The Awakening: Britton (Entangled Covet) (13 page)

Why did he find that so damn arousing?

Dea
, he needed to get the fuck out of this room. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a quick shower

before dinner,” he managed to rasp, ready to bolt.

Again she looked at him, that small smile that so captivated him playing on her lips. “Sure. By the time

you’re done, dinner will be ready.”

He all but ran out of the room. After he closed himself inside the bathroom and firmly locked the door,

he leaned back against the cool wood. He wasn’t sex-deprived. That couldn’t be the reason. He had a long

line of willing women just waiting to jump into his bed.
Panting
to.

Was it because Val wasn’t one those women, didn’t respond to him with the same eagerness that every

other woman did?

A plausible explanation. He liked a challenge as much as the next guy. That must be it.

He pushed away from the door, quickly stripped, and jumped under the hot spray. The jets thumped his

torso, washing away the grit and sweat of the day and the aches from the hike. Too bad they didn’t even

make a dent in his unruly hormones.

But now that he was aware of the source of the unwanted attraction, he could do a better job of reining

it in. One thing he loved about women was making them feel beautiful, seductive. They were receptive to

that kind of flattery, and it turned him on to see a woman embrace her feminine powers when he

complimented her. Val had never reacted that way with him. She just stared at him as though he was nuts.

Of course, he’d never actually flattered her. Not until a few hours ago…

Just as well. She was one notch on his bedpost he was not looking to make. No way. He wanted his

women willing, wanton, and wet for him. And that was not Val.

After he quickly washed, he dried off, then cursed when he realized he hadn’t brought in anything clean

to wear. He scowled down at his sweaty, filthy clothes piled in front of the door. Nope. No chance he was

putting those back on. She’d just have to deal. Wrapping the towel around his waist, he opened the

bathroom door and headed for his duffel bag in the living room.

…

“Dinner’s—” The words died on Val’s lips as she turned around and received the shock of a lifetime.

Damp, half-naked male. The dark hairs on Britton’s chest were still wet from his shower, plastering them to

well-defined pecs and a truly swoon-worthy six-pack.

Holy—

The wood spoon slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor. The noise knocked her out of her

stupor and she quickly bent to pick it up, praying he hadn’t seen her drool.

A towel? Really?

Peeking over the counter, she watched him rummage through his bag. The muscles of his back moved

with each shift of his arms. As he stood up, the towel loosened just a fraction, slipping to settle at the swell

of his ass. The peep of cheek sent red-hot desire shooting through her veins and pooling low in her belly.

Britton froze, then tilted his nose up in the air and sniffed.

Shit! Hell! No. No. No.

Over his shoulder, he shot a glance toward the kitchen, and she ducked down, feeling like an idiot after

she did so. But she just couldn’t look him in the eyes. He’d smelled her arousal. She was certain of it. How

insanely mortifying!

At least he hadn’t said anything, but just strode back to the bedroom. After the door closed, she stood

on shaking legs and braced her hands on the counter as she let out a harsh exhale. How the
hell
was she

ever supposed to face him again?

Her body had just betrayed her in the most humiliating way possible. She’d never wanted Britton to

know she found him attractive. Yeah, so they’d made the decision to be friends. That did
not
mean she

wanted to jump on the Britton bandwagon and be one in a crowd of women, gushing, “Pick me!” while he

debated over the flavor of the day.
Nuh-uh
. Not happening.

She didn’t care how damn hot he was.

Hell
, no. He didn’t have to know. So he’d caught a scent. Big deal. He didn’t know her very well;

maybe she could pull it off so that he wouldn’t question it.

Pretend it never happened.

Yeah, she would pretend.

She turned away, fumbling in the cabinet, clattering china together as she drew out two bowls.

Breathe, woman. If you’re shaking like a leaf he’ll know something’s up.

Taking a moment to gulp down a few steadying breaths, she’d just felt herself calm down when the

door opened and all her tension came rushing back.

Don’t act weird.

Whirling around, she plastered a huge, fake smile on her face. “Hey! Hungry?”

Dea.
Too bright. Chill out!

He cocked his head and said, “Starving.”

Had that come out…husky? A tightening sensation tweaked her nipples.

Ohshit-ohshit-oh
shit
.

Spinning back to the stove, she drew in another breath, then exhaled slowly before she lifted the ladle.

The damn thing shook.
Focus. He frickin’ has on clothes now.

Not that the tight black thermal henley in any way helped her forget what lay beneath it. It hugged.

Every. Delicious muscle. The checkered blue-and-green flannel pajama bottoms were even worse, riding

way too low on his hips for comfort.
Her
comfort.

Nope. Not going there.
Think bloody crime scene. Bloody crime scene. Bloody crime scene.

As she scooped macaroni into bowls, Britton came to stand beside her. Her awareness of his body made

her spine go rigid. And she was
so
aware of his body—the strength, the breadth, the…muscle. Swallowing,

she forced herself to relax and handed him a bowl. After he took it she bolted with hers in the opposite

direction, finding relative safety on the couch.

Until he came into the room a few minutes later and sat down on an adjacent chair.

Had he noticed her acting strange?

She shot a glance at him, relieved to see him concentrating on eating and not on her. Maybe she’d been

wrong. Maybe he hadn’t picked up on anything. She made herself lean back against the cushions in a

decent imitation of nonchalance.

“How’s your head?” he finally asked, breaking the thundering silence.

Wow. She’d forgotten all about it. Tentatively touching the two butterfly bandages Miles had placed

over the wound, she grimaced. “Still tender, but the painkillers knocked the headache back.”

