Which, of course, made the party a complete bore, because he didn’t want to be there without her.
He wandered the rooms aimlessly, chatting with some of the kids, drinking beer like it was water until the room was spinning just a little.
Which explained why when he first saw her by the big screen TV, he thought he was hallucinating. Then she walked toward him, holding a plastic cup like a good luck charm. She took a sip, then another. Then she downed the rest of the drink and finished crossing the room to him.
“Hi,” she said, then kissed him, and from the bourbon on her breath, he had a feeling she’d downed more than the one glass when she’d been searching the house for him.
“Hi, yourself.” He pushed back from her. “What happened to being discreet?”
She shrugged. “I missed you.”
“Let’s get out of the crowd.” He took her hand. “Come on. I have something for you.”
“Really?”
He led her to the guest room where Patrick had told him to throw his stuff, then shut the door. “You can sit,” he said, pointing to the bed, since the room had no chair.
She made a funny little sound, but sat awkwardly on the bed, and he started to rummage through his duffel, finally coming up with the little silver-wrapped box he’d brought for her.
“For me?” she asked, when he handed it to her.
“Open it.”
She licked her lips, then slid her finger under the tape and carefully removed the wrapping to reveal a square, white jewelry box.
“Go on,” he urged, since she’d hesitated once again.
She did, pulling off the lid and then gasping when she saw the bracelet inside. It was a cuff-style, brushed silver bracelet that was shaped into the sign of infinity, a sideways figure eight. It gleamed in the dim light, and she ran her fingertip over it as if it was the most priceless thing she’d ever seen.
“I found it at this boutique when I was out with my grandmother last weekend. I thought of you. And, you know, forever.”
He would have felt silly saying the word, except it was so damn true.
“Forever,” she whispered, then stood up and held it out for him to put on her wrist. He did, then drew his hand back, his fingertips grazing her skin until he closed his hand around hers and pulled her to him. He kissed her then, not asking, simply taking what he wanted. And unlike their first kiss in the theater, this one was wild and deep and familiar.
They’d shared many kisses since that first, and yet this one felt different. Richer. Fuller. Overflowing with promise, ripe with sensuality, laden with desire.
“Kelsey,” he murmured when they broke apart, now joined only by their hands. “I want—”
“I know. But I—”
He shut her up with a kiss, not wanting to hear why he couldn’t have her the way he wanted her. All of her.
He craved her. Needed her. Felt like he’d lose himself if he couldn’t find his soul in hers. He was swimming in poetic nonsense that would have seemed sappy and stupid at any other time or with any other girl, but with Kelsey seemed as real and true as gravity.
And since he knew he’d never convince her with words, he set out to convince her with action. He touched her. Teased her. His hands roamed over her even as his mouth tasted. Her mouth, her ear, her neck. He cupped the back of her neck, his other hand finding her breast as his lips kissed down to the tiny bit of cleavage revealed by the simple sundress she wore.
Her heart was beating fast—he could feel it against his hand, against his lips. And he was so hard, so desperate for her. He’d wanted her from the first moment he’d seen her, then more and more with each minute he spent with her. She’d captured him completely, but he knew from the way she surrendered in his arms that she felt the same way. That she was ready.
But then she pushed away, and all of his hopes shattered like so much broken glass.
“Kelsey?”
She stepped back, breathing hard. “I want to—I do. But I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
“You should,” he insisted, even though he knew he was being a selfish prick. He should be telling her it was okay, it didn’t matter. But he wanted. Oh, dear God, he wanted. “Kelsey, I love you.”
The words escaped before he could think about them, and even though they were true, he hated himself for saying them. He didn’t want to force her. Didn’t want to use bullshit emotional blackmail. And he damn sure didn’t want her to think he was saying pretty words just to get her in bed.
But that’s what she thought—he was certain of it. Because she turned away to the back wall as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
Fuck. He’d done it. He’d gone and ruined the best thing ever.
He was in the process of brutally kicking his own ass when she faced him again, a fierce determination burning in her eyes.
And when she started to unbutton her sundress, all he could see was her. All he could imagine was the feel of her skin against his.
All he could think was that she loved him, too.
But he was an idiot, of course. A goddamn fool.
Because he didn’t have the slightest clue that a night that looked like heaven was going to end up turning into hell.
10
I see him the moment I step outside the club. He’s leaning against the side of a Lincoln Navigator, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches me. His hair is windswept, the gold shining under the yellow-tinted parking area lights, and from his posture it’s obvious he’s still wound up tight, as if he’s on the verge of exploding.
As I get closer, I can see the irritation and impatience on his face as clearly as if it was stamped there. I know it’s directed at me—and that knowledge kicks off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, my reaction one of both anticipation and trepidation. Because even while I fear the explosion, I’m grateful for any reaction from him. This is the man who never looked back, after all, whereas I spent years mourning his loss.
And, while his attack on Drunk Dude may have mortified me, I can’t deny that it excited me, too.
What I’m not certain about is why exactly he’s annoyed. Is it because of my dance? Or is it because he’s getting tired of waiting in the parking lot for me?
The latter wouldn’t surprise me. The truth is, I did take my time coming out. In fact, I’d considered staying until the final girls danced, not only because I was in the mood to aggravate Wyatt, but also because I wanted that money.
Based on the chatter backstage as I was changing and packing up my stuff, I know I was in the lead by a huge margin. And everyone was speculating who would end up winning if I actually followed Wyatt out of the building. Because that’s one of the rules. The winner has to be present.
But here I am outside.
Here I am, walking away from what I’m guesstimating is at least a grand, probably a little more.