Never Let Go (18 page)

“Yes,” I say, taking his hand. “Haven’t you ever had a female friend before? Pretend it’s a sleepover, and I’m your sister. Or your cousin.”

“A damn sexy cousin,” Spencer mutters, low enough that he probably thinks I can’t hear him. I let it slide. The remark makes me smile.

I lead him to the bedroom and point out the midline of the bed. “That’s my side,” I say. “You take the other. No crossing allowed.”

Spencer runs a hand through his hair. “I never thought I’d see the day when a girl tells me how I get to sleep in my own bed.”

“I’m glad I get the privilege,” I quip. I bend down to reach for the pillow I’d dropped when I got out of bed. I toss it to my side, then turn around. “So…”

The words die on my tongue as I’m greeted by a very shirtless Spencer standing across the room. I forget myself and just stare.

His body is all hard, lean muscle. It’s been a while since I’ve seen it. When he moves, his muscles dance under his skin like a greyhound’s. His chest, arms, and abs tighten slightly as he lobs his balled-up shirt into the corner behind me.

He notices me looking and a crooked smile appears on his face. I swallow. Suddenly, the room seems too small, the air too hot, and
he
too close.

A longing I’ve kept repressed since our midnight kiss struggles to break free. It is punctuated by my overwhelming desire to act. I want to run my hands all over his skin, feel the ripples of his abs beneath my fingers, taste the salty tang of his shoulders and chest and—

“Paige?” Spencer’s voice interrupts my thoughts. I nearly jump. “I hope you don’t mind. I always sleep shirtless.”

“Mind? Me? No. No.” I shake my head, then nod, then—confused—shake it again.

Spencer’s grin widens. When he speaks next, his voice is apologetic. “And, I always sleep on the left side of that bed. I like to be close to the window. In case someone breaks in.”

“Oh.” I swallow again. “Oh, uh, yeah. Sure. We can switch.”

After a moment, he lowers his head and focuses on me. “Paige?”

“Yes?”

“You still haven’t moved.”

I jump. All of a sudden, I’m short of breath. “Right,” I mumble, flustered. I take a wide berth around him as I make my way to the other side of the bed. I keep my eyes glued to the floor, away from his magnificent body. I don’t want to be tempted.

“Paige?”

Again, Spencer’s voice rattles me. I look across the bed at him, making a point to keep my eyes squarely on his face.

“I was kidding.”

“What?”

“About the break in. I’m not really that paranoid.”

“Oh.”

He snorts a tiny chuckle. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? You seem quite jumpy all of a sudden.”

“I’m not jumpy,” I defend.

“You are.”

You would be too if I stripped down to the waist in front of you
, I think sourly.

“Let’s just go to sleep,” I say. “It’s late, and we don’t have much time before morning.”

“Right.” Spencer crawls in under the covers. Taking his cue, I do the same.

A part of me wants to sidle up closer to him, to feel his warmth, his strength, and the security that those things promise.

Instead, I perch as close to the edge as I can without falling off.

A few anxious minutes go by. My mind is consumed by thoughts of the sexy, half-naked man lying an arm’s length away.
Why on earth did I think inviting him to bed would be a good idea?
I muse.

“You’re still awake,” Spencer whispers.

“So are you,” I shoot back.

“It’s kind of hard to relax when I’m sharing a bed with a shaking bundle of stress.”

“I’m not—”

“I can
feel
it,” Spencer says. He rolls to his side to face me. His voice is gentle. “I know you’re worried about her. Do you want to talk?”

I take a heartbeat to consider the question. Then I answer, “No.”

Spencer sighs. “You shouldn’t keep your feelings bottled up like that. It’s easier to let them out. I was there with you. I know what you saw. I know what happened. I’m speaking as a—
friend
.” He kind of chokes on the word. “I’m not going to judge you.”

“That’s not the issue, Spencer.”

He exhales. “All right. Try to get some sleep then? It’ll help you face the morning.”

I nod and close my eyes, trying to force my body to relax. I concentrate on my breathing, and let my mind retreat to that familiar sanctuary where thoughts and feelings become unimportant. I can endure anything here.

I’ve had two years of practice.