When she glanced at him, she was shocked to see a very slight violet hue creeping into his eyes. It was

barely there, but it was such a contrast from the electrifying blue, she could see the purple color veining

across the irises.

“I’m really glad you’re okay,” he said. “Finding you like that…scared the shit out of me.”

She was stunned. Both that he’d been worried about her, and that he’d openly admitted it. “Seriously?”

He quirked a brow. “Yeah. Seriously. When I saw you, and you weren’t moving—” He shook his head.

“Just don’t do that again, okay?”

“Yeah. Like I deliberately rolled down that hill, Britton,” she said drily.

His lips quirked.

Hmm
. What would it feel like to kiss him…?

She blinked. What the hell was the matter with her tonight? It hadn’t been
that
long.

Nodding toward her bowl, he asked, “Finished?”

“Uh. Yeah.”
Definitely
.

He stood and held out his hand. After she gave him the dish, he took it to the kitchen.

He is Britton Townsend. The ass. The jerk. The enemy.

Except he wasn’t anymore. It was as though agreeing to be his friend had obliterated every damn

defense she’d built against the man over the years. But she’d never really had a real defense, had she? The

cure to her attraction had always been his nasty mouth and douche bag attitude, but now that mouth was

saying sweet things, apologizing, cocking up into lazy grins…enticing her like no mouth had ever enticed

her before. And his attitude bordered on…dare she say seductive?

Oh, she was so doomed.

“Wanna play?”

Oh, yeah
.

Wait. What? She shot a nervous glance toward him. He stood by the pool table. “Um. Pool?”

“No, darts.” His eyes rolled. “Yes, pool.”

Calmed by his smart-ass retort, she pushed to her feet. She could do this. “Sounds fun.”

He grabbed two cue sticks off the wall. “I seem to remember some chatter around the PD that you had a

way with a stick.”

Pursing her lips, she crossed her arms over her chest and stuck out a hip, going for an I-kick-ass-and-I-

know-it stance. “More like a way with cracking balls.”

He laughed. Hard. When he laughed like that, he appeared so relaxed and free. So full of life. It was

such a stark contrast from the Britton she knew—or had known.

When he caught her staring, he sobered. “What?”

She shrugged. “Just realizing that I like this Britton.”

“That must be pretty traumatizing for you.”

“Totally. I think I’m scarred for life. I may need therapy.” She grinned.

Again he laughed. Was this what being friends with him—really friends—would be like? Good-natured

banter. This was a back-and-forth she could do all day and not tire of.

“You break. I’ll rack,” she said.

After she pulled the triangle out and placed the balls inside, she tightened them, then carefully lifted the

triangle and stepped back. He leaned over, sawed the cue stick back and forth between his fingers as he

aimed, drawing her attention to his hand propped on top of the green felt.

A strong, masculine hand with long, sensitive fingers…that had a reputation of giving intense pleasure

and had women lining up to be next on his list.

She jerked her gaze away. She had to remember that. The women at the PD had no bones about

swapping Britton stories. She’d heard them all. How his hands worked magic. How none of them had left

his bed unsatisfied. Instead, he brought forth a sexual vixen, which many had been unaware they had. It

was like Britton Townsend was some kind of sex god who took a woman and helped her find her inner

sensual being, then released her out into the world more confident than she’d ever been before.

And Val couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have those talented hands on her, exploring,

probing, and bringing her to ecstasy. Warmth erupted inside her. When his head suddenly snapped in her

direction and he froze, she beat a hasty retreat to the kitchen, blaming a sudden need for water.

Closing her eyes, she refrained from bashing her head against the refrigerator door. The crash of balls

smacked behind her and she yanked open the fridge to grab a water bottle. Sucking in a deep breath, she

turned around. Britton was aiming the white ball to hit a striped one in a corner pocket. As if nothing had

happened.

Twice now her body had betrayed her. The first time, she’d been able to pretend he hadn’t sensed her

arousal, but she couldn’t fool herself any longer. She knew he was aware of her reaction to him. No way he

could have missed it this time. Her pheromones were so thick in the air you practically needed fog lights.

His response?

To ignore it.

It seriously pissed her off that he could make her perfume the whole room by doing nothing more than

leaning over and lining up a shot, and then go about his business as though it had no effect on him

whatsoever.

To hell with that.

After he missed a shot to the side pocket, she snatched up her cue stick and wedged in front of him,

bent, making her butt graze the front of his pajama bottoms as she aimed a shot for the corner pocket.

Ignore
that
, asshole.

A low growl rent the air. She straightened like a shot to face him. Violet glowed in his eyes. Her

heartbeat sped. His gaze lowered, latched onto her mouth, and locked there. He eased forward and an

unmistakable hardness pushed against her front, while her backside pressed into the edge of the pool table.

At the subtle hint of domination, lust seared through her—and into the air—and he responded with another

delicious growl. She was sure he was going to—

He blinked abruptly, tossed the cue stick on the table, and backed away. “I think we should call it a

night. Got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” He tipped his head at the bathroom. “You go ahead. I’ll brush

my teeth when you’re done.”

Without another word, he strode to the couch, lay down with his back toward her, and pulled the cover

up over his head until he was completely hidden from sight.

Laying a hand over her racing heart, she slowly exhaled.

She should feel insulted, but she didn’t.

Obviously, he wasn’t as unaffected by her as he let on. But he was fighting his attraction as fiercely as

she was hers. What a relief to know she wasn’t alone in the attraction or in the fight against it.

But in acknowledging that attraction, however reluctantly, they may have just opened Pandora’s box.

Chapter Seven

Britton shoved aside a large branch and held it back until Val passed by with a murmured “Thank you.”

Polite but distant, a clear representation of what their interaction had been like all damn morning.