Текст книги "Reveal"

Автор книги: Elle Brooks

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

I HAVE THE wine breathing, food set out on the table, and the lights set low when Robyn knocks at my door. I take a second to flick on the music as I smooth down my jeans and push the sleeves of my white shirt up.

“Hey there, beautiful,” I say, pulling the door open and standing aside so she can enter. Her face lights up and a wide smile takes over when she takes in the setting. I’ve laid the table properly and even stopped at the store on my way home from work to buy candles. All women love candles, and I don’t know who this Jo Malone person is but the girl in the store said his or her brand was the best, so I took her word for it and spent a small fortune. They do smell pretty awesome.

“This looks fancy. I feel underdressed now,” she says, biting down on the corner of her lip and slipping the black leather jacket she’s wearing from her shoulders, uncovering a floaty little black dress.

“Trust me, you look perfect,” I manage to tell her as I take her jacket and place it in the hall closet. It takes all my effort to drag my eyes from her. The only thing I want to eat tonight is her; she turns me into a walking hard on.

“When you said dinner, I thought we’d be ordering pizza and watching movies on Netflix. You look like you’ve gone to some serious effort…I’m impressed.”

“Don’t be too impressed; it’s still take out, just from somewhere a little nicer than Papa John’s. It’s Thai; I hope that’s okay with you?”

“Definitely, I’m starving.”

So am I, but not for the same thing she is.

“Take a seat.” I pull the chair out for her and let her sit before reaching for the wine and pouring her a glass. “I thought it about time that I invited you ‘round. Don’t get me wrong, I like going out places with you, but there’s a lot to be said for relaxing at home with a good bottle of red and great company.”

“I agree, and from what I can see, your apartment is beautiful. You’ll have to give me the full tour after dinner.”

The only place I want to tour is her body as it lies naked in my bed, but I don’t want to push my luck, so instead I smile and nod.

“You know, this place is exactly as I imagined,” she says, taking a sip of her wine and smirking at me. Damn it drives me crazy when she narrows those huge eyes at me like that.

“Really?” I ask

“Sure, you’re always impeccably turned out. Your sandy hair never looks out of place, your tie’s never crooked. I just knew that your home would be the same, all clean, minimalist lines. It’s masculine and modern and just so—I don’t know—you, I guess. Put together. I bet if I opened up your pantry all the cans would be neatly stacked with the labels facing out.”

“You think you have me pegged?” I ask.

“Pretty much, yeah. Tell me I’m wrong,” she challenges.

“You’re wrong.”

“Really?”

“No,” I laugh. “You’re spot on with your assessment. I like simplicity in my home life. I deal with enough complexity at work. I like things to be orderly and neat; it saves time and energy.”

“I think I’m probably your worst nightmare, then,” she says, taking another drink and forcing my eyes to her mouth. God, that mouth.

“I like the idea of being all tidy and organized, but it’s not me. I’m a messy person in general. I’m always juggling everything, I feel too confined if everything is regimented. I think that’s why I love dance so much. It’s freedom of expression.”

“You know what they say about opposites though…maybe you’re the yin to my yang?”

She almost spits her wine back into her glass and places it down on the dark wooden table.

“You remember that time you said I could call you out if you said anything cheesy and tell you to shut the hell up?” She has one eyebrow raised and I can’t contain my laughter.

“You’re killing my game here. I’m trying to woo you, woman. Shut up and swoon already!”

That earns me a heart-stopping smile, and although I said it in jest, I’m not really joking.

We finished a couple of bottles of red with dinner, and now we’re laid out on my sofa watching some old black and white movie that has Robyn giggling to herself every few minutes. I can’t bring myself to watch the movie when all I want to do is watch her.

“Stay the night?” I know she’ll tell me no, but I want her to stay so badly it almost hurts.

“What?” she asks, turning from the screen and looking back at me.

“Stay, don’t go home tonight. Spend the night here with me?”

