One Step Away (A Bedford Falls Novel Book 1) (29 page)

Finally, sensing that magic would not hit
twice, Cassandra twitched, lifted her palms, pressed them against
Alex’s chest, and pushed him away. The effort dislodged the hat
from her head. She kneeled down, snatched it up, and got to her
feet, wincing at him as she dragged her forearm across her
lips.

She looked deep into his eyes, shaking her
head slowly at first but quicker as a couple seconds ticked away.
Obviously, she didn’t see the same intensity she’d hoped to see
there.

Then Cassandra slapped his face. She turned,
made her way to the front door, and walked away with purpose, with
pride.

Alex just stared after her, head cocked,
confused.

Satisfied that she’d seared that bizarre
lip-lock into her mind, Marisa made her way upstairs and into an
empty guest bedroom, looking out the window at the glittering stars
against a cloudless night sky.

She hoped the darkness would clear her mind,
but she couldn’t remove the hideous spectacle with Cassandra from
the forefront of her brain. More than that, she couldn’t get over
the idea that Alex had lied to her. She understood why he tried to
kiss Cassandra – to see if he could look past his feelings for
another woman. But if he’d truly loved Marisa, he never would have
attempted to kiss Cassandra again.

It made her think back to that moment in her
bedroom earlier this week. The sexual tension clutched her even
now. Why did it have such a pull on her, especially after that
horrible display downstairs?

The wooden floorboards creaked behind her.
She turned to see the hallway light shining down on Freddy Krueger.
Far from a haunting image, she laughed at the harmless figure
staring at her. “You look as menacing as a Smurf.” She extended her
arm, palm up to encourage him to join her.

After a moment of indecision, Brad stepped
through the doorway and entered the room, footsteps padding toward
her until he captured her hand and stood behind her.

When had Brad failed to clutch her breasts
with greedy abandon? She supposed his conversational defeat
downstairs explained his uncertainty. Saying anything now would
only add insult to injury, so she just continued looking out the
window. But even with him behind her, she couldn’t banish the
thought of Alex kissing Cassandra.

And she felt betrayed. Of course, Marisa had
no claim on Alex. Still, she couldn’t remove that empty feeling.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Brad’s head slanting toward her
shoulder to see her face.

That’s when she realized that tears had
slipped between her lashes. She turned away from him, reluctant to
let another person see her in such a shattered state.

Something hit the floor, and she saw the
mask lying at her feet.

Marisa closed her eyes against the vision
that refused to release its hold on her. She hated showing weakness
at any time. But she couldn’t hide that part of herself forever.
And if she and Brad were to have a meaningful relationship built on
trust and understanding, then she needed to share this part of
herself, especially now that he curbed his natural tendencies to
grab her in a lewd way when she displayed a need to take things
slowly.

He placed two fingers under her chin, and
even with her lids shut, she could feel him looking into her eyes
with more empathy than she’d seen him display in all their time
together. Or was that merely what she was hoping to “see”?
Regardless, it was something Alex would have done.

And now, with that realization, she knew why
she had never considered Alex as a potential boyfriend: she didn’t
deserve him. He was too good for her. Too kind. Too loving. Too
perfect for her messed-up interpretation of what love should feel
like. He’d grown up watching his parents show each other love and
affection for almost three decades.

And Marisa had only her parents’ twisted
marriage to compare it to. If she gave in to Alex, he would expect
the same deep romantic bond his parents had shared, and she
wouldn’t know how to meet his expectations.

In the end, she would crush his
interpretation of romance. In doing so, she would destroy his
heart, rather than simply breaking it by refusing to consider him
as a romantic interest.

She clenched her eyes shut and drove those
thoughts from her mind, instead letting her feelings take effect.
It made that lonely feeling drift away. And without any idea about
might come next, she gave in to the anticipation.

Then he gently guided her chin toward him
and placed his lips against her cheeks, kissing her tears away.
This was exactly how she imagined that Alex would kiss her: soft
and sensuous, slow and sexy. His tenderness put her at ease,
reminding her of the poem he’d written for her.

