First Love: A Superbundle Boxed Set of Seven New Adult Romances (153 page)

“Why don’t I pour while you check that.” He breezes past me without waiting for an answer, radiating an aura of confidence and sexuality.

I have no idea where the urge comes from, but I go with it. My fingers snake out, gripping his arm so suddenly he turns to me, looking a bit startled and a lot intrigued. The roses remain clutched tightly in one hand as I throw my arms around his neck, offering my lips to his.

At first, his entire body fights back, rigid and unyielding, but then we meld together, almost inseparable. The firmness of his body contrasts with the softness of his mouth, and a shiver runs through me as his tongue glides lightly over my lower lip. My breath comes out in a heavy sigh as my hips angle toward him, begging for him to understand the things I have no words for but that my body knows. Arion lightly grazes my lip with his teeth just before his mouth captures mine, sweeping away all my reservations with every caress of his tongue. Our
 
kiss is charged with the electricity of a million missed moments and with the promise of a thousand kisses to come, all within the space of a single heartbeat. I will never, ever get enough of him.
 

His fingers massage up my back from my waist, igniting a trail of desire before burying themselves in my hair. His thumb firmly strokes my jaw, deepening our kiss while anchoring me to him. Nothing has ever felt more right than his touch, and this time I don’t freak and I don’t flinch. I feel like I’m offering him something, rather than having something taken beyond my control. And I want to offer him everything of myself, as soon as I find it. His other hand slips around my ass, lifting me until my legs are wrapped around him. I gasp as he places me on the counter, and the sudden absence of him against me is almost painful.

An invisible but almost tangible thread of blinding tension keeps our gazes sewn together as he backs toward the oven. I see my own hunger reflected in his eyes, and I don’t mean for the enchiladas. They can burn, just like I am.
 

“Do these need to come out?”

He means the enchiladas, which do, but I’m thinking about his hips, tightly hugged by his jeans, and they also do. I shake my head and reach for him, wanting to pull him back to me. I need him, and the few feet between us are miles too far. “Just turn the oven off, they’ll be fine.”

He pokes a button, the oven beeps, and then I’m moaning as his hands find their way back to my waist, playing with the hem of my shirt as his lips press small burning kisses along my jaw, each one another step toward my undoing. “I don’t know how much I can take, Angel. I want to spread you right here on this fucking counter.”

His words take me back to a time when every night was spent with us talking dirty, wishing there weren’t two thousand miles between us. Even though only an irritating layer of denim rests between us now, a bigger distance can still tear us apart: my past.
 

Most people can’t understand how close two people can become just by talking, flirting, and wishing.
 
But we were, and now, I know he’ll never understand how we could be so close and yet I could just leave without a word, as if he didn’t matter.
 

I want to do this. I want to tell him to take me, that I’m his. Maybe if I can, he’ll be able to feel the truth from me, even as I can’t find the words. He mistakes my silence and pulls away. As much as I crave his touch, I know that the panic is waiting just beneath the surface to consume me, so this time I let him go. Better to let him pull away on his own accord than for me to stop it again. His eyes close, and he shudders.
 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he whispers, gripping the counter beside me as if he is trying to find a way to permanently affix his hands to prevent them from returning to my flesh. “I just told you that I could wait and be your friend, and then I go and pull shit like this.”

The level of disgust in his eyes can’t compare to my own. This, too, is my fault. How many times will I hurt him before he tosses me aside? Ignoring the throbbing between my legs, I reach over and lightly trace the back of his hand. “I’m pretty sure I started it.”

“Can I ask you a question?”
 

His tone is innocent enough, though still a bit ragged so I know his blood is still flowing just as hot as my own, but his eyes are cautious. This won’t be a light question, and part of me wants to say no. I owe him at least some answers, so I nod. Subconsciously, I free my hair from behind my ears in case I need a virtual curtain to hide behind.
 

“You seemed sort of scared when I touched you before but not this time. Does that mean you’re starting to at least trust me?”
 

“It isn’t about trust. It’s about habit. I want to trust you, and part of me does. The other part of me isn’t ready to trust anyone yet, but it isn’t because I don’t want to. I wasn’t as scared that you were trying to hurt me, because I initiated the touch. I think.”

