Текст книги "When We Met"

Автор книги: Christina Lee

Соавторы: Molly McAdams,A. L. Jackson,Tiffany King
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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

chapter eight

Darryn

Fuck.

It was official.

I was a creeper.

Not the I’m going to drag you into an alley and slit your throat kind of creeper.

More like the I’m going to drag you into an alley and kiss you senseless and leave you begging my name kind of creeper.

Different, right?

I sure as hell hoped so.

Because this was the low I’d stooped to.

Trailing her from a distance, I kept my eye on the mass of black curls that bobbed through the surging crowd on the sidewalk while doing my best to remain hidden.

Misha Crosse had done this to me. Made me a little bit crazy and left me partaking in tactics I’d never consider for another girl. Clearly she knew I was pursuing her, the way she kept peering over her shoulder, keen eyes searching through the horde of people as she sought out my presence.

Like she could feel me.

That same insane way I could feel her.

She didn’t appear so much scared as she did wary. The thought of her being afraid of me made me sick, although I knew she was fearful in an entirely different way. I’d never damage a hair on her head. I think she knew that. But it was that weakened heart the girl was protecting.

But that kiss. That searing, shattering kiss? I thought I couldn’t get her out of my mind before. After that kiss this weekend, she was all I could think about. The way she felt. The way she tasted. She’d singed through all those exterior layers of indifference that covered me up in callousness, straight down to splay open wide the deepest part of me.

God, I wanted her. Wanted to fix her and hold her and promise her I’d never let anyone hurt her.

But she wouldn’t give me the chance.

Misha had been avoiding me at all costs. Sneaking from her house when she thought I wouldn’t see her, leaving me standing outside their front door like a lovesick fool when I knocked, had me pacing when she didn’t return the text messages I’d sent after I begged her number off one of her roommates.

That girl was pretending she wasn’t affected.

But I knew better.

I’d felt everything when she kissed me, when she kissed me like she could taste freedom, like she’d finally found what she’d been searching for.

I had, that was for damned sure.

I could kiss a thousand girls and not one of them could stir up a modicum of the feeling Misha had brought to a full boil in me in one singular touch.

To be honest, it scared me a little, just how intense it was.

I mean, shit, here I was, basically stalking this girl, looking for a moment to talk to her. Chasing her. And I would have let it go . . . let her go . . . if I hadn’t witnessed what I’d seen so clearly on her face last weekend at the club, like she was begging me to somehow make it better and she was just too scared to ask, too many doubts holding her back.

There was no place inside me that could ignore that silent plea.

I’d gotten lucky and seen her slipping out the door this evening. She’d walked in the opposite direction of campus, heading to whatever secret place she stole to those evenings when she came back with a smile flooding her precious face.

Maybe I’d get to see it now, where she went, and from afar I could experience what brought her joy.

Every part of me screamed that I wanted to bring it to her, too.

Joy.

My heart squeezed.

How had this girl gotten so far under my skin? Like she’d come out of nowhere, a rogue wave that had barreled over me unseen, dragging me under. And there was no coming back up.

Misha suddenly cut through the crowd. On the left, she swung open a large plate-glass door nestled along the row of businesses lining the bustling walkway. She disappeared inside. Swallowing, I wove a little faster through the crush of people on the sidewalk, anxious not to lose her, more anxious to make out the sign hanging over the door.

I squinted.

CHILDREN’S LANGUAGE AND SPEECH PATHOLOGY.

Frowning, I cupped my hands around my eyes and pressed them to the hazy glass, peering inside to the large, open space.

So it wasn’t the most inconspicuous move. But what the hell? It wasn’t like she hadn’t already known I was there.

Chairs lined the walls of the front room, and a reception area sat to the far back in the center. White double doors rested on each side of it, passageways to what I could only assume would be some sort of clinic-style rooms behind them.

But none of those things were what interested me.

It was Misha.

She stood facing away, lost in an army of all these little kids that were probably four or five years old circling her legs, their faces all lit up with excitement as they smiled up at her.

Like she was their light.

Guess she had that way about her.

People who I could only assume were their parents sat in chairs that were placed along the walls, watching with soft smiles on their faces while Misha and another girl I’d never seen before, although she had to be close to Misha’s age, gathered all the kids and started playing these games with them. Enraptured, the kids all went along with the instructions, grinning through their small faces, tossing their heads back as they roared with laughter, Misha tickling and loving and smiling so wide it twisted me up tight and my breath got caught right in the center of my throat.

