The End - Blackbird book 7

8

Gillian rested her back against the door as if Brock were about to kick it open. She scanned the room. Why the hell didn't his bathroom have a regular window? Bad guys escaped through bathroom windows all the time, but she only got that tiny thing where a squirrel would have trouble to sneak through! So not fair!

She jolted at the soft knock on the door. Shit! She couldn't let him in with her face burning like that!

Brock's voice was the one of a patient father trying to talk his rebel teen son into unlocking his bedroom.

"Weren't we taking a shower together?"

Gillian pressed her lips together. If only her face didn't look like a scorched tomato!

"C'mon, Gillian, let me in."

She stiffened. Gillian? He was still calling her that? She snorted.

"I'm sorry, sir. I've changed my mind."

Brock arched his eyebrows. Sir? What the...? Oh...

His sarcasm swung by to say hi—Bravo, Brockner! Now you get it! He narrowed his eyes. Okay, so no more Gillian. Then what? For some reason, he resisted to call her like everybody else did. He didn't want to be like everybody else to her. So he wouldn't call her 'Reg'. Then what?

He thought it. He tried it under his breath. Yes. That was it, what he wanted to call her. And he savored the new sounds as they rolled out his tongue.

"Please, Regan..."

The door clicked unlocked and Gillian yanked it open. But not to invite him in. Brock noticed the strange spark in her eyes as she stared up at him with a questioning frown. He couldn't help to mirror it. What was it? What was wrong? If he knew her a little, she was... yes, upset.

"What did you just say?" she whispered.

Careful, Brockner. "Please... Regan...?"

She gasped, taking him aback. She wasn't upset—she was moved.

Never wondered why no-one calls her Regan, genius? "Sorry," he said, observing her every gesture. "I didn't meant to bother you. If you don't want me to use your name..."

Brock excelled at swallowing his utter surprise when that strange spark turned to tears in her eyes. Especially when she shook her head, commanding herself to sound as normal as she could manage.

"No, no, it's okay," she muttered, forcing a smile. "It's just that—Never mind. C'mon in, I really need that shower."

Gillian was about to step back when he rested a hand on her shoulder and tilted his head. "Say it, please. I can call you whatever you want. But I wouldn't want to upset you."

A strange smile pursed her lips. Of course he'd noticed.

Her warm voice caused him a chill. "Only my mother called me 'Regan'," she said. "It's been more than thirty years. I just... didn't see it coming."

Brock's concerned frown was so sweet in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, I had no idea. I'll just call you 'Reg', then."

Like everyone else. She smiled wider at the tacit comment. No. It wasn't right. Because he wasn't any man. Her feet decided that one step away was too long a distance between them.

"No. I'd like you to call me 'Regan'. Actually, I'd love it," she whispered, right before kissing him.

When he was able to let go, Brock gave her the towels and smiled at her. "You go ahead. I'll pick up our clothes from the living room and be back here with you."

"Okay," she murmured, smiling back in such a sweet way that he found it hard to step away from her.

He gave her time to wash and start relaxing in the warm rain, while he took his crumpled clothes to his room. She hurried to rinse her body when he came into the bathroom, and couldn't help to glance at him several times as he took off his boxer trunks and the white tee he wore underneath his shirt. She noticed he hesitated before opening the smoked screen, as if about to knock, so she did it for him.

Funny, that they first saw each other naked only after having sex. She tried to held his eyes when he joined her under the rain, but it was hard. There was nothing outstanding about his body. He was a healthy man in his early fifties, whose job in the field kept him in shape. Yet there was something about it—about him—that made her hands tingle, longing to touch him. And kiss him. And hold him. And... She didn't mean her look to slid down from his eyes to his thin lips, yet they did. She loved it when he kissed her a heartbeat later. The firm pressure of his hands down her back made her stick to him. Gosh, she hoped they wouldn't run out of hot water for some... weeks. Yeah, weeks. She was aware of the rioting mood of her hormones, as if she were a college girl. Oh, well, there'd be time to sober up and cool down. Eventually.

Meanwhile, Brock did something else she loved. He moved half a step with her, to get their heads out of the rain. That was his priceless attention to details. Because kissing in the shower might be a hot picture, but the ugly truth was that having water gushing down their faces as they kissed, into their eyes and nose and mouth was plain annoying.