Acceptance rolls across his shoulders, and he flips his hand over, taking mine in his. He leans forward, and his breath is hot on my ear. How something so warm can give me such tiny shivers, I don’t think I’ll ever understand. “So what you’re really saying is that I just need to do my best to tempt you to touch me without touching you?”

His whisper is reawakening every sensation I’ve been trying to ignore. “Maybe,” I squeak.

He leans back, grinning. “Then I solemnly forbid you to touch me. No tangling those hot little legs of yours around me or running your fingers through my hair. And you absolutely may not kiss me.”

Bastard! All I’m thinking about is doing exactly what he just told me not to do, and he damn well knows it. “Fine by me.” I hop down off the counter and open the oven. “Crap!”

“What?”

“I thought you turned the oven off?” I glance up at the digital display and see that he didn’t. Instead, he raised the heat.

“Well in all fairness, I was a bit distracted.”

My perfect enchiladas look more like bricks from a seldom-cleaned fireplace. I could almost cry. Nothing is going according to plan, and we only have this one night together before he’s taking me to the farm. So much for impressing him with my cooking.

“Wow, baby. I’m impressed. We burned each other up so much we even burnt dinner. Just imagine the fire we’ll start when I finally get you in my bed.”

I’m definitely feeling the fire. From the oven’s heat, of course. It couldn’t possibly be from his ridiculously sexy and sweet comment. Inwardly I groan. “So, other thoughts on dinner?”

“A girl cooked for me for the first time ever. I don’t know about you, but I’m eating it.” His eyes drift toward my waist just long enough to make me blush.

Arion grabs two plates, and I scoop out the least-burnt enchiladas and carry them to the table while he fills two glasses with wine. The first bite is so awful I want to spit it out, but Arion is faithfully chewing, his face thoughtful. I gulp my wine, trying to wash away the taste. I have no clue what he’s doing or what game he’s trying to play, but Arion takes another bite and then beams.

“I can honestly say that this is the best meal ever cooked in my apartment.”

We both know it’s the only meal ever cooked in his apartment, and at this rate, it will be the last. I can’t take it anymore. He’s making fun of me. But even worse is that he’s ingesting something I wouldn’t even feed to a dog. The look of shock as I snatch his plate away is priceless, but his hand is just as fast as mine when it closes around my wrist. I open my fingers, letting my arm go limp. Like a mother waiting up for her child to come home, my terror has been on standby, waiting to peek through the curtains or race through the front door to interrupt an otherwise perfect moment if needed.

How Arion manages to catch the plate before it falls, I have no idea, but then, I don’t know how he manages half of what he does. “And just where do you think you’re going with my dinner?” He pushes the plate farther away on the table then pulls me into his lap. “Breathe, Angel.”

Yes, breathe, Tess. Breathe.
“I can’t let you eat that, it’s awful!” My words shiver with the effort of not slipping into insanity as every nerve sensor in my body focuses on his hand around my wrist. I swallow hard and tug softly.

His hand loosens and falls away. “I tell you what:
 
if you promise to cook for me again at some point in the future, I will let you throw it away.”

My breathing returns to a semi-normal level, and the panic recedes to lay in wait once more. “Deal,” I pop up, grab the plate, and this time he lets me go.

He follows me into the kitchen like a puppy hoping for scraps of affection and opens his freezer. “Shall we commence with dessert?” He pulls out the carton of double fudge ice cream we bought earlier.

“Might as well.” I used to think chocolate could fix everything. Now I think it can fix everything but me.
 

He points me to the right drawer, and I grab two spoons then follow him to his couch. Every time I dip my spoon into the carton, he parries with his own, guarding the ice cream like a national treasure. Soon we’re both laughing, and the burnt enchiladas are forgotten.
 

“Why don’t you find us a movie to watch?” He tosses me his remote.
 

I’m flipping through the movies available from pay-per-view when he lets out a long sigh.

“It isn’t easy having you here—so close, yet you’re still so far. I always thought if I could just find you, we could pick up where we left off.”