She was always stunning. Beautiful. But seeing her there, so happy amid all those kids?

I rubbed at my chest.

I didn’t know what to make of her or what I felt. Why I was so intrigued.

Why I was hooked.

Images made an unwelcome pass through my mind. Every fantasy I’d ever had of her slammed me with guilt. Because I never should have witnessed her that way. Not like that. Not with him.

Anger built inside me, interlocking with that shame Misha wore like a broken crown on her head.

My fists clenched.

All of it just pissed me off.

This girl was innocent. I could feel it radiating from her, saturating her being.

Thoughts of the interactions Misha and I had shared eddied through my vision, this flustered girl who stumbled all over herself, stuttered over her own damned name.

I looked back to the glass. With pure affection, Misha dragged her fingers through the red curls of a little boy who had some sort of device stuck to his head with wires coming from it that ran to his ear. Giggling, he grinned up at her.

She spoke and laughed, leading them through a bunch of different activities.

Working with them, but not like it was work, but because it was her passion.

All of this? It meant something to her.

And I had the desperate need to mean something to her, too.

chapter nine

Misha

I read below the dim bulb attached to the generic floor lamp that was set up next to my bed. Sighing, I shifted, tucking my bent legs up closer to my chest while I adjusted the huge textbook on my lap. I rested back on the wooden headboard, going through the last two chapters in my psychology textbook, reviewing yet again all the material that would be covered on our test tomorrow.

Tonight had been good.

I’d been with my kids. Seeing their smiling faces always reminded me why I was here, giving me that encouragement to continue on.

Things had been difficult lately.

Well, lately meant since the moment Darryn Wild had come like a battering ram into my life, battering his way right into my heart.

Said muscle skipped and pattered, just a knee-jerk reaction that came with every thought of him, like a little thundered affirmation of my stupidity.

I liked being around him.

Way too much.

I liked the way he made me feel, liked the way he looked at me. God, I barely knew him, and still I liked everything about him.

But kissing him this last weekend? It’d shaken something loose in me that I was doing everything in my power to ignore.

It didn’t matter if I wanted to ignore it or not. It was there.

What I wouldn’t do to be normal. Maybe then I could embrace it.

Normal.

I scoffed, shifting my book as I struggled to focus on the words bleeding across the page.

What did that even mean?

But whatever it was, it wasn’t me. I never had felt that way, at least. My parents had worked so hard to ensure that I grew up living a normal life, but all their efforts had only made me feel the opposite. They didn’t mean to hinder me, to stunt my emotional growth, to narrow my developing mind.

But they’d done it nonetheless.

Still I wished I wasn’t this awkward little girl who didn’t have the first clue how to traverse the normal path of a college student.

Here I had made that one bold attempt with Hunter. And what did I do? Failed miserably. I’d been foolish enough to think I could just shuck it from my consciousness like a pair of dirty socks, leave it behind. One touch from Darryn had proven that theory wrong, and all those doubts came flooding back.

What if he was the same kind of guy as Hunter?

Every time Darryn came close, all those danger bells started ringing.

So I pretended I didn’t feel the pulsating ache in my chest when I thought of him. I wanted him. So much. And that scared me.

Bitterness shook my head. I was so tired of being scared, of being fearful people were watching me, worrying they were judging me. When would it ever stop?

Two soft knocks at my door stalled my reading, not that I was doing much of it.

I barely glanced up when I called, “Come in,” figuring it was one of my roommates.

The door cracked open. I gasped when all those darts of energy pinged against the boxed-in barriers of my walls, that tangible tension that seemed to follow him like a broiling summer storm spreading out to saturate every inch of my room. Only now they were amplified, driven by the frustration of what I had cut too short.

My legs flew from my chest and flat onto the mattress, and I splayed my book across my lap as if it would afford me some sort of cover. All I was wearing was a pair of black boy-short panties and a tank top, no bra, my hair loose.

Exposed and vulnerable.

And he was there, that boy-man-god standing in my open doorway.

Beautiful. Commanding. Potent.

