“You should get out of those wet clothes.” She dragged her attention back to his face. “You don’t want to catch your death.”

And then she was looking at his chest again, her lazy gaze roaming all over like she was already stripping him in her head. Jesus, she was killing him. Between the dark and the rain and this hazy-eyed, ironed-out Della, he’d never wanted to kiss her more.

He put the frozen peas on the countertop. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’m fine. As long as you don’t want me to operate heavy machinery.” Then she laughed, and everything under her gown shifted very, very nicely.

Oh man… “Good night, Della.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, just took two steps closer, picked up the peas, and took another step until there was only a handbreadth separating them. Every cell in Tucker’s body went on high alert as the aroma of cupcakes and something much richer, much earthier, invaded his senses.

Going up on her tippy-toes, she placed the packet on his head. “You need to keep it on for longer,” she whispered.

Their gazes locked for long beats, and Tucker could practically see the steam rising from the warm blue pools of her eyes. It might be dark, but her desire for him was plain as day. He was pretty sure his desire for her was also obvious.

“Ice is good for swelling.”

And then, just when he thought she was going to kiss him and his mouth went dry as flint, she dropped her hand and pulled back, giving him that sweet, chilled-out smile as she grabbed her water and turned away. Within seconds, she was gone, and Tucker was staring at thin air.

Grabbing the bag of peas off his head, he stuffed them down the front of his jeans as he slowly exhaled. What in hell was he going to do about this? About wanting Della? About her wanting him?

It wasn’t just going to go away, no matter how much he wished it would.

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Della woke with a start a few hours later. It was pitch black, and a familiar heaviness snapped tight around her chest. Her pulse raced, and she couldn’t breathe. The memory of a sweaty hand clamped around her throat was almost tangible, the panic as visceral as ever. Frantic and gasping for air, she sat up, flailing her arms, knocking some things to the ground as she reached for the bedside lamp.

Her heart hammering, she desperately flicked the switch on the base back and forth, but nothing happened. A lump in her throat thickened, threatening to choke her, memories that lurked just beneath the surface snaked out of the darkness, twisting around her ankles and calves, clinging like thorny vines, sinking barbs into her flesh.