The amount of hope that my request is dripping with should embarrass me. I sound needy; I don’t think I’ve ever sounded so needy in my whole life. It’s not a concept that I’m used to. I’m not accustomed to being the person doing the chasing, and I’ve always been able to pick and choose. It sounds like a horrendously obnoxious thing to say, but it’s the truth.

She scoots up the sofa so she’s sitting and looking at me. She looks unsure of herself and chews the corner of her lip as she watches me.

“I-I don’t, I’m not…” She’s stammering and stalling. Not exactly the response I was hoping for.

“I’m not asking for sex, although I wouldn’t decline it.” I wink. “I just want to fall asleep with you here with me.” God, if my friends could hear me now. I sound so fucking desperate, but I am.

She moves closer and places her soft lips over mine. Finally, I think as my entire body feels like it’s been ignited. I smile against her mouth, lifting my hands and pushing them through her thick silky hair. I let my tongue slide into her mouth and pull her in closer to me, intensifying the kiss. Her hands run from my shoulders across my chest, then slip slowly down over the ridges of my abs. Her hands leave a fiery trail, and I can’t hold back any longer. I want those hands lower; I need to feel them on me, all of me. I pull her into my lap, straddling me, never breaking our kiss, and begin running my hands up and down her arched back. She’s into this; her little moans and constant squirming against me as she rubs herself over my thighs confirm it. I don’t know what to do with my hands first, which place I want to explore. I need to see and touch and taste all of her. The tiny little sounds she’s making are driving me insane. I swear, I could probably get off from just the sound of her. I grab her ass and pull her into me hard, letting her feel my erection as it presses into her stomach and making sure she knows what she’s doing to me.

“Cole,” she exhales against my mouth, and I grind against her at the sound of my name in that ridiculously sexy breathy low voice.

Her hands push against my chest, and her mouth leaves mine. I hate the loss of it instantly.

“I can’t, I need to stop…I should go.”

“What? Why?” I sit up a little straighter and run my hand down my face.

Is she serious right now?

“I don’t know…I want to spend the night, but as soon as I take this next step, I can’t go back. I like how we are at the moment and I’m not quite ready to complicate things yet. Not ‘til I have my ducks in a row, and I know that sounds like a stupid excuse. I’m sorry.”

Her eyes are huge and doe-like. She’s flushed and disheveled and completely gorgeous. I don’t understand why she wants to pull away. Why she kisses me like she wants me more than her next breath and then suddenly detaches herself and retreats.

“Please don’t.” I sound pathetic even to my own ears, and I pull my hands down her arms, hoping that she’ll give in and change her mind.

She doesn’t.

I feel like shit as she moves from my lap and takes a step back, smoothing her wrinkled dress and taking a deep breath. I watch like I’m somehow detached from my body, unable to make myself move at the crushing disappointment that she’s pulling away again. There’s got to be something more than just wanting time. We’ve spent plenty of nights getting to know each other, I know the attraction is there, and she knows my intentions. I couldn’t make it any more fucking obvious that I want her if I painted it in goddamn red paint across my forehead.

“Is there something more to all this that I’m missing? You’re blowing hot one minute and then cold the next and I have no fucking clue how to take it, Robyn. I asked you to spend the night with me, I’ve made it clear that I don’t even expect anything sexual, and you still say no. Why? Are you seeing someone else, is that it?”

“No! I don’t know what you expect me to tell you, Cole. I’m not ready, I’m sorry.” She looks upset, and guilt floods me. I lean over and pull her into a hug.

“Don’t be, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” I tell her as I press a kiss to the top of her head. There’s something more to this, I know it. The way her eyes shot to the floor before she answered me screams that she’s holding back and hiding something.

“You want me to call you a cab?”

She nods with a weak smile on her lips, and it feels like a kick in the balls, but I take it. I have too much self-respect not to. I grab my cell and call her a cab, because despite the fact that I want her in every way a person can want someone, it needs to be a two-way thing and at the moment, it’s not.

