This Is War, Baby - K Webster Page 0,48

much of a lunatic to accept it. To be normal. To kiss away her pain. Instead, I only inflicted more pain. Emotional lashings that she doesn’t deserve and can’t possibly understand. Hell, I can barely understand them.

Shit.

With a huff and growing determination, I stalk toward her bedroom. On the other side of her door, I hear the occasional sniffle. With a grunt, I push through the door, ready to face her and apologize. When my gaze fully takes in the scene, I nearly forget all and shove her onto the bed.

Baylee stands beside the bed completely nude, her clothes discarded into a pile beside her on the floor. She’s working at braiding her wild blonde hair. Our eyes meet and time freezes.

I expect her to retreat or call me names.

I expect her to cover herself or to tell me to leave.

Instead, she runs her fingers through her hair to divide it into three equal sections and speaks softly. “What was that about?” Tears well in her eyes and the rejection painted there stabs at me.

“Jesus,” I groan and run my fingers through my hair. “I don’t fucking know.”

And that’s the truth. I have no idea what came over me. What possessed me to block out the constant misery swimming inside of me and throw myself into a perfect kiss. Sure, the memory of Lilah sparked my bravery—reminding me of a time when I was capable of doing such things—but it was all Baylee’s lips I was kissing.

Perfect.

Pink.

Pouty.

“You want me.”

I drag my gaze from her mouth and scrunch my brows together as I meet her teary stare. God, I would kill to kiss her again. To feel the soft way her lips caressed mine. The way her tongue, hot and slippery, felt inside of my mouth dancing with my own.

Turning before I do something stupid, again, I lean my forehead against the doorframe and grunt out my reply. “You have no fucking idea how much.”

“I’m confused, War.” She swallows loudly. “Why’d you run away from me then? Was my kiss that awful? Do I repulse you?”

Yes.

“No,” I lie, “I just…”

“Your mind can’t stand the idea of touching me, but your body is an entirely different story.”

I pull back and meet her glare. Her body is a vision, and I do want to be inside of her. I want to fuck like a man who’s been imprisoned for a decade. The release that she holds is alluring as hell. Too bad my head fucking hates me.

“This isn’t easy,” I mutter, “being at odds with myself.”

She picks up one of the nightgowns I’d bought her and tugs it over her naked body. It’s pale pink and made of silk. Despite it being sleepwear, it’s sexy as fuck. The slinky material hugs her gorgeous tits and showcases her alert nipples. It may nearly go to her knees but it’s the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen on a woman.

“It isn’t easy for me either,” she whispers.

Her eyes are tired and I can tell she’d rather go to sleep than hang out with my crazy ass. Frustrated, I run my fingers through my hair and huff. “I’m trying, Bay.”

She frowns and the hard look from before dissipates, giving way to a more compassionate one. “What do you want then? I feel like I’m walking on eggshells here, and unsure of where to go.”

The image of her pale feet stepping on sharp shards of shells constricts my chest. Would the hard points puncture her skin? Would she bleed all over the fucking floor? Worse yet, is there a possibility that the shell could become lodged under her skin? Could she somehow be at risk for salmonella if the bacteria enters her blood stream?

Would she die?

“War,” she says in a calm, soothing tone and approaches me hesitantly, “what do you want to do? Watch a movie? Talk?”

Her words snap me out of the horror show in my mind. Her pretty lashes bat against her cheeks one, two, three, four, five, six times before I find my words. “Actually, I was going to teach you chess,” I murmur. “That is, if you wanted to learn still. I know you’ve been bored and this could entertain you.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corners of her lips. “I do want to learn. Should I wash my hands first?”

Baylee may be seventeen going on eighteen, but she is one of the most mature women I have ever met. Her soul is first and foremost compassionate, like my mother’s was. She cares