The Wayward Sister (The Wayward Sons 5)

His eyes flick to mine, shame evident. “My tenure as a thief didn’t last long. I got caught the second time I joined them. The judge was strict and gave me a choice of detention or a wilderness program. I chose the wilderness program thinking it would be easy.” He laughs. “Boy, was I wrong. It was hard as fuck, but I learned to camp, hike, track, hunt, and fish. My hands were busy and my lungs full of fresh air. It was a good fit, and when I graduated the program, they offered me a slot in the ranger training school. It was a no-brainer.”

He shifts so he’s propped on his elbows. Sweat covers his forehead and his shaggy blond hair hangs in his eyes. “I was a dumb kid.”

“I’ve known a few of those.”

He laughs quietly. “I guess you have.”

“I’m glad you found something that fit. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for the boys.”

“It sounds like they’re on the right track.”

I’d told them about the boys and where they are headed.

“Yeah, I think so.”

"I think I’m almost done.” He turns on the shut-off valve, allowing the water to run back through the pipes. There’s a loud pop and a curse tumbles from his mouth, right before water shoots out from under the sink, like a geyser.

“Turn off the water!” Adrian shouts.

“I’m trying,” I shout, the water slamming into my face as I scramble for the shut-off valve. My fingers are slippery, and I struggle to get a grip. Finally, I manage to twist the knob and a moment later, the water slows.

My hair, my arms, every inch of me is soaked. With my hands, I wipe the water from my eyes. The first thing I see is Adrian, standing up and pulling off his shirt. The second thing I see is his magnificent body, dripping wet and heaving from adrenaline. The lines of his chest are smooth and firm, this abdomen tight with laddered muscle. His pants, soggy and wet, hang low, revealing soft hair that my fingers itch to touch.

He runs a hand through his wet hair and glances down at me, eyes jumping from my face to my chest. They linger, wide and appraising. I look down and see my cream-colored shirt clinging to the curves of my body. It’s completely see-through, the lace outline of my pale-pink bra showing through. My nipples are fully visible. Adrian licks a drop of water off his upper lip and my stomach bottoms out.

I know I should be running for towels, that I should be doing whatever I can to clean up this mess. I know I should keep ignoring Adrian the same way I have been for days, but with him standing like this in front of me and my body intent on betraying me, I feel my resolve crumbling.

He must feel the same because he takes a step closer, which we’re already very close, and he reaches out, pushing a wet strand of hair off my cheek. His eyes zero in on my mouth, and butterflies burst in my stomach.

Adrian’s fingers trail down my cheek, gently lifting my chin. I swallow thickly, my heart pounding like a drum.

“We’re back!” a voice shouts from somewhere in the house, followed by footsteps and a slamming door. “You guys still working in the bathroom?”

We both jump back, feet sloshing in the water coating the floor. My face burns, and he glances guiltily toward the door.

“Woah, what the hell happened back here?” Smith says, stopping just outside the door. He’s holding the pipe Adrian asked for, but slowly his gaze lifts from the mess to the two of us, standing wet and awkward in the small space. His jaw drops when he sees my soaked shirt.

My body, already aroused, crackles beneath my skin at the way he looks at me.

“Excuse me,” I say, squeezing past him and crossing my arms over my chest.

r /> I run to my room and stay there, ignoring the low voices of the guys down the hall. I don’t dare come back out for the rest of the night, not until the house is quiet, and everyone has gone to bed. It’s only then that I carefully open my door and tip-toe into the hallway. I flip on the bathroom light and see that the room has been cleaned up, the floors and walls dry. Fresh towels hang from the bar, and a shiny, silver new pipe is attached under the sink.

I brush my teeth and wash my face, getting ready for bed. I turn off the light and open the door, heading back to my room. My heart skitters as I see that a faint light shines underneath Adrian’s door. I hesitate outside, wanting to thank him for fixing the sink and cleaning up. For running away. For putting us in such an awkward position in the first place.

I hold my fist up to knock but before I can, the door swings open. Adrian stands in front of me, shirtless and in pajama pants.

This is a bad idea.

“I wanted to—” I whisper, but he doesn’t let me finish. He reaches for me, less gentle this time, less tentative, and without asking permission, he kisses me.

I’m startled. Overwhelmed. Accepting. I’m not a fool. I’d wanted this as much as he did, which is why I stopped outside his door.

His jaw is strong, his tongue skilled. Every inch of my skin pebbles with need. He pulls me to him, and I push up on my toes, grabbing at his upper body, feeling the lean muscle under my hands, the hard want between his legs.

I step back, shocked into awareness by the feel of him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, wiping his mouth, “that was…”