The lawyer in me will find out why.

THE DOOR IS cracked when I get to the top of the stairs. Callum’s music is playing. I didn’t think he’d be in here. I glance at my watch but I can’t make out the time in the dark. The club’s closed up, so I know it’s either late or early, however you want to look at it. The cab ride home was quick, and my head’s still spinning with the image of Cole looking completely crestfallen when I told him I wanted to leave. Everything feels easy and right with him, up to the point of getting more physical and taking the next step. Even when we’re all hot and heavy and I’m really into it, I stop. What should be a natural progression feels anything but. He lights my body on fire when he kisses me, but there’s something missing. It’s like there’s an invisible barrier between us that my body or my mind, or maybe both, can’t tear down.

I feel like I’m leading him on and he’s going to get bored of me, but I can’t bring myself to take things any further with him. There’s a nagging feeling hanging over me. I’m looking over my shoulder constantly, just waiting for Carter to be lurking behind me. Working at the club both dancing and serving is tiring me out, and while I love it because it keeps my mind from dwelling on Danny, I’m not sure how long I can keep it up. The easy thing to do would be to blame Daniel and the fact that I’m not over him for this blockade with Cole, but it would be a lie. Sure Danny is on my mind, but only because I’m plotting all the ways I want to murder him for running out on me like this.

I don’t want to laden myself with any more drama, I have enough shitty things to deal with at the moment and guilt over not sleeping with Cole shouldn’t be one of them. He’s a great guy from what I’ve experienced so far, and dragging him into my problems wouldn’t be fair. God forbid if Carter caught up with me while Cole and I were together—he doesn’t need or deserve my shit pushed on him. Nobody does.

The lights are out when I walk into the small living room. Only the lamp illuminates the corner of the room, casting everything in a muted golden glow. I drop my purse and key on the shelf beside me. I’m not sure what, but something feels off. It takes a few seconds before I notice him. Cal’s sitting, head slumped forward, hands clasped together and resting on his widespread knees. There’s a half-empty bottle of Jack with the cap off sitting on the coffee table. There’s no glass; he’s been hitting it straight from the bottle. The place is rife with the smell of alcohol.

“Callum?”

His head turns slowly, and his tired red eyes do a quick once over. He looks like he’s about to get sick, and I watch as he lets out the smallest pained laugh before allowing his head to fall back into place. I peer down at my dress and heels. I don’t understand the look of disgust he throws my way, but it kind of makes me feel like crap, and self-consciously I wrap my arms around my waist.

“Date night, right? Have fun?” he asks. His words fill the space between us in a sneer. He’s mad at me but for what? My mind veers back to the kiss I ambushed him with. It was meant as a friendly thank you, but Christ, when our lips touched it was anything but friendly. He’s made no attempt to mention it again, and even though I’m a little disappointed, I put it down to him taking it the way it was first intended.

“It was dinner, and yeah, it was good.” I nod, wondering what’s eating at him.

His head snaps around at lightning speed and he pins me with a glare. From his expression, you’d think I’d just slapped him. I don’t like being on the receiving end of that look. Not one bit. My palms begin to sting where my fingernails are biting at the skin from balling my fists so hard; he’s scaring me a little.

“Have I done something wrong? Was I supposed to be working? Is that it?”

Now he laughs out loud, a quick, gravely low rumble, but it’s unsmiling and devoid of amusement. “Fuck, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

I’m drawing a blank. I don’t get the game he’s playing, and I’ve clearly missed something. I stay quiet because really, I have no idea what to respond.

“No, you weren’t down to work tonight,” he sighs and I’m even more confused.

“Oh,” I say gently as I watch him wring his hands together. I wonder if it’s in agitation or a nervous habit. I’m hoping for the latter, although I don’t particularly like either prospect. “Well, then what’s wrong? Why are you acting like you’re mad at me?” I’m more than a little annoyed that I’ve somehow managed to piss off both men in my life tonight, and as far as I know I haven’t done anything wrong.

