Leo Maddox (12 page)

“I don't know what the hell I'm doing,” I answered Maggie honestly. “You should have seen the way Clara ran away from me on the subway today...like I butchered her dog. Dammit. There's such a fine line between love and hate. Do you think it’s possible to fall for someone after you've spent a lifetime hating them?”

It took Maggie a moment but then she responded. “I'm not sure if it's because you're drunk or what, but what kind of question is that? If you love someone, you just love them. Flaws and all. You can't hate someone and love them at the same time—it doesn't work that way. Love is all or nothing. Sometimes your own issues get in the way, but once you strip away all the noise, you find that there is just love underneath.”

Wow.

“Who knew you were so insightful?” I told her, half-joking but mostly serious. “So what you're saying is...if Clara likes me, then it's not possible for her to genuinely hate me at the same time? It's an either/or kind of thing?”

My whole life I’d assumed Clara hated me. I’d spent a lifetime saying lots of stupid shit I didn’t mean to the girl. Why wouldn’t she hate me? I was mean because I was scared. I was scared of myself and those feelings that had hit my fragile six-year-old heart that night in that library. I pushed her away because I never wanted her to hurt me the way my mother had hurt me. I pushed and pushed, but the simple truth was—Clara was and would always be
it
for me. And if there was even a smidgeon of a chance that hate wasn’t the only thing in her heart, then I needed to see her.

Now.

“I have to go,” I shouted into the phone. “There's somewhere I need to be.
Now go tell Robby to get off your deck. Please. I'll see you tomorrow and we can deal with him together. Okay?”

“Okay. Always, Leo.”

“Always,” I answered. Then I hung up and whistled as loud and as hard as I could for an approaching taxi.

CHAPTER 11:

T
his was it. Do or die.

When I fell off that balcony two and a half years ago, deciding after that night that I needed to get my life in order, it was all in preparation for this moment. And when I jumped in front of Clara’s moving golf cart that too was for this moment.

Showered, freshly clothed, with a couple hours of time to let the alcohol begin to leave my system, I sat in the backseat of my car, my driver eyeing me suspiciously from the front seat, outside Stephany’s apartment in Brooklyn. It was late. Very late. It had taken me way too long, metaphorically and physically speaking, to get myself over here. I was debating on whether I should speak with Clara now or wait until the morning.

Fuck it, I decided, jumping out of my car. Enough bullshitting around. I needed to see her
now
. It couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t care if I woke her up and the whole damn neighborhood. The only thing on my mind was speaking with her. If she was feeling any of the things I was feeling then she shouldn’t have run away from me earlier. I know Clara has a thing about bolting when the shit hit the fan, but I wanted to be her one exception. I wanted her to run to me, not away from me, when things got hard.

Hurrying across the street and up the steps to Stephany’s place, my heart pounded against my ribs so hard that I could barely see straight. Did Clara even feel a fraction of what I was feeling? Not knowing was the hardest part. At the stadium earlier, for the smallest moment—it had felt real. When we kissed the night before—it had felt real. And on the subway, when we both remembered the same memory of the clover—it had felt real. And as I paused, my hand ready to knock on Stephany’s door, my whole being ready to put it all on the line—it felt real.

And then suddenly, like the answer to all my frantic stressing, my phone began to buzz in my pocket. Who could be calling at this hour? It was past two in the morning. Only one person could possibly be calling. I was too damn afraid to even take my phone out of my pocket to check to make sure it was her. The buzzing stopped and then immediately started again. And then…the door to Stephany’s place swung wide open.

There she was.

Holy hell, Clara. She was insanely gorgeous.

The first thing I noticed were her tits. Sweet Jesus. All she wore was a tank-top without a bra and I was a guy so it was impossible for my eyes
not
to go straight to her chest. And even though it was a hot evening, her nipples were tight and straining against the thin fabric. Shit. My eyes wandered further over her perfect little body and…double shit. She didn’t have pants on either, only a pair of black panties. Was this how she normally dressed for bed? I hoped so. Was this how she normally answered doors in the middle of the night in Brooklyn? I hoped not.

I was about to scold her for being so naive and stupid. We weren’t in Blue Creek. She couldn’t just answer the door so scantily clad! What if I were some axe-murder rapist whom had just shown up on her door step?

But as my mouth opened to tell her exactly what I thought of her body teasing the whole neighborhood, my eyes came to meet hers. Immediately I shut my damn mouth. Because there wasn’t a single ounce of anger staring back at me. There was something else there. Lust. Pure, hot, rip-my-clothes-off-and-fuck-me-twenty-ways-to-Sunday lust. And it was all being directed at me.

Neither of us said a word, but the tension between us was thick with feelings, emotions, and a whole lot of want. Letting out a long, slow exhale, I rubbed one hand over the back of my neck. I did this as a way to distract myself from the beautiful girl standing in front of me. My entire body wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her into morning, but I was trying my damnedest to be the gentleman I really wasn’t.

And then it happened, Clara flinched in my direction. And there went my control. Without another second of hesitation, my hands caught her neck and drew her in close to me. We came together in a kiss to end all kisses. It was wild. It was desperate. It was everything to me.

To hell with everything else. I pressed my body flush with hers, backed her against the door frame, and pinned her in place with my hips. She gasped when she felt my erection pressing into her.

Yes, I was fucking turned on.

Yes, I was hard enough to do damage.

Yes, I needed her to know exactly the effect she had over my body.

“Don't ever run away from me like that again,” I whispered as I kissed a trail down her neck. “You can talk to me. You can
always
talk to me, okay? It's not like I'm going to bite.” And then, much to my own surprise, I dragged my teeth along her sweet skin and gently nipped her.

