I pulled away, turning around and crossing my arms over my chest.
“So I started over,” I told him. “Jack and I moved to New Orleans, went to college, and let the past go.”
I turned and locked eyes with him. The room looked so small with him in it, and I realized that he was the first person, other than my brother, who’d been in my apartment. Droplets of rain spilled down his temple and neck, and I licked my lips, trying to keep the libido that was beginning to heat low in my stomach chained.
I cleared my throat. “But after five years, my brother still tries to hold my hand. He still worries about me. Am I happy? Do I smile enough?” I approached Tyler, dropping my arms to my sides. “He forgets that I’m a grown woman.”
I slipped my hand against his, resting it there lightly. “But you don’t,” I whispered, seeing his fist curl, holding mine inside it.
“I didn’t know,” he said softly, his breath fanning across my forehead. “I should’ve treated you —”
I cut him off, looking up. “I like how you are with me. You’re not careful with me. You see more of me than anybody else does.”
I pressed my body against his, arching up on my toes and leaning toward his lips. His breath hitched, and I slipped my hands inside his jacket again and gripped his waist.
“Don’t be careful with me, Tyler,” I whispered, catching his bottom lip, sucking it quickly and then letting it go. “Please,” I pleaded.
And he groaned, closing his eyes and diving in.
He held me to his body and captured my mouth, moving over my lips slow but hard. He tasted cool and fresh, like water, but then he pulled away and dove for my neck.
I gasped, his hot breath on my skin causing chills to spread over my body as he kissed and bit me gently.
“Don’t be careful,” I reminded him in a whimper as I reached up and circled his neck with my arms, holding him to me.
He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing him with full force on the mouth.
“Your clothes are all wet,” I rushed out between kisses, breathless. “Get them off.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, nibbling at my mouth.
“Do what?” I played, licking and biting his jaw, hearing him suck in a breath. “Fuck like animals in my bed upstairs?”
His fingers dug into the skin of my ass, and I went to town with my tongue. I attacked his neck, his jaw, and his lips, squeezing my thighs around him.
“Fuck.” He stilled, holding me tight. “Just wait. Hold on,” he gasped, dropping me back down to my feet and letting me go.
“What’s wrong?” My voice trembled. I was so fucking turned on, and he’d just stopped.
His shoulders slumped slightly, and his face was twisted as he breathed in and out. “Shit, that’s painful,” he cursed, the bulge in his pants hard and ready.
What was he waiting for?
“What’s wrong? Is it Christian?” I asked gently, feeling guilty.
He shook his head. “No,” he choked out. “He’s away for a couple of days.” He jerked his chin to the stairs. “Go get dressed.”
“Why?”
I curled my toes into the floor, my clit pounding like my heartbeat during a run. I didn’t want to leave. What the hell?
“Now,” he ordered, his voice hard and pissed off. “I’m taking you to dinner. Go get dressed.”
TEN
TYLER
I
knew her kind.
It was like looking in a mirror, and I had no doubt that everything she’d told me was true. She was too brave to lie.
But I also knew she was trying to distract me. She didn’t want to open up too much or take off the mask.
Easton Bradbury was a survivor, and she’d ride me to kingdom come if it would get me to stop asking questions.
I’d love every minute, but I didn’t like how she kept me at arm’s length.
I’d always set the boundaries, not the other way around.
She’d gone upstairs, without argument surprisingly, and came back down dressed in a pleated black miniskirt.
It was sexy but tasteful. Her top was off-white and off the shoulder, and it felt like water when I placed my hand on her back and guided her to the car, beneath an umbrella I’d found right beside her door.
Every bar in the Vieux Carre was open, and the streets were flooded with people, despite the heavy rain.
The French Quarter was the highest point in New Orleans, so it rarely flooded, not that flooding would stop the residents. The electric charge in the air only incited the already thick lust for life that flowed in their veins.
Just give them an excuse and there was a party.
Patrick dropped us off at Père Antoine on Royal Street, a block off Bourbon, and I rushed her inside, doing a piss-poor job of not ogling her beautiful legs, decorated with drops of rain, as she followed the hostess to a table and I followed behind.
I sipped my Jameson neat and watched her trail her fingers along the edge of the tablecloth in front of her, her lips moving slightly. The cloth was white with small flowers sewn into the design.
“What are you doing?” I asked.