One by one, I feel my limbs relax. Fluidity is important here. Just like in the pool, where the water makes me feel light and weightless, I can float in the abyss of my mind.

It is the best way of coping that I know.

Sleep comes, and so do the dreams. I can’t remember them, but I know they’re dark and full of angst. Most have to do with Katy.

***

I wake up to the sound of my own crying. As my mind returns from the precipice of sleep, and the sensations reach my body, I find myself shaking.

I open my eyes and look at the far wall. It’s still dark. I haven’t slept for very long.

Suddenly a warm arm curls around my waist. My breath hitches. I feel the warmth of Spencer’s body as he pulls me into him. I feel his hard torso and legs tight against my back. I know I should fight it, that false feeling of intimacy that his touch brings, but I’m too exhausted for another battle.

“Shh,” Spencer murmurs into my hair. His breath is hot against my ear. “Shh. It’s going to be all right.” His hand finds mine, and his fingers curl around it. I let them. “Don’t cry. Kate’s going to get through this. I promise.” His thumb caresses the outside of my hand. “You’ll see. Tomorrow morning we’ll get up, and it’ll be a new day.”

“What if she doesn’t?” I whisper, giving voice to the terror eating me up inside.

“Don’t talk like that. Kate is a warrior. I’ve never known her to back down. She won’t now.”

I sigh sadly. I feel so guilty, taking pleasure in the feeling of being held by a man while my best friend battles for her life in a hospital bed. I feel guilty letting Spencer hold me when I promised Andrew I’d wait for him. But after the way we left things at the end of the party, who knows where he and I stand anymore?

I can’t lie to myself and say that the comfort I derive from Spencer’s touch is platonic. It’s definitely more than that.

Besides, I’m tired of fighting. God knows I’ve fought my attraction for Spencer for too long.

This is probably the closest I’ll get to acting on it.

So, I snuggle closer to him, shut my eyes, and let the comfort of his body lull me to sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

I wake up early next morning to sunshine filling the room. I feel surprisingly well-rested for having slept next to the guy I’ve tried to dislike for the longest time.

I remember the way he helped me fall asleep and smile. Then I roll over and face him.

Oh, my.

He’s flat on his back with a pillow over his eyes. The covers are drawn to his hips. His chest rises and falls with the steady rhythm of sleep.

But his bare upper body is not what draws my attention. Instead, my eyes go to the tented peak right below his waist.

I bite my lip and stare.
Wrong
!
Wrong
!
It feels all sorts of wrong, ogling him while he sleeps, but I can’t help it. A bubbly excitement
—
or is it nervousness?
—
builds inside me.

Spencer shifts slightly. I quickly close my eyes, scared that I’ve been caught. When he settles deeper into his pillow, I let out a quiet sigh of relief and open them.

I know I should get up and walk out of the room. Yet something about him lying there, so innocent, so pure, compels me to stay.

A naughty thought forms in my mind.
Just one peek
, I promise myself, as I carefully lift my foot up, and—oops!—pull the blanket down in the process.

My pulse doubles. I’m afraid the banging of my heart will wake Spencer. His cock is straining hard against the tight confines of his briefs. I can see the entire shape outlined beneath the thin, navy fabric.

A foreign, diabolical excitement builds deep inside me. I wet my lips and stare, transfixed. My hand starts to inch forward along the bed.
Looking
is not enough.

I have to know what he feels like.

Spencer’s breath hitches. I jerk my hand back and snap my head to him. I’m mortified to find his eyes open. He’s staring at me, wearing the most smoldering, knowing smile I’ve ever seen on his face.

He’s caught me
.

Shame rifles through me. I pull my eyes away from Spencer. A sudden wave of dizziness overtakes me, and I’m afraid I’m going to hurl.

Caught
.
Caught! Just like before
.

“I’m sorry,” I croak, then fly from the bed and flee all the way to the bathroom.

I slam the door and lock it. I turn the tap on, as hot as it will go. I start scrubbing my hands.
Wrong, wrong, wrong
. I feel dirty. Unclean.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

I can’t erase the image of Spencer lying on the bed. I can see the lean muscles of his torso, the small tattoo at the top of his leg. I can picture his chest, his long, muscular limbs, and the straining tent created by—

“NO!” I cry out. I turn away from the mirror, unable to face my reflection. What was I thinking, ogling him like that? And then getting
caught
and seeing his face… seeing that
knowing
smile…

My breathing is way too fast to be normal.
Unclean. Unclean. Wrong. Wrong. Bad. Bad. BAD!

