Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 44

Chapter 44

I turned my back to him, deliberately peeling off my shirt with slow, deliberate movements. My fingers moved almost mechanically, as if muscle memory alone could shield me from the intensity of his gaze burning into my skin. When I let my shorts slip down, I caught a faint intake of breath behind me—soft, almost a gasp. I didn’t dare look, but I could feel him watching every inch of me. My body betrayed me, reacting despite my will. Damn it.

Not here. Not now. Not like this.

I shifted slightly, angling my face toward the tiled wall, trying to hide the undeniable rise beneath my skin. My jaw tightened, and my shoulders stiffened. Every instinct inside me screamed to turn around, to reach out, to give in—to touch him. But I stood frozen, rooted to the spot. Because if I surrendered now, I’d lose everything I was trying to hold onto.

He was closing the distance, each step hesitant, the soft whisper of fabric sliding down his skin filling the quiet space between us.

I shut my eyes tightly. He was removing his shorts, coming closer. I could picture it clearly—Noah stepping toward the shower, vulnerable and bare, his skin flushed with a mix of shame and desire. The image alone sent a pulse through my entire body.

Don’t.

My fists clenched at my sides, nails digging into my palms. My voice came out low and sharp, edged with the last thread of control I had left. “Stop.”

He halted immediately. I didn’t dare turn to face him; I knew the moment I saw his expression, I’d fall apart.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” I said quietly, “but I haven’t given you permission to join me.”

His breath caught audibly, and I felt it like a knife twisting inside me—more painful than I expected.

“Get dressed,” I ordered, voice firm. “Wait for me by the car at the usual time.”

By now, it was almost five o’clock. The sun hung low in the sky, its harsh glare burning down on the parking lot as I approached the car, unsure if he’d even be there.

Part of me hoped he wouldn’t be.

Another part prayed that he would.

And when I finally saw him—leaning against the passenger door, arms crossed, jaw set like stone—it knocked the air right out of me.

Noah was a study in contradictions. His athletic frame glistened faintly with sweat, the heat clinging to him. His eyes were shadowed beneath a scowl so deep it seemed carved into his face. There was anger, hurt, pride, shame—but most of all, anger. And I knew that anger intimately—I had taught it to him.

Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself. Tonight was going to be complicated, to say the least.