Heat rushed and sped, covering every inch of my skin, smoldering on my neck and face. I felt myself glow like an ember under his gaze as he devoured me with his eyes, the same way he’d done with his mouth and hands and tongue this last weekend.

Oh. God.

A tremor traveled my body, dripping like melting ice as it slipped down my spine.

Hesitation held him back, like he was coming to some sort of decision, his steely gaze so intense I found myself at a loss for words. I had no power to make them form on my lips. Even if I could, I didn’t know what to say, because part of me was screaming at him to leave, to demand to know how he made it this far, invading my private space where I hid away.

The other part was just begging him to come near.

Apparently that was the part he heard.

Without a sound he stepped inside. He didn’t look away from me as he blindly snapped the door shut behind him and twisted the lock.

I gulped for the nonexistent air.

It was almost too much, being with him this way, drowning in the intensity of his presence.

He said nothing as he crossed the room.

Desire throbbed between my legs, a sensation that was a little bit foreign and a whole lot terrifying. I swallowed down the knot that formed in my throat. Finally I managed to force the words from the dried-out cavern of my mouth. “Wh-wh-what are you doing in here?” I sat forward, blinking through the stupor. “Y-you shouldn’t be here.”

The smallest of smirks lifted one side of his mouth as he tilted his head, not so cocky as self-assured. He dropped to his knees at the side of my bed. Without warning, he grabbed me by the outside of my legs, dragging me to the edge of the mattress, and he nestled between my bare thighs as his stomach pressed to the burning heat of my center.

I yelped, this tiny sound of resistance that was really an utterance of surrender.

“Yes, I should,” he murmured as he looked at me, his warm hand cupping my face, his thumb stroking my cheek.

Oh. Lord.

Defenseless.

That was the way he left me, a shivering mess of nerves in his arms as he stared up at me.

He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to mine. Softly. I whimpered but gave in, succumbed as he tugged at my bottom lip with his mouth before his tongue made a slow pass against mine.

Fire.

I let my hands wander over the planes of his chest and shoulders, my body jerking with pleasure as I felt his quiver beneath my touch.

“God, Misha,” rumbled up his throat as he rose onto his knees and deepened the kiss, pulling back before he dove in again, teasing us both with the idea of what we could be together. He gripped my face and whispered at my mouth, “I can’t stay away from you anymore. Can’t go one more night without knowing you’re mine.”

Inside, that timid girl shrank, but still I kissed him in between all her words that I couldn’t keep from tumbling out. “I c-c-can’t, Darryn . . . can’t do this . . . can’t be what you want me to be. . . . I’m not ready for this.”

He pulled away a fraction. Both of his hands tangled in my hair, not letting me go. “Then tell me what you’re ready for . . . anything. I just want to mean something to you.”

His words nearly tore me apart.

I wanted that so badly, to really mean something to someone.

He’d just reflected it back.

And the truth was, I wanted to mean something to him.

“I’m scared,” I admitted, stretching out a shaky hand and tracing the lines of his face. I trembled doing it, disbelief radiating to my bones that I was touching him. That he was here. And he wanted me.

“I can’t just jump into something with you, Darryn. I don’t even know you . . . a-a-and . . . and . . . I’ve been . . .” I paused, looked to the wall as I chewed at my lip and the red flushed hot. Maybe one day, as my trust grew, as he showed me what was happening between us was real, I’d tell him. Tell him everything. He needed to know. But for now, I settled on what I could bear. “I’ve been hurt.” I cast it from my mouth like a dirty confession.

A soft sigh filtered from his mouth, and he lifted himself up higher on his knees, bringing us level, nose-to-nose and face-to-face. He smiled slow. “We don’t have to rush, Misha, but we can’t ignore this, either. Just tell me . . . tell me you’re mine. That you want to be. Be my girl . . . and I’ll be satisfied to take whatever comes along with that.”

I didn’t mean to cry, but I couldn’t stop the wetness that gathered in my eyes and streaked like a deluge of relief down my face. I’d cried so much these last months, but this was just a rush of emotion, all this sweet joy that was mixed up with all my fear.

I nodded through a soggy smile. “I want to be,” I whispered breathlessly.

God, I wanted to be.

His.

Satisfaction danced all over his beautiful face, before Darryn branded me with a searing, close-mouthed kiss.

It stole my breath.

