“What should we do about Hakeem?” I ask, risking a glance at him over my shoulder.
Jared stares at me for long seconds before sighing and nodding toward my car. “I’ll follow you and sleep on your couch. I’m parked over there.”
“There’s no need for you to stay,” I rush to assure him. “To sleep on my couch, I mean.”
“Banner, it’s late,” he says wearily. “I’ve been up since four this morning. He’s not coming back to my place. He’s not staying at yours if you’re there alone. This is as much of a compromise as you’re getting.”
I reluctantly nod and help him load Hakeem, who has gone quiet—asleep but breathing evenly—into the car. He’s buckled into the backseat while we ride to my house. The whole way, I recite all the reasons it’s a bad idea to have Jared in my house with Zo not there. I pep talk myself into believing that everything will be okay. That I will emerge from this night unscathed and still faithful.
But as soon as Hakeem is tucked peacefully into my guest bedroom with the door closed, and Jared and I are alone, my confidence wavers. He hangs his jacket on the back of a stool at my kitchen bar. The muscles in his arms strain against the expensive material of his shirt. He rolls the cuffs back, eyes fixed on me.
“Would you like some water before we go to bed?” I hear how that sounds. “Uh, sleep. Before we go to sleep. Me in my room, you on the couch.”
He cocks one brow and folds his arms across the width of his chest and watches me sputter.
“Orrr . . . food?” I march over to the wood panel refrigerator and pull it open, studying the contents. “Let’s see. We have some grilled chicken. Or there’s . . .”
I trail off when I feel him at my back, the heat from his body contrasting with the cool air from the fridge.
“Some cheese or . . .” I can’t think when his hands span my waist, his thumbs seeking out the tense muscles in my back. “Leftover Indian.”
I lick dry lips and try to control my breathing that’s growing more erratic with every probe of his fingers.
“Thai,” I squeak, my voice high-pitched when he lifts my hair away and kisses the curve of my neck. “Ummm . . . or Viet-Vietnamese.”
His hands slide under my shirt from behind and come around to cup my breasts, stroking the nipples barely but insistently.
“Oh, God,” I gasp and drop my head back against him. “Jared, I can’t do this. I’m not a cheat.”
“Then let him go,” he whispers in my ear and slips his fingers under the lace cups of my bra to squeeze my breasts. “He doesn’t have to be caught in the middle of this. He doesn’t have to get hurt.”
“But he will get hurt.” The thought of Zo hurt by my betrayal, by me choosing someone else, fortifies me enough to pull away from Jared’s hands. I face him, breasts still heaving. I’m aching, throbbing between my legs, and my body is a livewire, humming with the electricity of his touch. “You have to respect my relationship.”
“No, I don’t.” Jared runs an agitated hand through is hair. “It’s your relationship, so you can respect it, but I don’t. You’re not married to him.”
“That would make a difference?”
He clutches the back of his neck, head lowered and eyes narrowed, as he considers the question.
“I honestly don’t know.” He shrugs, his face as open and honest as I’ve ever seen it. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, so I can’t say for sure that a ring would stop me.”
This is worse than I thought, and I thought it was awful.
“Don’t you feel bad, though?” I ask, pressing the back of my hand to my forehead like I might have a fever.
“If you’re serious about not cheating on him, one of us has to care, and it’s not me,” he says flatly. “I’m not made that way.”
“Not made to care?”
“I’m not made to deny myself something I want.” He drops his eyes to the tight buds of my nipples still poking through the silk of my blouse. “Especially when I know it wants me back.”
“Don’t.” I cross my arms over my breasts.
“Don’t what? Tell the truth? You want me to lie to myself? I’m not made like that either.”
“You’re going to wreck my life, Jared,” I tell him, fear and longing muddled in the words, mixing inside of me.
“Only if you want me to,” he says softly. “Do you want me to?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Is that what this is about?” He flattens the fullness of his lips into a hardened ridge. “You want me to keep pressing you, keep cornering you until you give in so I’m the bad guy? The one who made you fall?”
“No,” I choke out, hating the picture he’s painting.
“You want me to relieve you of the responsibility? ’Cause I’ll do it. I don’t mind being the villain, but between you and me, we’ll know that you want it as badly as I do. I’m just the one with the balls to make it happen.”
“It’s not like that.” Tears burn my throat. “I’m confused.”
“No, you’re not.” He shakes his head decisively. “You’re not confused about the fact that you want me in a way you don’t want him. I know you, Banner. If you loved Zo, really loved him, there’s no way I could tempt you.”
God, he’s right. I hate that he’s right. I watch him in silence, sure that he’s not done.
“You’re not confused,” he continues. “You’re conflicted because you don’t want to hurt him, but you don’t want to tell him the truth. I, however, am not confused, and I’m not conflicted.”
He moves suddenly, breaching the imaginary fortress I erected to buy myself thinking room. He cups my face in his big hands, rubbing his thumbs over my cheeks.
“I know exactly what I want.” He bends and leaves featherlight kisses on my lips. “I want another chance with you, Banner. The chance that was taken from us. I want to make love to you with the lights on.”