A soft moan escapes me, and a shudder of warmth wracks me head to toe as I reach out to slip my fingers in his hair. He groans hungrily, grabbing me by the back of the neck and holding me in place as he presses his thumb to my lips and eases back to look at me.
He looks devastated.
As if I just gave him food for the first time in his life.
He murmurs fuck me under his breath and rubs his thumb over my mouth—like he did once, at Kelly’s. Then he presses his mouth to his thumb and sets his forehead on mine, waiting…
I meet his gaze and pant wildly in shock. I want to open my mouth, but I know I shouldn’t. I am not sure if he knows that he shouldn’t.
But, fuck me too, because oh, how I want. I want to crawl out of my skin and into him, if only to get rid of the fire burning every inch of me. I want everything this guy can give me. Things no one in my life has ever given me. Forbidden things that scare me, thrill me, churn a crazy wild fire inside me. Bryn the Good Girl wants out, and Bryn the One Who Doesn’t Play It Safe wants in.
Christos is taken. He’s completely wrong and it doesn’t even matter. He’s the last man you’d take home to your parents because he doesn’t belong to you—because even when you knew he wanted you, you feared he’d never belong to you.
But I want him. No, I don’t want to marry the guy, or even date the guy. I want his hands on me. His mouth on me. I want it raw and hard, but I’m afraid for him to know it.
I’m afraid to even want it.
I’ve seen him with his girlfriend, and he’s never looked at her with the warmth he looks at me. I’m shocked to realize I’m selfish, terrible, because at this moment nothing is as important as the fact that I want his hands on me.
I stay in place, motionless, and feel his thumb push a little bit upward, then a little bit downward, opening my mouth and then…
Fuck us both, because his mouth is covering both my top and bottom lips and his tongue is covering the tiny space in between, widening the part and going in.
I get caught up in it, in him, in how right it feels, in how 14 years could have never happened because he is still him. I’m swept away by all of what really happened and dive into my what if…tasting him back. He’s moving his head, this way and that, never once taking his lips away from mine, groaning when my own tongue, thirsty and reckless and thoughtless, comes out to rub his. Taste his.
He kisses a thousand times better than in my decade-long fantasies. So good my heart beats in my whole body—my chest, my stomach, my thighs, in between…
The car jolts to a stop, and I jolt back—blinking again as I try to place myself.
I can’t believe I’d ever be this girl. That I’d kiss a guy who had a girlfriend, but I know it would never happen with any guy. Only this guy.
Christos sits up with an exhale that causes his nostrils to flare, and he pulls me up while I slowly come back to reality.
I take a look at his lips, and feel a knot of guilt build up in my stomach and my throat.
The stern look on his face is wholly intimidating—he’s either rethinking what he did or determined to do it again.
I’m pinned in place, not moving a muscle. Grappling to come to terms with what I just did.
How I just…lost control.
With Aaric.
Aaric Christos.
Even when he has a girl. Even when I have his check in my purse. Even when I know now, for sure, that we’ll be doing business together.
Ohmigod, I’m a bad person.
I’m so bad, so bad.
This is bad.
The driver opens his door, and Aaric buttons his suit jacket as he comes to full height, glancing at me one last time. He wears no tie, as if he couldn’t be bothered.
“Come on, bit,” he says as he draws me out of the car.
I swallow nervously and twine my fingers together, trying to walk calmly toward his front door. Just breathe. But it’s hard to breathe when my whole life has been spectacular plus spectacular fall and he’s the only constant in it. I feel the loss of his body heat as we walk, inches between us, up his brownstone. But I don’t want to go home yet. I want my friend Aaric right now. I need his presence like I need air.
He opens the door with his key, then leads me inside, to a living room with a view of the most perfect garden.
I walk along the room, inspecting the shelves—trying to put some distance between us and pretend things are back like they were before…that kiss.
He’s got a minimalist thing going on with very few items on the shelves—but each piece is striking. I stop before a large obelisk in a crystal white shade; the object looks as if it’s a piece of the moon itself.
“This is beautiful. What is this?”
“It’s a rare piece of quartz. One side is smoky quartz, the other clear quartz. It’s so pure you can see right through it.”
“It’s gorgeous. A collectible. The kind on auction catalogues.”
He smirks—and I realize that’s where he got it.
“And this?” I point at another stone. “You got this at an auction too?” At his silence, I shoot him a disgruntled look. “Can you tell me something you didn’t get at auction?”
He removes his jacket and sets it aside. “I can’t recall.”
“God, are you interested in nothing where there’s no competition?”
“Competition makes every item here look all the better in my place.”
He smiles, and I’m laughing. “This?” I point at a pre-Columbian figurine made of jade. “Don’t tell me. Auction.”
“That was actually a gift.” His eyes somber, darken. “My mother gave that to me ages ago. It was part of a ring that belonged to her grandmother.”
It’s a small thing, set in an acrylic base, which summarizes its importance to its owner.
“Tell me about her.”
“She was very strong, very dedicated. She fought very hard to live. She was never ready to go, not even in the last minute.”
“She waved at me through the window, the few times I walked by.” I stare out the window, watching the streets outside.
He’s near—behind me. I sense him like a boiler of hot water standing close to me, and I almost don’t move for fear of being scorched.
“Are we going to talk about it?” he whispers, in my ear, slipping his hand around my waist.
“I don’t know.”
I turn and meet his gaze.
“Are you going to marry her?”
He looks down at me with the barest shadow of surprise in his expression over my question. “I’m 32 years old. I want a family of my own.” He narrows his eyes, tilting his head—rubbing my lips with his thumb.
“You do?”
He nods. “Never had a family. Not a traditional one. Just because I didn’t have a father doesn’t mean I don’t want to be one. I do.”
“With her? What if she’s not the one?”
“In marrying her, I’d be committing to her being the one even if it’s not a love match—and she would do the same with me. Isn’t that the point of getting the government involved?”
“What if you love someone else, and someone else loves you? What if you want to take someone else to bed, and she wants to take you?”
He’s silent.
His thumb on my mouth. Rubbing side to side.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“You seemed upset. I didn’t want you to be alone tonight.” He drops his hands and plunges them deep into his pockets as he looks at me, his voice becoming lower and deeper. “And I didn’t want to be without you tonight.”
I glance away, then back at him. “Thank you for believing in me,” I whisper.
“Thank you for bringing something to the table that’s worth pursuing,” he counters, his gaze direct. “I gave you the check because I want us to do business together. Don’t think for a moment I don’t.”
“That kiss was business too?”
He smirks. “No. That was for me.”
Squirming under my skin from the heat sizzling in the space between our bodies, I run my hands down my dress. “I won’t lie and say I haven’t thought about you and I. But it’s complicated. You’re in a relationship and we’re starting a business partnership. I’m not the kind of girl that goes stealing men from other girls.”