He chuckled a little, pecked my lips again and ran his fingers through my hair. “You are perfect.”

“Hardly.” But I couldn’t help but smile, and that smile only grew as he slowly rose, crawling over me and onto my bed, taking me with him.

Laying us down, he tucked me into his side. The warm breath from his mouth seeped out at my temple when he exhaled and splayed his big hand wide across my belly.

Those butterflies swayed in a lazy dance.

Never in my life had I felt so secure.

“Tell me about where you went tonight,” he said, nudging the side of my face with his nose.

I frowned, but really, I already knew. He’d been there. I’d thought I felt him following me, but I could never catch a glimpse of him among the roiling throng of bodies that had flocked along the busy sidewalk during rush hour.

I should have been angry. Offended that he would be so bold as to follow me.

But again, it made me feel special. Like I meant something to him, the way he wanted to mean something to me. And he did. God, he did. That scared me, too.

“I—I—I . . .”

He gave me a squeeze of reassurance. “Hey, it’s okay. You can trust me.”

I swallowed and found my voice, but I had to press my face into his chest to make the words form, and even when they did, they were barely more than a breath. “Have you . . . did you notice I sometimes stutter?”

He hooked his finger under my chin and pulled my face up, forcing me to look at him. A quirk of his brow told me he had indeed. “Yeah, and it’s really fucking cute.”

Sadness shook my head, because I knew he really didn’t understand. “It’s not cute, Darryn.” I licked my lips. “For years my parents tried to have a baby. They’d given up, and then there was me. They were older when they finally had me, and of course they became super protective. When I was four, my mom had to go back to work, but they didn’t want to put me in day care. They thought the best solution would be for me to stay with our neighbor next door, a woman they’d known for several years.”

When my voice got choppy, Darryn pulled me closer, like he knew I was having a difficult time getting this out.

“They wanted me close to home, where my mom knew I was safe. But I wasn’t safe,” I whispered, the words sounding like my darkest secret.

Gentle fingers brushed up and down my arms, silently encouraging me to go on.

“I really don’t remember everything that happened. . . . I just see these little blips . . . pictures that flash through my mind that are hazy and unclear. The woman . . . sh-sh-she was just . . . cruel-hearted. She liked it when I was scared and when I’d cry. She’d make me sit in the dark closet all day and when I’d cry she’d smack me around. What I remember best is the anxiety I felt every time my mom dropped me off at her house. And how she threatened me not to tell my mom and dad.”

Darryn pulled back, leaving a fraction of space between us as we lay on our sides. He just stared across at me, everything in his gaze protective. “I’m not sure I want to hear this story,” he admitted, sadness coloring his tone, though he smiled a sympathetic smile. He brushed his thumb along my jaw. “But I need to . . . just don’t blame me if I run out your door and have to kick someone’s ass.”

I laughed quietly, a sound that I hoped somehow told him that I was okay, that this woman hadn’t scarred my heart even if she had scarred something in the deepest recesses of my mind. “N-n-no . . . my parents already took care of that. It didn’t take long for them to realize what was going on in that woman’s house because I started acting so differently. But that was the problem . . . I just . . . stopped talking.”

Lines creased Darryn’s brow as his eyes narrowed, like he was slowly catching on.

“The therapist said it was because of the trauma and s-s-something was triggered in my brain that wouldn’t allow me t-t-to talk.” Attempting a joke, I lightened my voice, hating that my tongue was so tied. “Guess her threats to hurt me if I told worked just fine. Apparently if you get annoyed with my voice, you can smack me around a little bit and I’ll shut right up.”

Darryn just frowned. “Not funny,” he scolded.

Okay, so maybe not, but I hated the thought of this boy who’d chased me down as if I was something special, something he couldn’t be without, instead looking at me with pity.

“M-my parents . . . they got me into therapy, both to help with my emotional trauma and to help me to begin to talk. But once I started talking again, I stuttered. Badly.” I shrugged, embarrassed but somehow still at ease with baring myself to him. “In some ways, the worst part was watching my parents worry about me. They loved me so much.”

Softness pulled at his lips. “How could they not?”

Palpitations rocked my heart. This boy-man-god and his glorious body had even sweeter words, words that teased me with what sounded like a promise. I was done for.

