Chapter 84 Crossing the Line

Chapter 84 Crossing the Line

Terrence's POV

She looked at me, those beautiful eyes filled with tears. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, brushing against my chest through that thin nightgown and my T-shirt.

"I...," she stammered, her voice shaking badly. "I thought... I thought I was dreaming."

Bullshit. That was the worst excuse I'd ever heard.

"Dreaming? In your dreams, you want to kiss your boyfriend's older brother?"

She bit her lower lip, tears sliding down from the corners of her eyes and landing on the pillow.

Damn it.

My self-control was crumbling bit by bit.

My lower body was completely out of control. That rock-hard cock, through the rough fabric of my jeans, was pressing firmly against the soft inside of her thigh. If I just pressed down a little, if I just thrust my hips forward, I would completely cross that line I absolutely couldn't cross.

I wanted to tear open her nightgown. I wanted to pin her down on this crappy bed. I wanted to hear her cry out beneath me, wanted that mouth that always looked so wronged to only call out my name, not that useless Maurice's.

This thought screamed wildly in my head, eating away at my nerves like poison.

She had just kissed my scar.

In Kanduz, that knife cut through my flesh, and the medic stitched me up with thirty-four stitches without anesthesia.

That scar was ugly and hard, even I found it disgusting to look at.

But her lips had kissed it. No one had ever done that before. Never.

I stared at her slightly parted lips, breathing harder and harder. I just had to lower my head, just a few inches away, and I could kiss her. I could taste her.

"Terrence...," she called my name softly, with a sob in her voice.

That call was like a bucket of ice water poured over my head.

Maurice. She was my little brother's girlfriend.

I suddenly released her wrists, bracing my hands on the mattress on either side of her face, forcing myself up. I rolled off her, lying flat on my back on that narrow single bed, gasping for air.

"Sleep," I said through gritted teeth. "Turn around, face away from me. Don't touch me again."

I heard her gasp in the darkness. Then came rustling sounds. She obediently turned over, facing away from me, curling herself into a tight ball, shrinking to the very edge of the bed.

The room was left with only our deliberately suppressed breathing.

I don't know how long passed. An hour? Two hours?

Her tense body finally slowly relaxed, and her breathing became steady and even. She must have fallen asleep.

I opened my eyes and turned my head to look at her back.

In the darkness, her outline was blurry. That milky scent on her body, like a deadly drug, slowly crept into my nostrils.

I turned over, lying on my side facing her.

I reached out my strong arm and extremely carefully slid it under her waist, pulling her back into my arms. She didn't wake, just made a vague murmur in her sleep. Her body naturally leaned back, her soft back pressing against my hard chest.

That hardness of mine still hadn't gone down, pressing against her bottom. This was the cruelest torture in the world.

But I didn't pull away.

I buried my face in the back of her neck and took a deep breath.

What the hell was I doing?

I was someone who had crawled out of a pile of corpses. And besides, she belonged to Maurice. Maurice was the little brother I'd watched grow up. Even though he was useless, even though he was weak, selfish, and couldn't tell what mattered, he was still my family.

Stealing your own brother's woman—only a bastard would do something like that.

But I couldn't let go.

My calloused hand, beyond my control, slipped under the hem of her nightgown. When my fingertips touched that warm, smooth skin on her lower back, my whole body trembled like I'd been electrocuted.

She was so soft, like silk against me. And my hand was like rough sandpaper, covered with calluses from years of holding guns. My palm pressed against her back, rough skin rubbing against her smooth waistline. I could feel her make an extremely soft hum in her sleep from this touch.

Instinct roared in my veins, drowning out all reason. I needed to reach around her, to fit my palm to her curve, to close every breath of space between us until there was nowhere she ended and I began.

But I forced myself to stop.

I didn't do anything else that crossed the line. I just stopped there, using my fingertips to trace circles extremely slowly and unconsciously on the skin along both sides of her spine.

I closed my eyes, clenching my jaw so hard I could taste blood in my mouth.

These feelings were too dangerous and too stupid. It was like a grenade with the pin pulled—as soon as I let go, it would blow everyone to pieces. What's more, my identity was Maurice's brother. I was a veteran with PTSD who could be called back to the battlefield by the military at any time. I didn't even know if I could sleep through a whole night tomorrow—what future could I give her?

I lowered my head and gently pressed my lips to the top of her head.

It was an extremely gentle, extremely restrained kiss. No desire, only despair. This was also the only confession I could give her, one that couldn't see the light of day.

When the sun rose tomorrow, everything would have to go back to square one. She would still be Maurice's girlfriend, and I would still be her boyfriend's brother. I had to put on that cold disguise again, push her away, hurt her with the most cutting words, make her stay as far away from this dangerous person as possible. Even if I would hate myself tomorrow, even if my heart would be torn to pieces, I couldn't cross the line.

But at least now, in this dark room with just the two of us, in this late night that no one could see, I wanted to be selfish once.

I just held her like this, listening to her steady breathing, forcing myself through the entire night.

The sky outside the window began to lighten.

I knew I should leave. If Maurice woke up and found his brother sleeping in his girlfriend's bed, things would completely spiral out of control.

I gritted my teeth, forcing down the urge to kiss her one more time, and extremely carefully pulled my arm out from under her neck. Having lost the heat source, she frowned in displeasure, turned over, and reached out to hug the pillow beside her.

I breathed a sigh of relief, threw off the covers, and stepped barefoot onto the cold floor.

I turned around and took one last deep look at her. Then I bent down, grabbed the black jacket I'd thrown on the floor last night, and prepared to leave this room without a sound.

Just as I straightened up.

Click.

The apartment door was pushed open. "Isabella? Are you awake?"

Maurice was back.

The next second, the bedroom doorknob made a soft sound and began to slowly press down.

And I, bare-chested, wearing only jeans that showed obvious creases from last night, holding my jacket, was standing motionless beside his girlfriend's single bed.

A crack of light leaked through the door.

"Isabella, I'm coming in?" Maurice's voice came from outside the door.