“That’s the worst thing you could do. He’ll follow you there then others will join him, looking for something new to print in the society pages,” Zander admits, looking stricken with guilt. “It’s my fault. I used to feed them tons of shit to write about and I’ve been flying under the radar for a couple of years. They want something to say about the Governor’s troublesome black sheep.”
“Well, maybe it’s 'cause you’re a handsome black sheep,” I offer, fishing for a smile. A small grin surfaces on Zander’s face and I feel the distinct tug of desire and victory deep in my core.
“Maybe.”
We both take a step towards each other. The air in the room thickens and seems to pulse, taking on a life of its own.
“I shouldn’t stay here. I—we shouldn’t…” I trail off, too much of a coward to actually say what I’m thinking.
“I promise to be the perfect gentlemen, Sadie.”
“It’s not you that I’m worried about, Zander.” I say the words knowing that I’m still considering his offer, even though it’s more like a demand. He has insisted that I stay with him and thinking of the possibility that maybe he feels as protective of me as I feel of him has a little trill of giddiness and a bolt of bravery streaking right through my heart. It’s a spark, an ember that promises to grow to a flame that could somehow burn hot enough and bright enough to incinerate whatever darkness lingers inside of me.
I study his face, hoping that I’m not fooling myself. I search for the glint of something that will tell me I can confess the darkest parts of my soul to him and somehow he’ll bring light to them just by his willingness to face what I believe to be my ugliest parts. My negativity. My sharp tongue. The melancholy that I’d never outwardly admit to holding on to. The self-criticism that goes well beyond the realm of what’s considered a healthy dose. My doubt. The fear that spirals a little more every day, pulling me further into my own hell, that hell born of the worry that I could let go of Jake if Zander where my truth. My promise. Alexander McBride is both my fallen angel delivering me to hell’s gate and the blinding light that serves as my guide, my deliverance to the hereafter.
“Can I tell you something?” I whisper, taking a tentative step to him.
Zander nods his response, standing in place to allow me to come to him. His blue eyes watch me closely with that look of adoration that seems to work wonders on me.
“You scare me,” I say, taking the last step, completely closing the distance between us. “You scare me so much.” I lift my hand and press my palm to his chest, the subtle thump of his heart the only thing I can hear.
“You scare me too,” he confesses.
My lips part, my heart speeds, and what little resistance I’ve kept alive by guilting myself to death crumbles beneath Zander’s powerful presence.
He brings his arms around me and I work hard to bolster whatever courage I may have somewhere inside me. One of his hands goes to my lower back and begins drifting up and down while the other goes to the nape of my neck in search of that lock of hair he twirled before. He’s doing this for me. I know he’s doing it because he thinks that it’s what I want but he couldn’t be more wrong if he tried. I don’t want him to try filling Jake’s shoes. I want Zander to claim his own place and fill his own shoes.
“Zander…” I breathe into the hollow at his collar bone and he immediately moves back from me to read my face. “Not like that.”
His eyes immediately morph into something all his own. His gaze turns fierce and determined, driven and wanton. He doesn’t say anything, just regards me carefully, skillfully interpreting my expression, the look in my eyes.
“Touch me like Alexander McBride wants to touch me,” I encourage him. “I want you. Just you.”
Fire burns in his eyes and he brings me crashing hard against his chest. “Fuck, Sadie,” he groans. His lips press to my hairline. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold on tight. One hand tangles in my hair while his other hand cups me dangerously close to my ass.
His hands glide over my backside and come to a stop just beneath my ass. He tightens his grip and lifts me to him. I wrap my legs around his middle obediently, my body seemingly resonating the passionate demands of his own. My flip flops fall to the floor. He holds me, cradling me to him like something fragile and important, something of antiquity. I guess in many ways I am those things.
Zander plants one knee into the mattress and carefully lays me out on his bed. My legs stay wrapped around him at the waist, the thin fabric of my panties the only thing keeping my arousal covered. My dress is bunched, barely hiding me from him. His face hovers just above mine, wayward locks of cinnamon falling around his eyes, framing the glittering pools of sapphire.