I feel like Lady Macbeth. The stain of what I’ve done consumes my mind. I close my eyes and shove my hands under the running water. If I can get them clean… if I can get myself clean…

But no amount of scrubbing will let me forget. And now—Oh, God!—I’m trapped in the bathroom with Spencer outside.

The water turns too hot. I yelp and rip my hand away. I grab a towel from the side and wrap it around the burn, panting. My eyes dart from wall to wall
.

Nowhere to go. Nowhere to go.

I’m trapped. I look at the door, see the handle rattling. I realize Spencer’s been calling my name for the last minute.

I’ve blocked his voice out.

“Page? Paige!”

I don’t know what to do. There’s no escape. If I see him, I’ll die of shame.

Just like before. Just like before.

My first year at boarding school, I was caught sneaking Jeremy Walker into my room. The headmaster saw us running over the grounds in the dark. She waited until we were
in
my room,
under
my sheets, before barging in.

I see my reflection in the mirror. Suddenly, it isn’t me anymore, it’s the headmaster. She’s looking down her nose at me.

“Girls like you are a disgrace, Paige,” she reprimands, her voice echoing through the bathroom. “You should be ashamed of yourself! How
dare
you soil the grounds of our school with the manifestation of your lecherous lust? You don’t deserve the leniency I’ve shown you.”

“I’m not bad!” I scream, hoping I can believe those words.

“You
are
bad.” Her teeth snap over the words. “You are a disgrace to the school, to the institution of marriage, to everything that we stand for at Saint Mary’s—”

“SHUT UP!” I cover my ears but she won’t stop. I can’t take the memory. I make a fist and swing it at the glass.

The mirror shatters. I cry out as one piece cuts a long gnash down my arm.

“Paige!” Spencer’s voice. “What the hell was that?” He sounds enraged. “If you don’t let me in, I’m going to break this fucking door! You know I’ll do it!”

“Go away! Go away! Go away!” I scream. Tears are flowing down my face. Pain shoots up and down my arm. Blood gushes all over the floor. I don’t know what to do. Spencer’s banging makes me panic. I fall to my knees and crawl to the far corner, away from the loud noise. Tiny shards of glass jab my knees, my palms.

I see the trail of blood I’ve left on the floor.
There’s so much
. I turn my arm over and stare. Hot blood squirts out with every heartbeat.

I think I cut an artery.

The thought is distant. I should probably be worried, but that feeling doesn’t come. Instead, I feel like closing my eyes. The sound of Spencer’s voice and the banging against the door fades.

My eyes start to droop. It would be so easy to just let go, to simply stop fighting…

The last thing I see before darkness swallows me whole is the lock on the door pop inward, and the handle start to turn.

Chapter Nineteen

I open my eyes to a sterile, unfamiliar white room. The quiet hum of machinery surrounds me. It takes me an extra second to orient myself.

I’m in a hospital bed.
Duh
.

I look down at my arm. It’s been cleaned and stitched up. I wince at the length and placement of the cut. I have no doubt the doctors thought I tried killing myself. Now, I’ll have to live the rest of my life with the scar.

A plastic cup is brought to my lips. I taste water against my tongue. My throat is dry, parched, and I don’t question the reflex as I start to drink. When I finish, I turn my head to look at the nurse holding the cup—and find Spencer there instead.

Immense shame blooms in my chest at how he found me. I cannot face him now.

“Spencer,” I say, quickly turning away. “Leave me. I don’t want you to see me here.”

I can feel his eyes bore into the back of my head. I don’t need to see him to tell that he’s angry. A second cup, also filled with water, is brought in front of my face.

I bite my lips shut and shake my head.

“Drink,” Spencer commands. “You lost a fuckton of blood. Your body needs the fluid.”

I shake my head again, refusing his offer. I don’t want him to feel like he needs to take care of me. Especially not after the way he caught me. Especially not after the thoughts that corrupted my mind.