Ending up standing in the middle of the sidewalk halfway to the day care, I suddenly don’t know what to do with the rest of my day.
For some reason I find myself traveling the exact same path I came from. I push open the gym doors, greet the receptionist, and am aware of my heart starting to flip-flop in my chest as I slip inside. I pass the treadmills, bicycles, the weight section, heading toward the mats at the end and the boxing bags. I scan the area where I’d find him. There are several guys at the bags now. None of them are as big, or mysterious. Or hot.
He’s gone from my life.
Maybe he doesn’t want to see me ever again. I’m a Dumas, after all.
He’s probably training somewhere with Oz.
I wait a couple minutes more before realizing I’m just acting stupid, holding out for him like this when he’s clearly not showing.
I stride outside, then stare at the buildings across the street. The heat has been painful these past few days, but there’s a breeze today, a partly cloudy sky.
Not ready to go back to the hotel yet, I wander to the park until I see a big shady patch of grass under one tree. In every park we go to, I find the perfect tree and this becomes my and Racer’s perfect spot. I head there with my book and Racer’s snacks and spread out my blanket, sit down, and pick up where I last stopped reading.
“Hey.”
I hear his voice clearly, exquisitely clearly, and raise my gaze up dark torn jeans and a gray T-shirt straining at the shoulders with the lean muscles beneath.
Our eyes connect and my brain flashes to him holding me. Am I hurting you . . ?
His tattoo rippling . . .
His eyes flashing with passion . . .
He shoves his hands into his pockets and just looks at me. And those eyes are looking at me with caution and wariness now.
Maverick is gauging me.
“How long do you have until you need to get back?” he asks, scanning my face as if for the answer.
I don’t even know if my voice will work when I open my mouth. “A few hours. Mom and Dad took Racer to the zoo.”
He unwinds and drops down beside me, lies on his back, and then stares at the tree branches and part of the sky. “I’ve been hitting a park every day. Didn’t know which one I’d find you in.”
“You have?”
He’s staring at the sky, jaw tight. “Yeah. I didn’t want to ask Tate.”
“He wouldn’t have told you if you’d asked. And I might have been hiding as I . . . processed.”
“Processed what?”
I set my book aside, my eyes gobbling him up like breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Then I glance at the blanket. “How intense it was.”
He shuts his eyes, exhaling and clenching his fingers.
“Do you want my number?”
He sits up and props his elbows on his knees. He nods. “I don’t have my phone on me.”
I search Racer’s bag for one of my lipsticks and then I look at Maverick for permission.
He looks back at me, watching as I curl my hand around his wrist. It’s thick and strong. I press the tip of the lipstick to his arm and write my number down. In coral lipstick, on his forearm. And it’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever done.
He watches me tuck the lipstick back into the bag, then remains without touching me for a moment.
He stares down at his arm. Then he turns his face away, exhales, and turns back to me. “Reese,” he whispers mournfully. “I lost control that night.” He looks at my mouth, as if he wants it. And I want him to take it.
I shouldn’t want him to but I do.
“I liked it,” I say. And I liked sleeping in your arms, if only for a second.
I hold my breath, realizing what I just admitted—no, Reese, take it back!—and I don’t move when he reaches out.
“Me too,” he says.
And god, I want Maverick’s lips again.
Hot and strong, waking me up from whatever sleep spell I’ve been in.
It won’t go anywhere, Reese!
He slips his hand under my hair and his fingertips caress my scalp. “You totally bailed on me.”
“You knew I had to leave.”
“Yeah, I knew, but you have a blanking effect on my head. I’m sure you know this because you’re smiling that crooked smile of yours right now.”
“Crooked?!”
He smiles a little, cups the back of my neck, and draws me closer as he lies back on the blanket.
“Maverick . . . what happened . . .” I begin.
He pulls me a little closer. I put my hands on his chest to push myself back but end up just leaving them there, feeling the flat planes of his chest underneath as he murmurs, “What happened what?”
“What?”
“Are you going to tell me how mind-blowing it was or are you going to let me kiss you?”
One more kiss . . . oh god, I’m going to hell. I’m the worst person I know. The most reckless. The most intoxicated by Maverick Cage.