The Perfect Catch by Meghan Quinn

Author:Meghan Quinn [Quinn, Meghan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-06-09T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-Seven

WALKER

I can’t remember the last time I came while dry-humping someone, let alone finished on their stomach. But here I am, semi-satisfied, lying next to Kate.

And I’m only semi-satisfied because I only allowed myself minor touches, small connections, brief seconds that I wish could turn into hours.

I want more than one night and I knew the minute I started touching her I was going to want more, but one glance from her unsure eyes and I knew I couldn’t push it.

Even though this is going to be incredibly painful, I’m going to have to honor our agreement.

One night, no touching.

Well . . . not a lot of touching at this point.

I draw lazy circles over her stomach with my finger and say, “One night.”

Resigning, she turns in my arms and presses her hand to my chest. “One night.”

Reluctantly, she slinks out of bed and heads to the bathroom, lightly closing the door. I sit up and press my hands into my hair. Fuck, how did we get to this point?

And am I going to be able to move on? Ignore this burning attraction I have for her? Probably eventually, but it’s not going to be instant and it sure as hell won’t be easy—but like she said, one night.

While she’s in the bathroom, I change into a new pair of briefs, tossing the other pair in the hamper, and grab her a new shirt to wear. I knock on the door to hand it to her and then wait outside the door. When she exits the bathroom, I walk by her, my fingers trailing across her hand. I make quick work in the bathroom, cleaning myself up and gathering my will to be able to sleep next to her, and do just that—sleep.

I switch off the light and catch a glimpse of Kate before the room dims. She’s lying on her side, facing away from me, her body curled up—looking cozy as shit.

Not wasting one more second of this night, I slip under the covers and press my body up against hers, weaving my arm around her waist and pulling her close to my chest.

I’m about to ask her if she’s going to go to sleep when I hear a soft sniffle.

Is she crying?

“Kate, are you okay?”

Another sniffle. I try to move her to her back, but she doesn’t let me; instead, she stays curled in a stiff ball, unwilling to move at my touch.

“Kate, talk to me.”

“I’m . . . sorry,” she says, her voice tight. “I told myself to be cool, but I wasn’t able to hold it all in.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m good.”

“Talk to me.”

She shakes her head, keeping her body turned away. “Please just lie down and hold me.”

I want to talk about it, hash it out, but I know what’s going to be said. We both want more, but can’t have more. She wants to keep her job, and I am under contract. There’s a huge roadblock in our way and no detour available.

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