He stands and pushes his hands through his messed-up hair. I guess it’s not the first time he’s done that this evening; he’s completely disheveled.

“You don’t know—that’s the whole problem, Tweet. You have no fucking clue.”

“Then tell me!” I plead. I’ve upset him, that much is clear, but I have no idea what I’m supposed to have done.

He lifts the hem of his dark gray t-shirt and wipes his face, exasperated.

“Tell you what? What do you want to hear, huh?”

“I don’t know; you’re the one acting out, I’m not a fucking mind reader! Tell me what you’re feeling! Why you’re suddenly looking at me like you hate me!” I don’t mean to cuss, but I’m frustrated and tired and so over this stupid feeling of confusion.

His face pales.

“I don’t hate you, Tweet,” he whispers. It sounds pained, and I watch as he picks up his phone, changes the track that’s playing so low over the Bose system, I’m only just now noticing it. I trace his movements as he pushes the cell into the back pocket of his jeans, and a familiar track filters through the speakers, only a little louder this time. I stand unmoving, my eyes fixed to his as The Killers’ Mr. Brightside begins to play. I’m pissed that he’s decided that now would be a good time to drown me out with his stupid music. If he didn’t want to talk to me, he could have just said so. Turning on music halfway through a discussion is just rude, and I’m about to tell him he’s an ass when the lyrics stop me.

I just can’t look it’s killing me

And taking control

Jealousy, turning saints into the sea

My eyes widen and my jaw feels slack. I must have this wrong, I think, but then I look at him, and my stomach drops in realization. He’s not using the song to cover up having to talk to me; he’s using it to talk to me.

Holy shit.

He takes a step toward me. I take a step back.

“Don’t you get it? Isn’t it obvious to you? I want you. I’m mad because I’m crazy fucking jealous, and you’re oblivious, completely unaffected. I can’t go on like this. It’s driving me mad, Robyn. I can’t play this game we’ve been messing around with. It’s too hard.”

I swallow and feel the goose bumps run from the top of my head to the tips of my toes as he shakes his head at me.

“I sit in here night after night and listen to you tell me how you’re sworn off men after your douchebag ex. How you’re not ready for a relationship, you’re not dating Mr. Bigshot, and it’s all just casual. But you are dating him; you dress up for him when he takes you out. You come home all sunshine and fucking rainbows in the middle of the night. It doesn’t take a genius to work out you’re more than likely fucking him. In my book, Tweet, that’s dating a guy.”

His words are hard and his eyes are soft and I’m so confused. My heart’s in my throat, beating with wild abandonment and I’m stunned into silence.

He’s jealous.

“I want to be the guy that takes you out,” he says dragging his hand down his face again. He looks tired, miserable…defeated.

“When you’re dressed up like that,” he flicks his hand dismissively at me. “I want it to be for me. Not some asshole that you’re casual with. Jesus, Tweet, I just…”

I step forward shaking my head for him to stop.

He does.

I’m not even an inch from him now, and he stands taller, looking down on me with a saddened air radiating around him. His eyes are the color of a hurricane, thunderous and turbulent. A storm is happening behind the glazed clouds of his irises right here and now. He’s breathing heavy, and then I realize that I’m not breathing at all. I take in a deep, shaky breath and blow it out again, trying to figure my next move.

I press onto my tiptoes and wait. I want to kiss him. I shouldn’t. He’s my friend, hell, he’s my employer but I know what the briefest of kisses with him feels like, and I can’t help wanting to feel it again.

His breath hitches.

I know what I’m doing is wrong. On some base level buried deep in the back of my mind, there’s the nagging little alarm going off, blaring out “MISTAKE! MISTAKE! MISTAKE!” And I’m worried that it’s not enough to stop me, to stop this. We’re standing face-to-face, our breath is mingling in the too-close proximity; I breathe out and he breathes me in. The struggle is clear on his face; he’s fighting against the urge to take what we both desperately want but can’t have without killing our friendship. I think better of it and lower back onto my heels. What was I thinking?

