Wild Dreams: A Friends to Lovers romance (Wilder Irish Book 12)

the vegetables she kept tossing his way, while she assembled and cooked the sauce.
“Want to talk about work?” he asked, when it was clear she wasn’t going to broach the subject on her own. It was rare for him to have to prod her for a story, which told him today really had been rough on her.
She lifted one shoulder, staring intently at the sauce. “A little girl was brought to the E.R. in an ambulance. She’d been riding her bike. Hit by a car.” The story was coming out choppy. “It was bad. Really bad.” Her voice broke.
“Is she okay?” Gavin asked quietly.
“It’s still touch and go. Brain trauma. The thing is…it was her brother.”
“What?”
“Her older brother had just gotten his driver’s license. He didn’t see her. He was the one who hit her.”
“Fuck,” Gavin muttered.
“Yeah. Spent the afternoon watching that poor mother fearing for her daughter’s life while consoling her son. I…I just don’t know how she was holding it together like that. She was…so strong. I think if I’d been her, I would have been in a fetal position in the corner.”
“I doubt that,” Gavin said, stepping next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders. “You do one of the toughest jobs there is, Erin. Constantly surrounded by pain, suffering, even death. And you always do it with a compassion, a kindness, a strength most people will never possess.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re an amazing person.”
She looked up at him, smiling, though her lashes were wet with unshed tears. “Thank you. God…” She wiped at her eyes. “You always know exactly what to say to make me feel better.”
“The little girl will be fine. I’m sure of it.”
Erin nodded, letting his reassurance soak in. “Yeah. She will.”
She picked up the heavy wooden spoon to stir the sauce once more but lost her grip. It dropped into the pan, splashing sauce all over one of his new white shirts. “Oh my God, Gavin! I’m so sorry. Here.” She reached for the hem of his shirt and started to lift it before he realized her intent. “Give it to me. I’ll soak it right away.”
Gavin stepped back, quickly tugging the material back down.
Erin looked at him, confused. “We have to wash the sauce out immediately so it doesn’t stain.”
“It’s okay,” he said, his fingers tight around the hem of the shirt, holding it down when she reached out once more, determined to take it off him.
Her brow was furrowed for just a moment or two before he saw realization dawn. Erin had never seen him without his shirt—and she was only just now comprehending that.
“Gavin,” she started, her confusion turning to concern. Which meant he was doing a piss-poor job of shielding his panic.
“I’ll go change. I have some stain stuff I can use.”
He started to leave, but Erin blocked his path. “Take off your shirt.”
He frowned. “No.”
“Why not?”
“What?”
She crossed her arms and repeated herself slowly. “Why. Not?”
He wondered if she hadn’t had such a shitty day, if her emotions hadn’t already been too close to the surface, if she would have pushed him. Then he decided she would. She had a habit of pushing, and for some reason he let her get away with it, when with others, he pushed back harder and walked away.
“Let it go, Erin,” he said, adopting a tone that would have warned off most people.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, genuine apprehension in her gaze.
“No.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Fuck. No. I’m fine.” Then, because he didn’t know what else to say, he pointed at her shirt. “You got sauce on you too.”
She glanced down at her top—she was still in her scrubs—and sighed. “So I do.” Holding his gaze, she reached down and pulled her top off, her hair falling over her bare shoulders as she stood before him in just her bra.
It belatedly occurred to him that this was the second time in a week he’d seen her in some state of undress. It hadn’t registered until just this minute that she’d been completely naked the night of the fire. That he’d been the one to dress her.
Shouldn’t the two of them have felt some sort of unease over that? He didn’t. And given the fact she didn’t hesitate to take her shirt off now, it was clear she wasn’t uncomfortable with it either.
Gavin wasn’t sure how to feel about anything these days. He closed his eyes briefly, not opening them until he heard her stepping away, the water of the sink running.
Gavin took two steps toward the door, ready to make a quick, cowardly escape.
She stopped him when she said, “You know, I tell you everything.” Her voice was soft and sad. “You’re one of the best friends I’ve ever had. Talking to you always makes me feel better. I hope…” She paused, and Gavin swallowed hard, bracing himself for the rest. “I hope someday you’ll trust me enough to let me in.”
Gavin gripped the doorframe, fighting to leave as hard as he was fighting to stay. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched Erin scrubbing the stain out of her shirt with a vengeance. She didn’t look in his direction when he turned back toward her.
She straightened when he tossed his T-shirt over her head, into the water with hers.
But he gripped her shoulders before she could turn around. She struggled for a second, and he held her tight, stopping her with one word.
“Don’t.” His tone dark, harsh, even to his own ears.
Erin froze.
“My mother isn’t dead.”
“What?”
“She didn’t die. She was committed…to a psychiatric hospital.”
Erin tried to turn around again, but he stopped her again. “No. Don’t move.”
“Gavin—”
“My mother was brutally raped. That’s how she got pregnant with me. I have no idea if…if that attack changed her into the woman I knew. Or if she was always so… She’s a sociopath and a drunk, Erin. A mean, abusive one. She started…hurting me when I was six. Not sure what snapped in her