A little breath puffed from her mouth as those full red lips parted slightly. She shook her head. “No.”
“Good,” I said on an exhale. Here goes nothing. I leaned in to her ear, my lips brushing the delicate skin. She shivered at my touch, and that alone was so fucking sexy. “Because I like you.”
“I know.” She glanced down. “As a friend.”
“No, I mean, I like you, like you.” I sound like a thirteen-year-old. Shit, this is not going as planned. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“C’mon,” she said, meeting my eyes again. “Wes. Don’t. I know you’re having a hard time with your family and everything, and I won’t abandon you. You don’t have to pretend you feel something for me to keep me in your life.”
I growled at her assessment, frustrated that I’d led her to believe that was true. “That’s not what this is.”
“It’s okay. I get it. You feel guilty about kissing me, but I’m fine. It happened, and I’m not your type, and that’s okay. You can keep being my coach. I’ll find someone, and—”
“I can’t be your coach anymore,” I said, holding her tighter, my voice sounding more desperate. “And I don’t want you to find someone else.” My pulse raced, but I paused, took a deep breath, and then dragged two fingers slowly over her bare shoulder.
She gripped my shoulder and looked up at me with wide eyes, her teeth sunken into that plump lower lip I remembered the taste of.
“You’re funny and caring. You’re smart and sexy. I don’t have words for how good I feel when I’m around you, Britta.” My heart was beating like I’d just finished sprinting. “So, I said it before. I like you. I like your smiles. I like your jokes. I like your kisses. I like your heart, and I—”
“But you said—”
I leaned closer to her other ear. “And I want you. I want you in every way a person can want someone. I should have told you at your parents’ place, or before you went on a date with that guy, or at the hospital when you took care of my mom, or on any of the random Tuesdays when it felt like my heart would pound out of my chest at the sight of you. It wasn’t a mistake to kiss you. I just didn’t think I deserved to feel that good. I know everything with my mom and Libby had me kind of messed up, but you’re in my head, Britta. In my heart. Hell, you’re in my damned bones.”
She touched a palm to my cheek and studied my face as the music swirled around us. Her hand slid down to rest on my chest again, and I felt the weight above my heart as her expression shifted to doubtful. “Wes, after last time . . . How do I know you won’t regret saying this tomorrow?”
“I’ve been holding this in for so long.” I hated myself for hurting her, and I pulled her to me, needing to feel her and hoping she felt the truth in my touch. “I shouldn’t think about you as much as I do or count down the hours until I see you next. I shouldn’t want to kiss you again more than taking my next breath, but I do.”
She searched my face, but her palm didn’t leave my chest. “Wes . . .”
“I don’t regret saying it. I never will, but tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” I rasped. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance after pushing you away. I let other stuff get in my head, stuff that isn’t as important as you. If it’s too late, though, just tell me. It’s what I deserve to hear, but, Britta, you’re the one for me. I don’t want you to be my client. I want you to be my everything, because it feels like you already are.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” I angled her face to mine, our breaths mingling, bodies tensed. The dance floor shifted as a recent pop song played, but I could only focus on my heart pounding. “It’s you. It’s been you since that first message, and it will be you until long after the last one.”
My lips brushed hers in a soft, slow sweep, and all the disparate parts of me—the hurt, the past, the guilt, the longing—all seemed to snap into place.
47
WES PRESSED ME to the wall of his living room after we stumbled through the door, his hands tangling in my hair and strong arms caging me, his body hard everywhere.
I pulled back to take a breath, watching him do the same. “God, Wes.”
His finger slid along my collarbone, sending jolts of anticipation through me as he slowed his pace. He drew in a ragged breath. “Your skin is so soft.” He dropped his lips to my shoulder, then kissed the path he’d traced moments before.
My breath stuttered, and I had to remind myself to inhale again.
“So sweet,” he murmured against my throat before trailing his lips up my neck. His fingers stretched at my back and pulled me to him, my body pliant and ready. His hand, always so warm, trailed lower until it rested on my ass, gripping and massaging through layers of fabric.
“Wes.” My voice was somewhere between a whimper and a gasp as my body flushed. His hands were everywhere, and his lips and tongue devoured my throat, lightly nipping and stroking in equal measure. I gripped his shoulders, the rigid line of his erection pushing against my stomach. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been touched like this in such a frenzied, wanting way that still felt like us, like love.
Every hard, hot sign pointed to the fact that I turned him on. I couldn’t think about anything else when his mouth was on mine, our tongues dancing together. I’d never seen him out of control, and it was hot knowing I did that to him, that I could drive him this wild.
He trailed his lips across my chest, dropping sweet kisses along the skin between the tops of my breasts. “I’ve dreamed about kissing you here.” His thumb ghosted over my nipple, and I released a raspy breath.
He pulled back and looked into my eyes, his palm cupping my jaw. His eyes were dark with arousal. It was Wes. Wes who pushed me to do one more mile, who cooked Thai food with me, who taught my nephew how to throw a spiral. Wes who had put so much into FitMi to make it a good company that helped people be happy. I had to tell him.
I placed my palm over his. “Wes, wait.”
He stilled immediately, confusion and concern painting his features.
Deep breath. Just say it fast. “I haven’t told you, but I work for a magazine and I’m writing about FitMi. I need you to know before we . . .”
“I had no idea that’s what you did, that you were writing.” His eyes widened, but he didn’t budge from my side. “You’re the journalist?”
“Well, I’m trying to be. This is my first break, but I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. It’s . . .” I trailed off but examined his features while he processed my admission.
“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I mean, I’m surprised, obviously, but you’re getting to write just like you always wanted.” I hadn’t expected the smile, or for his voice to sound proud. If anything, he’d pressed closer. “Britta, that’s amazing.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m actually excited it’s you writing about the company. You get what we’re trying to do. You get me, and you’re doing what you always wanted.” His thumb grazed my cheek, but his expression shifted from concerned to contemplative. “There’s something I need to tell you, too.”
“That you own FitMi?” I rested my palm on his chest, still amazed I could do that, to touch him after so long. I registered his shock as he stiffened, eyes going wide. “I figured it out when your mom called you Chris at the hospital. Your real name is listed as one of the company’s founders.”
“You should be an investigative journalist.” His eyes fell closed, and he touched his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I missed coaching after having stepped away from it, so I took on a client.” He met my eyes. “I planned to find my mojo and go back to running the business, but then I found you. I should have told you sooner; I just didn’t want it to change how you acted around me.”
Wes dropped a kiss on the tip of my nose before meeting my eyes again. “I am sorry I lied. I should have been up-front with you, and I don’t want us to start anything like that. I never want you to doubt what I tell you.”