“Fuck it,” he growls. I raise my eyes to his the instant his lips smash against mine in a violent assault, and I stumble backward from the force of the impact. They’re so soft and wet, a perfect contrast to the light scruff across his face that’s now scratching against my all-too sensitive skin.

“Wait,” I breathe into his mouth in a feeble attempt to stop this kiss, this amazing, sensual kiss. My hands are in his hair, tugging at the messy strands, pulling and pushing as I try to form a coherent thought. “We can’t—”

“We can,” he interjects and presses his forehead to mine, closing his eyes tight. “You want this as bad as I do, Tweet. Just admit it, let it happen, don’t fight it. Don’t fight us.”

There’s a raw emotion to his voice, one I haven’t heard from him before. It sounds a hell of a lot like vulnerability. His composure’s completely lost, and so is he.

“Cal, we…I…” I can’t finish my sentence. I can’t think clearly with him pressed against me like this, and none of the reasons why this shouldn’t be happening seems relevant anymore.

His lips descend slowly this time; he’s giving me a chance to move away, to stop.

I stay still.

This time when his lips meet mine, the brute force is replaced with a passion so intense I can feel it roll off him in waves. His hands fall from my waist and over the swell of my hips; they’re hot and rough and right against my skin. He reaches around and grabs my ass, kneading the muscle before cupping me and pulling me in harder. My traitorous legs immediately lift and circle his waist as he takes a step forward and pins me against the wall. There’s so much desire ricocheting between us it’s almost too much. I’ve never been pinned against a wall like this, not even with Daniel, and we’d been together for a long time. I thought we’d done everything, experienced everything, but this is just…it’s somehow more. Callum is more.

“Shit, Tweet, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fantasized about this,” he mumbles against my jaw. His lips roam my face, leaving hot wet kisses against all the places they travel.

My moan is the only response I can manage while his mouth is at my throat, sucking and licking and nipping. I’m done for. I couldn’t stop this now even if I wanted to and I don’t. I don’t want him to stop, I need this, him. The music is still playing, and the words are a horrible reminder of what I’m doing.

“Stop the music, Cal, please…I…” But what do I say to him? Stop the music because it’s reminding me that you’re not Cole? My stomach twists and my mind races, but then it’s quiet, and his mouth is back on mine. He’s paused the music with his phone and thrown it onto the shelf beside my purse.

“Better?”

God, if he only knew…better doesn’t even come close as I struggle not to cry out in pleasure when his head moves lower, letting his tongue trace a long, languid line down my neck and across my collarbone. I make a noise that sounds somewhere between a yes and a sigh and a groan. I feel his smile, the rise of his cheek pressing tightly against me.

His fingers push through my hair, massaging my scalp at the nape. The sensation sends me right back to the night I was attacked. He’d consoled me, brought me in for a hug I so desperately needed. His thick arms had enveloped me in his warmth as I trembled and shuddered from the sobs that were wracking my body. He’d stayed silent, rubbing my shoulders, and his hands had found my nape as I’d cried into his chest. Awful, heaving, terrified cries, and he hugged me harder. He saved me that night. He’s been saving me from the first moment I met him.

“Cal,” I say in a forced breath. The thrum of my pulse is ringing so loudly in my ears I shake my head to try and right it. I’m not sure if it’s the wine I’ve drunk, or the effect Cal’s having on me, but I’m lightheaded and needy, and so very turned on. His head lifts, and he brings his face back up my body, kissing me lightly all the way up. He’s so close when his face finally reaches mine our noses are touching. The faint smell of whiskey and toothpaste mingles in the air between us. We’re stealing each other’s air, drinking in what the other exhales. I’m writhing shamelessly against him, trying to cause a little friction and ease the building ache.

