A Perfect Stitch

Chapter 45 | bitterly saying goodbye

His steps halted behind me and his heavy breathing couldn't pass unnoticed.

"The lady is pretty." I didn't dare to lock eyes with him. "I was trying to figure out why she hurt you."

"I warned you about snooping my things," he strode to his closet. "Didn't I?"

I swallowed the slippery lump in my throat. "You did."

He skimmed through his clothes, not moving a hand from his body-length towel. "If you want to know anything about me, just ask. Ask me, Elisabeth."

"Fine," I nodded.

He scowled. "Good girl. I like when you behave very well."

I gulped. "So, can I ask you a question?"

"You won't stop even if I say no."

He shook his head, smiling from ear to ear like a kid. "What do you want to know?"

"So..." I fidgeted with my fingers, rolling my index finger in a circle.

"So?"

My stare seared his back. "Anything to tell me about the lady in the picture?"

His hands attacked his hair and he laughed, thrusting strands of hair out of his face. "You are too curious."

Why didn't he restrain his aftershave from taking a tour around the room?

The air was stuffed with cherry-like fragrances jostling like feathers and tickling my nostrils.

I poked my nostrils and eased my molested skin fibers. "If you don't like me snooping, then the least you can do is answer my question."

Dwain's giggles faded as he pulled a white sleeveless top over his head.

I screamed at my hormones and ordered them to behave.

They couldn't be frustrated by simple male body moves.

"Since you want to know," he licked his bottom lip. "That lady? She's bad news. Nothing about her is plausible."

"Oh," I was busy eying him instead of focusing on what he said. "Why is nothing about her plausible? What did she do to you, mind sharing?"

He took his hands off his top and chaperoned his white sweatpants up his tanned thighs.

When did he discard his towel?

Thank goodness for my all-over-the-place brain that didn't get assaulted by the contours behind that fabric Dwain was sporting.

"Come, " he strode out of the closet and invited me into his arms. "I don't think it's the right time to talk about what she did to me."

If I got close to the heat sipping from his skin, the neighborhood wouldn't have withstood the massive flood gushing out of my undergarments.

I wasn't even in Dwain's line of sight during his bath, but the visuals of his defined body launched a storm in me.

I didn't want to take chances and allow this storm to cause an avalanche.

Hence, I turned down his offer when he invited me into his arms.

"Fine," his eyes softened and he sauntered to the coffee table.

He placed his hands on a pile of files and flipped through them without glaring at me. "My attitude this evening scared you. I plead guilty and solicited your forgiveness, right?"

His eyes lifted to meet mine. "What else should I do to prove the sincerity of my apologies?"

He frowned. "Lisa, my fatuity won't repeat itself."