It explained why he looked so uncertain in
the hall. He must have read her body language and noticed a
vulnerability that he hadn’t seen before. She let out a little
whimper; an audible echo of the connection she hoped would grow
stronger with time.

His lips pressed against her neck with
tremendous restraint and such delicacy that it felt like a feather
brushed against her flesh. An image of Alex entered her mind and
just like that, she forgot why sadness had gripped her with such
tenaciousness.

He placed his hands on either side of her
waist, moving in closer, and she felt his erection against her leg.
It jumpstarted her pulse, and she let out a sigh, biting her lower
lip. He slipped his left hand across her belly, fingertips tracing
up her dress until they tapped against her breast. She expected him
to grab her, to pinch her nipple between her fingers.

That didn’t happen. A fingertip slipped
under her breast, gently stroking her skin before tracing upwards,
the sensation so tantalizing that she felt a furnace burning
between her legs.

“So good,” she uttered, almost inaudibly.
“Oh, so good.” The tip of his finger rounded the areola of her
breast, causing it to harden under his touch, and teased her with
leisurely strokes. Breathing heavier now, Marisa wanted to cry out
with pleasure.

Brad had never touched her like this. Why
had he held back for so long? It reminded her of the way Alex
handled her earlier in the week – with great tenderness along with
tremendous restraint, while still evoking strong, assured
movements.

It brought other memories to her mind in
quick succession: Alex looking down at her past boyfriends with a
determined stare, expecting them to hit the road; telling her that
he wouldn’t help her at work, only to show up at her house because
he knew she needed someone to talk to.

The comfort of his presence and constant
support brought about the same mesmerizing effect that Brad’s
fingers now achieved, albeit in a totally different capacity.

Wanting to fuse those two emotions together,
Marisa imagined that she returned to that moment last Monday when
Alex had carried her into her bedroom and looked deep into her eyes
with such longing and need. But this time, he gave in to his
desires.

Now that she had given in to the fantasy,
and reality had blended with her flight of fancy, she surrendered
to the rapture devouring her body, unable to stop her thighs from
quivering with gratification. And Alex’s lips…how had she missed
their supple sensation against her shoulders? His hot breath,
delicate on her skin, gave way to the tip of his tongue, making her
wonder if it hadn’t somehow managed to replace his fingertip on her
nipple.

She felt herself growing wet.

All the while, his right hand trailed down
her right leg, squeezing it softly, then grasping tighter, before
easing up again as it curved toward the inner part of her leg. The
heat raged inside her, mere inches away from his fingers.

Alex kissed the base of her neck, his parted
lips gradually rising until they left her flesh and captivated her
ear lobe. At that moment, his hand dipped inside her thigh, found
its way under her panties, and immediately located that glorious
spot that made her ride a wave of sensuous delight until she
shuddered in climax.

Marisa had never before come so quickly, so
effortlessly. It made her want to cry out. In one slow movement, he
released her breast and settled his palm against her face, tilting
her towards him.

Their lips touched.

She faced him, eyes still shut tight in
bliss, throwing her arms around his neck, moving into him as a
finger caressed the pearl of her desire and two others slipped
inside her, gliding in and out.

Marisa felt another wonderful release,
sighing as she locked her lips around his once more. And yet, she
kept flowing to such an extent that she inherently wrapped her leg
up around his waist to clutch onto him, causing the pressure to
mount.

She shifted her mouth to his neck, moaning
as she kissed his skin, wanting to taste every bit of him until she
swallowed him whole. And still, even though his body shielded her
from anyone who might now enter this room, she didn’t care if they
saw her clinging to her lover, didn’t care how dirty the image
looked. She wouldn’t let the most erotic moment of her life pass
her by without fully experiencing every second of it.

A third orgasm ripped through her,
delivering such mind-blowing ecstasy that she let out a long-winded
gasp, exhausting all of the air from her chest. But she refused to
take another breath, refused to even move until this glorious
moment ended. Then a sweet fatigue overcame her, and she finally
inhaled his familiar, but…unexpected scent.

