the stairs, her gorgeous body shadowed in the dim light, she said, “Well, then . . . I guess I’ll be rolling around in my brand-new bed with brand-new sheets by myself tonight. Sleep tight, Trace.”
And she turned and disappeared up the second half of the split-level staircase.
TWELVE
Avery stood in the dark of her barely-more-than-a-studio apartment above the café, her thumbnail gripped between her teeth, the other arm crossed tight over her middle, unable to believe she’d just undressed in front of him after he’d rejected her. And in hindsight, what she’d thought would feel playful and look sexy probably looked more like desperation.
She closed her eyes as another surge of embarrassment pumped through her, then lifted her hands to rub her burning cheeks. And as she stared out at the darkness, listening for Trace’s footsteps, she took consolation in the fact that no one knew how mortified she would feel if Trace walked out after that lame attempt at seduction.
He was right about cutting off their involvement now. She knew that. At least logically. Ending their intimate connection now while they could remain friends made a lot of sense. Especially when she knew cold turkey was going to throw her into withdrawal. Yet emotionally and physically, she both wanted and needed him so badly she ached with it. And there was just no reasoning with that kind of desire.
In the back of her mind, she realized her moments with him were dwindling, and she wanted to grab as much of him as she could, while she could.
His boots sounded on the hardwood, and her mind hyperfocused on the present. Within three steps, the thump faded, and she realized he was headed for the door.
Dammit. She squeezed her eyes closed, curled her hand into a fist, and pressed it against her foreh
ead. The knife in her belly twisted, and her stomach burned. The snick of the front door’s dead bolt sliding home was the final blow. A blow that seemed to shift everything inside her.
A few soft thumps sounded near the porch, and Avery turned away from the window. She didn’t want to watch him leave. Logically, she knew this situation wasn’t anything like her marriage, knew he had good reason to leave. But having the man she wanted walk away from her still felt the same—like a knife straight to the heart. It didn’t matter that he’d be back every day for several more days to install the equipment and complete the finish work. She had to accept that her mini-affair with Trace Hutton was over.
She pulled a T-shirt from a pile in the laundry basket she’d brought over earlier and tugged it over her head. As soon as she pushed her arms into the sleeves, she knew it was one Trace had left behind.
“Guess this is as close as I’m gonna get to having him in my bed tonight.”
Or ever again whispered through her head.
Pacing across the room, she rested her back against the wall, wrapped her arms around herself, and stared at her bed with its crisp, new white sheets and white down comforter. The thought of sliding in and sleeping alone . . .
God, sometimes it felt like she’d spent her entire life alone. There might have been short spans of time when she’d felt connected and loved—like she had with David at seventeen, or with Trace when she was in his arms. But she was quickly realizing those short spurts weren’t enough to sustain her soul.
The room’s night chill spread across her skin, and Avery rubbed her arms. Maybe, after Trace was out of sight, she’d go back to Phoebe’s to sleep. Maybe it was too soon to think about living on her own. As much as she’d been looking forward to her own space, her own things, and her privacy, this all just felt too empty. And she’d already spent way too many nights of her life lonely.
The thought of dating other guys fluttered into her mind, and she realized that her desire for no strings would leave her in this position a lot—watching men leave, sleeping alone, living with loneliness.
The sound of soft footsteps on the stairs touched her ears. Her heart jumped and rattled. She turned her head just as he stopped in the open doorway and planted his hand on the frame.
The sight froze the breath in her lungs.
He came back? No one ever came back for her. Not her mother. Not Delaney. Not David.
In the shadows, it was hard to read his expression, but she felt the tension between them like a crackle in the air. He’d taken off his boots and socks and looked ridiculously relaxed and adorable and smokin’ hot in those worn jeans with his tousled hair, scruff, and bare feet.
“Does that offer still stand?” His voice was soft but thick and heavy with desire. “’Cause after that insanely hot display, I can’t make myself leave even though I know I should.”