He nods, and follows me through the apartment and down the hallway to my bedroom. I shut the door softly behind us, then round on him.
“What the hell?” I say, my voice sounding more tired than pissed off. “What happened? One day we’re having sex that literally blows my mind, and the next you won’t even talk about it?”
He takes a deep breath. “I had to figure some things out.”
“Figure what out? What is it that we’re even doing here?”
“I wanted to know more about you.”
“And you couldn’t take me on a fucking date and ask me then?”
“Listen.” He steps forward and takes my hand in his. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
The tension stretches thin between us and my stomach plummets into my shoes. What is he about to admit to me? That he’s married? That he’s found a girlfriend?
“I want to be with you.”
I let out a laugh in spite of myself. “What?”
“I want to be with you, Quinn.”
“I wanted to be with you for the past three weeks. What about then?” I’m half giddy, half hurt.
“I don’t ever date women like you.”
“I gather that.”
“I never take women out on more than three dates.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s oddly specific. And bizarre.”
“I know it is.”
“So you didn’t want to…waste the dates with me? That’s why we’ve been sending messages by carrier pigeon?”
“That’s what happened.”
All of a sudden, it hits me: the look in his eyes, the way he’s standing, shoulders curved toward me, the nervousness on his face. He’s admitting to me the ridiculous fucking reason why we haven’t been spending every night together for the past three weeks.
He’s vulnerable.
It sounds absurd, it sounds idiotic, but when I realize how he’s putting his real reputation as a confident playboy on the line to explain himself to me, my heart bursts.
He would never show this side of himself to someone he didn’t trust.
I knew it. I knew it was more than sex.
Suddenly I’m grinning like an idiot, and all the weirdness of the past three weeks is forgiven.
“Are you done?” I say, unable to remove the smile from my face.
“Done with what?” he starts to smile, but doesn’t seem to want to risk giving himself away unless I’m really done being angry.
“Done with your stupid rules?”
“Yes,” he nods, and I see it in his eyes—he’s telling me the truth. He had to work things out. This was his way of giving us the chance to get to know each other, without the incredible distraction of wanting to fuck each other’s brains out. I just couldn’t see it until right now.
“Thank God that’s over,” I cry, and then I’m clinging to him in his arms, our bodies pressed together, and his mouth is on mine, hot and needy and dominating, and everything is right with the world.
Chapter 24
Christian
Once I see that she’s forgiven me for how fucking weird I’ve been acting, something inside me breaks loose. It’s simultaneously a feeling of freedom, of seeing the light as you emerge from a dark room; it’s like a ship gliding into its place at the dock, finally secure again after being tossed around on the ocean.
I just couldn’t bring her back to that place.
I couldn’t do it.
As much as it terrifies me, the things she says, the memories she brushes up against when she speaks to me, I can’t fake it like that. Not with her. Not any longer. That’s off the table.
The more I learn about her, the more I see how strong she is. How fierce. How even in the face of uncertainty, she didn’t lose her cool.
Not that I mind when she does, especially in bed.
I wish it hadn’t taken so long for me to struggle with my goddamn choices.
After I saw Jax and Cate at the Swan, I knew that something had to change. I knew I was going to have to set aside my rules of engagement, set aside the fake penthouse, set aside all of it, and just be with her.
She’s probably right. I should have taken her on a date and asked her all the same questions, and I will. I absolutely fucking will do that. But I had to pull back a little in order to come to terms with the magnitude of what’s happening.
The magnitude of what I feel for her.
She’s hot for me, ravenous for me, all over me. She claws at my clothes, tearing a couple of buttons loose in the process, and I can’t wait another moment to see her body again. I pull her shirt roughly over her head and yank at the clasp of her bra, exposing her perfect breasts. She stifles a gasp with her hand when I lean down and take one of her nipples in my mouth, swirling my tongue around it, and then my hand is back on her neck, pulling her into me so I can taste her, show her that she’s mine.
She’s mine.
No matter what happens—no matter what kind of disaster this ends in—I’m not going to give up another second with her.