She overlooked the discrepancy and held him
tight, smiling through every heavy breath. “That was heaven.”

She finally opened her eyes, now looking
over his shoulder, almost expecting to find the world a different
color. She had never experienced such a chain of intense orgasms,
never felt so emotionally bonded with another man. And they were
fully dressed. They hadn’t even had made love!

“You touched my soul,” Marisa said, “in the
same way your poem did.” She felt so relaxed, yet so exhausted,
that she feared slipping to the floor.

“My poem?”

His voice comforted her, and she couldn’t
stop smiling. But then something about his voice seemed…once again,
unexpected. She pulled back to see his expression. And what she saw
confused her – perhaps the fantasy playing in her mind had tricked
her eyes into seeing the illusion that Alex, not Brad, stood before
her. So she snapped her eyes shut. Waited a second. And opened them
again.

Alex remained beside her. Holding her.
Looking baffled.

She pushed away from him, aghast. Her breath
came quick, trying to keep up with her heartbeat. “What…”

“How did you get the poem I wrote you?”

She shook her head, trying to dislodge what
must have been a mental scan from the past, not a current image of
the man standing in front of her. With a sideways glance, fearful
that her eyes might once more deceive her, she met his gaze
again.

Alex moved toward her, reaching out to touch
her. “I didn’t give you my poem. I lost it the night we saw each
other at
Apocalyptica
a few weeks ago.”

“That wasn’t your poem,” she said, disbelief
overwhelming her, making her step backwards. “You’re lying. Brad
wrote that for me.”

“The hell he did!” Alex continued toward
her, recalling a portion of the poem he’d memorized:

“
I want a that life that we can
share

And hope that you’re nearby to take me
there

No matter what I say, no matter what I
do

I know that I’ll always love you.”

Having never felt so betrayed, Marisa
back-peddled once more, wishing she had a poker from a fireplace,
so she could keep him at arm’s length. “It can’t be.”

“I must have dropped it.”

“No.”

“And he pawned it as his own.”

“No. That costume. It’s Brad’s. I
thought…”

“What?” he asked, a hard edge entering his
voice. “You thought I was Brad?”

“Well, I hoped—”

“You thought I was Brad, but you hoped it
was me. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Well, yes, but…”

Comprehension flashed across his face.
“That’s pretty fucking disturbing!”

“Wait, you’re playing that card? Really!?
You went back to Cassandra’s house and kissed her.”

“But I left.”

“Because you were in love with me,” Marisa
said.

“Yes.”

“So in all likelihood, you were kissing her
but thinking of me. Do you see a similarity between the two?”

“Kissing someone is not the same as what
just happened. Besides, I took off the mask. You saw me.”

“I didn’t.”

“I turned your face towards mine.”

“My eyes were closed.” That’s when the image
of Batman kissing Cassandra entered her mind. If Alex had switched
costumes with Brad…

“Bastard,” she shouted. Filled with anger,
but uncertain who she detested more, Alex or Brad, she edged
backwards again, butting up against the wall.

“If you hate me, that’s fine. But talk to me
like my best friend, not your mother.”

That comment drew her attention to what he
might say next. As much as she didn’t want to hear that truth, she
always suspected that Jaclyn’s demeanor had, on occasion, invaded
her spirit, and her tone had occasionally exited Marisa’s
mouth.

“That aloof voice, lacking feeling and
emotion. That’s not you. It’s your mother. And God help me, but I
hate her. She’s mean and cold and cruel. And you’re not her. So
don’t act like her.”

He voiced the thoughts that had consumed
Marisa since her earliest memories, that one day she would become
as demeaning and heartless as her mother, that she would lash out
at her husband, using every excuse to diminish his pride and
undermine his confidence.

And now that her greatest fears had been
uttered aloud, she found herself torn between anger and
self-loathing, because Alex caught her embodying the aspects she
most abhorred.