“What?” he whispers, still pressing me against the wall. Everything is unmoving, quiet and still, except for our chests. They’re frantically hammering at an exhausting rate; each rise and fall lifts and lowers me in his arms.

“Thank you.”

I can tell he’s not sure what I’m thanking him for; but then again, maybe he is, because his eyes are clearer somehow, and he exhales pulling my back from its resting place. He’s carrying all of my weight now. His mouth lowers back to mine, and his eyes slowly drift closed a fraction of a second before mine close too. We’re kissing but not. Our lips are resting against each other’s, mouths unmoving, just still. It’s the best non-kiss I’ve ever had. After a moment, he begins walking us from the room. When I open my eyes, I find his eyes roaming my face before they fix back onto mine.

I lower my face and he lifts my chin with his finger, forcing my gaze back to his. “Look at me, Tweet.”

I’m pretty sure I melt a tiny bit in his arms, but I do as I’m told. My eyes meet his and stay there this time, never straying once, and neither do his. Not even to see where he’s going. Still looking me in the eyes, he walks us down the hall and past my bedroom door toward his.

This is dangerous. Once I cross this line with him I can never go back, and as much as I want to, and fuck do I want to right now, I know I shouldn’t. He’s never been coy in sharing the fact that he doesn’t do relationships. According to…well, everyone, his life is made up of a series of hook-ups, and that’s fine. I’m not judging him, but that’s not me.

My body is thrumming with a need for him; I want his lips back on mine in another non-kiss. I want the roughness of his hands pressing into my skin. I want his touch in places I shouldn’t. My body is on fire in his arms. Desire and heat mixed with a streak of guilt courses through me and pools low in my stomach. I want him too much and then not at all. If he only wants this for tonight…it will ruin me.

He places me on the floor, opens the door to his room and then takes my hand and leads me inside. My apprehension grows tenfold as I step into his room and he closes the door behind me. His room is filled with the scent of him: soap and spice and something that’s just uniquely Callum. I feel completely out of my depth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, sensing my hesitation.

Well, let’s see. I’m about to have sex with my boss. He doesn’t do relationships. I’m kind of already seeing someone. Oh, and the last guy I let into my heart smashed it to pieces, and scattered it somewhere between New York and California.

I don’t say that, though; I shrug instead.

“Come here,” he says, grabbing my hand again and walking us over to his bed. He sits and pulls me between his legs as he rests his forehead against my stomach. A shiver of pleasure makes its way down my spine at the feel of his breath passing through the thin fabric of my dress and heating my skin. I close my eyes and let my hands slide through his hair absentmindedly as I wage war in my head about whether to let this happen.

His hands begin a slow caress of the back of my thighs. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Tweet. You’ve tied me in knots from the first second I saw you on my stage. You’ve made me question everything to the point where nothing makes sense anymore.” My hands drop to his shoulders, and his head lifts so that he’s looking at me. “The only thing I’m sure of at the moment is that I want you.”

My breath hitches and good God, do I want him, too. More than I want my next breath. But what then? What happens after that? My head’s a jumbled mess of thoughts of Cole and Daniel and how I’m ever going to find the strength to be able to resist this.

“I’m confused, Cal. I need time. I’ve been trying to distance myself from my problems and all I’m doing is causing new ones.”

His hands drop from the back of my thighs, and his head lowers and shakes.

“That’s not really the response I was looking for, Tweet. I don’t want to be one of your problems.”

“You’re not,” I backtrack. “I’m just—I don’t know—scared,” I whisper.

He stands and cups my face in his hands. Electricity runs the length of my spine, and I shudder. He notices and a small smile quirks the corner of his mouth.

“You don’t need to be scared, Robyn. I’ll chase your monsters away.”

His mouth is hungry and possessive as it covers mine, and all rational thoughts fly out the window, along with all my morals and common sense. Right now I’m his, and I’ll deal with the consequences of our actions tomorrow.