She squealed and gave my chest a playful smack. “You ass!”

“Whatever. You like it.”

I still had her pinned in place, my hips square with hers. What surprised me most was how tenderly Clara returned all my touches. And then at one point, she even rubbed her hands up and over my shoulders, pausing at my neck. She studied me for a long moment, and then the next thing I knew, her hands were yanking me in for another kiss.

I abruptly pulled back, remembering that my driver could see me from where he was parked. “Inside?” I asked.

She nodded, so I slid my hands down and grabbed her scantily covered ass. I lifted Clara up and into my arms effortlessly. Her legs were strong as she wrapped them around my waist. Carrying her through the doorway, I found the inside of Stephany's apartment to be pitch black. I walked into the unknown as Clara peppered my face and neck with little, light kisses.

My heart expanded and nearly exploded. Making-out was one thing. But these little kisses were something else entirely. They were gentle and soft. It occurred to me then that she was loving on me, caring on me—something I’m not sure I’d ever experienced before.

“Shit,” I yelped as my leg banged into something. It was too dark to see and I’d been walking blindly, too focused on the girl in my arms and her sweet way of kissing me.

Clara laughed softly. “Couch,” she whispered against my ear.

As if by magic, I bumped into the couch next. Thank God. I lowered Clara down onto cushions I could barely see and then covered her body with my own. I adored the feel of Clara underneath mine. Her chest pressed into my chest. Her heartbeat raced in tune with my own. Her legs locked tightly back around my waist. And she shifted around until her sweet spot lined up with my own.

Oh, God.

In a heartbeat, I shifted all my weight off her and jumped back to sit on the other end of the couch as if I’d just touched fire. I couldn’t do this. My inhibitions were a little off because I still had a fair amount of alcohol in my system. It was too damn dark and Clara was too damn irresistible. No matter what, I couldn’t fuck her tonight. Not tonight. Not like this.

No.

Matter.

What.

“What are you doing?” she asked, pushing up on her elbows to glare from the other side of the couch. Her words had a warning laced through them. “Get back over here, please,” she demanded.

“I can't.”

“Then what do you even want?” she groaned, but I didn’t miss the small amount of hurt in her voice. “You're confusing the hell out of me, Leo.”

“I just want you,” I whispered. I didn’t want her to think I was rejecting her by not continuing whatever was about to happen between us. The opposite, actually. “I want you more than my next breath. Believe me, Clara. It would be very easy to lay you back down, ease myself inside you, and fuck you senseless. But I can't just screw you on some random couch where anyone could walk in on us. And I can't screw you while the room is spinning and I'm slightly shitfaced. I don't even want to screw you. I want to make love to you. The slow, sweet, all night long kind of love.” I sighed and buried my face in my hands for a moment. “I can't believe I just said that out loud, but...” I paused and stared back at her, “it's true.”

She stared at me blankly. I wondered which of my words had shocked her the most.

“Say something, Clara,” I urged. The silence was killing me.

“Get back over here, please,” she repeated.

I groaned. “I just told you why I can't.”

“Yeah, I know. I'm not asking you to screw me. I've spent a lifetime
not
touching or holding you...and I really want to now. Besides, it's kind of cold over here without you.”

Oh. Well, okay then.

I moved back to where I belonged. Our legs tangled together as we adjusted and got comfy. I ended up on my side with her nuzzled in close to my body. She rested her head in the nook of my arm. It was getting even later and we were both tired.

I realized then that we were…cuddling. Like, you know, that thing that real, live couples do. I couldn’t believe it. Clara was kissing me and being gentle with me. ‘Loving on me,’ if you will. This was real. This was everything I’d ever wanted from her. I didn’t need to have sex with her to be close to her. I only needed to hold her.

But that didn’t mean I still wasn’t toying with temptation. As we held onto each other and remained close, I refrained from kissing her for the time being. I ran my mouth along her jaw and tenderly traced my fingers over her stomach, just under her shirt, but I didn’t kiss her sweet, tempting lips anymore.

“Can I stay the night?” I whispered.

“I assumed you were going to,” she answered.

“Good.”

I sat up briefly, yanking off my shirt. She’d mentioned she was cold and that simply wouldn’t do. I used my shirt to cover as much of her legs as I possibly could. “Are you still cold?” I asked as I lay back down beside her.

She laughed into my chest, inhaling against me. “I'll manage, thanks.”

My arms squeezed her tighter. And then, much to my increasing surprise, Clara inhaled against me again. What?

“I might be a little drunk and imagining things, but are you
sniffing
me?” I asked her, needing to know for certain.

“Nope.”

“It kind of feels like you are.”

“Nope.” And then playfully she inhaled against my chest for the third time.

That’s it. I’d entered the fucking twilight zone. Clara was sniffing me and cuddling with me. Yeah, I was pretty sure any moment I would wake up from this wonderful dream and find myself all alone in a sterile, cold hospital bed with head trauma.

“You know what's weird?” Clara said a few minutes later as we were both starting to drift off to sleep. I'd been trying my hardest to stay awake, but the late hour had finally caught up with me. “I can never tell when you're drunk and when you aren't.”

Wow. That hit me hard and woke me back up. I faked being drunk all the damn time and no one—I mean,
no one
—had ever noticed. Or…
bothered
to notice.

“That's because I'm usually faking it,” I whispered honestly.

One of her fingers was lazily tracing along the bare-naked skin of my chest. It felt nice. Way too nice. “What's that supposed to mean?” she asked.

“It means that every time you see me with one of those Gibson Martinis—the kind with the onion that I'm always drinking—it's really just water. Doug at the club is cool. He hooks me up.”