I’m touched by his idealism, and saddened by my own lack of it. “That isn’t how the world works, Arion. I’m not the same person anymore, no matter how I wish I was. What can I do to make this easier on you?”

“I can wait until you’re ready, just as long as you know you’re mine. I’ll wait, but I won’t wait in line. From here on out, Angel, it’s just you and me. Deal?”

Fourteen

Angel

The two choices before me stage a battle, and no matter what I say, someone is going to lose. If I say yes, agreeing that it will be just him and I as soon as I’m ready, then he will lose even if he doesn’t yet realize it. As much as I want him and want to be ready to accept everything he’s offering me, I don’t know that I’ll ever get there. It wouldn’t be fair to leave him hanging on, waiting for a moment that isn’t likely to ever come.

And if I tell him no, not only will he be furious, but I’ll probably lose him completely. I’ll go to the farm, and he’ll go back to the one-night stands Chelsea mentioned. The ache of losing him when Nick ripped me away is a wound that still hasn’t healed, so it’s better for me to go on hurting but for Arion to have a chance to move forward.

I wonder who will hate me more for what I’m about to say, Arion or myself. “I’m not making any promises. Neither of us knows what the next few months will bring.”

To Arion’s credit, his smile doesn’t falter. And he doesn’t walk out. Just when I start to wish I could take my words back, he tosses his hat back into the ring. “Victory is always sweeter when it’s harder won.”

A selfless person would insist he give up or that they weren’t worth it. If I were a selfless person, I wouldn’t have left him without an explanation.

“Action or romance?” I can’t take the tension anymore, so I attempt to seek safer ground.

“Both.” The intensity of his gaze leaves me with no illusion that he plans to fight fair. Now I know the loser will be me. Because if he moves on, it will break my heart. But if we manage to make a go of it, he’ll have gotten his way and proved me blissfully wrong. Generally, I live by the motto,
If you’re going to play, win,
but right about now, I can’t even identify the objective much less the score.

I’m saved from having to pick a movie by Arion’s phone chirping the
Jaws
theme song. “Sorry,” he mutters as he digs it from his pocket.
 

“Don’t be.
 
I don’t expect your normal life to stop just because I’m here.”

I can tell the call is something to do with the bar, because he’s suddenly all business. I’m trying to make it a point not to listen, so I study him instead. The lighthearted, almost lazy smile is gone, replaced by a thin set to his mouth. His brow furrows, and his entire posture straightens. Even though it often seems like Arion doesn’t take anything seriously except for his pursuit of me, I can tell he’s very serious about his responsibility to the bar.
 

He closes his phone and offers me an apologetic smile. “Slight problem.”

My recent life has been pebbled with more problems than flavors of coffee on a Starbucks menu. What’s one more? “Okay.”

“Vince—our cook—was just hospitalized with appendicitis. He obviously won’t be able to make it into work the next few days, and he’s one of the only other ones capable of handling the delivery truck and ordering, which has to happen tomorrow. I’d already asked Dougie, my assistant manager, to cover my shifts so I could get you situated, but he’s Vince’s son and wants to be with his dad.”

“Of course.” I nod sympathetically.

“Would you be all right with pushing back the trip out to the farm for a few days? Like up to a week, maybe? If you aren’t, I’ll take you tomorrow like we planned, but I’d like to give Dougie the week off.”

I don’t know whether to jump for joy or bemoan my luck. Obviously, I’m not happy that the poor man is sick—even I’m not that heartless—but the only real answer here is ‘yes.’ It warms my heart to see how compassionate a boss Arion is.
 
Really, that’s the only reason I’m smiling. It has nothing to do with having another week to spend with him. Nothing at all.

Fifteen

Arion

I’m a total jackwad. A fucking lowlife. Scum. And I’m on top of the world.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sorry Dougie’s old man is sick—that sucks. Dougie and I have been friends since we were kids, and Vince has watched me grow up. But if it had to happen, it couldn’t have happened at a better time.

Seriously though, what kind of asswipe is so happy his girl—or almost girl—has to stay with him a few more days when it’s because someone else is sick?