I pressed my hand flat to his chest, just because I wanted to feel him, to connect, because I was intent on finishing my story. At least the part I could tell him. “I . . . I think they felt so guilty over what happened to me, they overreacted. They pulled me out of public school and my mom homeschooled me. I grew so comfortable in the shelter of my parents’ house with no other kids around, I got to the point where I was afraid to leave it. The truth is, I never really learned how to function comfortably in public situations. I learned to control my stuttering for the most part, unless I’m excited or nervous. But still, I stayed under my parents’ protective wings, until I came here for college.”

He kissed my forehead, and I snuggled farther into him, resting my head in the crook of his arm. “It was a big deal for me to come to Michigan. My parents were terrified they wouldn’t be close to keep an eye on me. But I knew I had to make a change or I’d always be dependent on them. The first year here, I barely spoke to anyone, just watched and observed and went to my classes, but my confidence slowly grew. Then when I moved in here, Indy became my first real friend. It’s been so good for me.”

Remorse left me with a heavy sigh. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t let people take advantage of me. I always see the best in people. T-trust them when they don’t deserve it. That’s why I’m scared,” I emphasized, twining our fingers together with our free hands, praying he could understand where all my reservations stemmed from.

Because I hadn’t had a bad life. I’d just had circumstances that made me different.

“And the center today?” he asked, lifting our hands up between us, studying the contrast of our skin in the dim light of my room, mine almost white against his golden tan.

A wide smile took over my face. “Those are my kids . . . they all have hearing or speech disorders of one kind or another. It’s a support group I run . . . more fun for them than anything, a safe place where they all feel they belong. But it’s my internship, too, part of my schoolwork for my degree.”

“Your degree?”

“Speech pathologist,” I said, almost shy. “For children. I just want to help them. . . . I overcame so much when I was little, and some really wonderful people helped me. Now I want to help other kids the same way.” I drew my shoulder up to my ear in a self-conscious shrug. “It fits, don’t you think?”

A low chuckle rumbled up his chest, and he kissed the back of my hand, our fingers still twisted together. “Yeah, it definitely fits.” The intense emotion in his hazel eyes deepened, flashed with something I didn’t quite recognize, almost a blend of anger and devotion. “It all makes sense now.”

Darryn pushed his weight to one of his hands, moving over me. Slowly I rolled onto my back, led by his motion, that strong chest hovering over me with his body still off to my side. My nerve endings ratcheted up, all those darts of energy rapid-firing across my skin as his eyes changed and everything between us became charged, heightened to a level I’d never experienced. One that had me trembling below him.

He touched my face. “You’re amazing, Misha.”

Heat blazed up my throat, and Darryn dipped down, pressing his mouth to the oversensitive skin. He trailed kisses up and down along the hollow of my neck, up to beneath my ear.

I whimpered, and he brought his mouth to mine, shifting his weight over me, his knee wedged between my thighs. “Is this okay?” he asked, leaning back to run his hands down my sides.

“Yes.”

He continued his assault, kissing every exposed inch of skin on my chest and shoulders, moving to my face, trailing sweet kisses over my closed lids. He ran his nose down between the swell of my breasts exposed over the top of my tank.

“And this?” he whispered, almost urgently—almost as urgently as the need stampeding through my veins. “Tell me when to stop, because I don’t know if I can trust myself not to push you too far. You have no idea how badly I want you.”

And the crazy thing was I didn’t want him to stop, but I needed him to. I pulled back, tipping my head to force him to look at me. All that shyness came rushing to my face, flaming with the fire he’d set inside me. I blinked, murmuring my plea. “Just . . . respect me . . . Be patient with me.” My tongue darted out to my lips. “Above all, be honest with me.”

He hefted the air from his lungs, and again I was slammed with all that was Darryn—all soap and sex and man.

He pulled back and settled down at my side. And right there, in that one action, he earned a huge piece of my trust. Because he did know when to stop. He could have continued, and I would have let him. But he didn’t.

He pulled me into the sanctuary of his arms, right up against his beating heart. “I’ll take care of you, Misha,” he said. The words sounded like the most solemn of promises.

Maybe my boy-man-god really was my avenging angel. Darryn the Destroyer. Sent to rescue me. To slay all the beasts that had held me captive.

I guess I really wanted a fairy tale, after all.