Текст книги "Seven Nights to Surrender"

Автор книги: Jeanette Grey

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Текущая страница: 20 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

The problem was, he didn’t even know what normal was. It didn’t matter how torn up she was over seeing him, bouncing between elation and rage and every possible emotion in between—if he couldn’t handle cheap, terrible noodles—if he couldn’t manage to get them down without lying to her . . . then they were doomed.

He pulled the spoon from between those soft, too-kissable lips, and his shoulders stiffened, his expression going impassive. It took him a hell of a long time to swallow.

“So?” she asked.

His throat bobbed as he managed to get his mouthful down. “Well . . .”

“Don’t lie.” And it was supposed to come out light, even teasing. But there was too much history between them. It was too loaded of a statement. Her throat felt raw.

His gaze snapped up to hers, something dark and sharp passing behind his eyes.

Of course he knew this was a test.

Moving ever so slowly, he reached to the side and set his mug down on her bedside table. She stared at the bright red handle of the thing, a stupid freebie she’d picked up in the student union for signing up for something, and she was serving fucking ramen to some society heir in it. Her eyes prickled.

And then he was in her space, warm hands closing around hers, and she’d nearly forgotten how good it felt to be touched. To have this man, the one who could have any woman he wanted—and who probably had—to have him touching her . . .

Don’t. Her mind screamed at her. Don’t trust him, don’t let him in, don’t let him touch you again. But her body went rigid. Frozen.

He coaxed her fingers to unclench, gently prying her mug from her. Twisted to set it on the counter behind her, and that put them even closer. She felt unbearably brittle, like any little thing could cause her to shatter, but the heat of him, the proximity of his body hovering over hers, it melted the edges of her. Fused them together with this vague, impossible promise that he could make her whole.

Taking her face between his palms, he tilted her head up until she had no choice but to look at him. The dazzling blue of his eyes stared back at her, and she’d loved this man so much. For one perfect week, she had.

But she couldn’t trust him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. For every single thing I did that caused you pain.”

She shook her head within his grasp, vision going blurry. Wasn’t that exactly what she wanted him to say? What she’d always wanted all the men in her life who had hurt her to say?

His gaze went deeper. “If you don’t want me to lie to you about how oversalted and unappealing that soup is, then I won’t. I can promise you, I will never, ever lie to you again. Not about anything that matters, and not about your cooking, either, if that’s what you want.”

A snort of laughter broke through her closed-up throat. “I’d hardly call it cooking.”

He didn’t let her change the subject or digress. “Whatever you want to call it, then. I won’t lie about it.”

She gazed back up into his eyes. “Would you have told me the truth about it, though?” Because that had been the problem. When she’d called him out on all his not-quite truths in Paris, he’d sworn he’d never lied to her, not outright, and maybe he hadn’t been wrong about that. But he’d kept his silences, muttered vague agreements that dodged all around the questions she’d really been asking him. “Or would you have just said nothing? Just let me believe what I wanted to?”

He stroked his thumbs across her cheeks. “We’re not arguing about your soup here.”

“No. I guess we aren’t.”

Sighing, an aching sadness to him, he took one of his hands and braced it on the wall behind her. “So talk to me about something besides soup.”

Like all of her strings had been cut, she sagged, leaning back into the wall. It would be so easy to let her head fall forward onto his shoulder, to rest there for a moment. He was clearly ready to give her whatever comfort she wanted, but it wouldn’t fix anything. Him showing up here, making promises he’d given her no reason to believe up until this point—it didn’t solve anything.

“Rylan.” She placed her hand over his and pulled it gently from her cheek. “What are you doing here? Really.”

“I already told you. I came here for you.”

“But why?” And this wasn’t the same insecurity from their first night together, eating crepes in the open air on a Paris night. She had some kind of hold over him, there was no denying that at this point. But “Why here? Why now?”

He turned his hand over in hers, tangling their fingers together, and it felt too easy to let him do it. She squeezed his palm, stilling him. Because this was important.

When he spoke again, his voice pitched lower, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “It’s funny, you know. I was in Paris for a year before I met you, and the whole time, I was never lonely. I was too angry, too—” He cut himself off with a harsh breath of a laugh. “I felt too betrayed. I’d gone there running from this shitstorm my father had left for us, and I couldn’t see anything beyond that. Not even how unhappy I was. I knew my life was empty, but . . . it was like it almost seemed better that way.”

And she had seen that, hadn’t she? It’d been lurking in the corners of her vision, all that time they’d spent together shadowed by it. There’d been a restlessness to him, a dissatisfaction he never would’ve admitted to but which she could all but taste. How else did a man like him get so caught up in something the way he had? How else did he change all of his plans for an entire week, and for what? A girl?

She didn’t want to sell herself short, but it didn’t make any kind of sense.

“That still doesn’t explain—” she started.

“And then you walked into my life, and you were anything but empty. You cared so much about life and art, and you let me touch you . . .” He trailed off, gaze darting down the center of her body, leaving a low trail of warmth everywhere it went. “And I didn’t feel hollow for the first time in so long.”

“And so you lied.”

“And so I glossed over the details of my life. Because for that moment, that handful of days, I wanted to live in yours. By the time I realized how much I needed you—that I had to come clean with you . . . it was too late.” His mouth twisted up into a painful shadow of a smile. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I’d already fucked it up, so there was no way I could keep you, but I couldn’t—I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t be another guy who’d hurt you.”

Her eyes blurred. But she wasn’t going to let him see her shake. “You understand the irony of that statement, don’t you?”

“There is nothing I regret more than hurting you.”

“But you did.” There was no invective left to throw behind the words. They were simply there, true and awful and bare. “You broke my heart. Because I let myself think you were different. You only let me see these little glimmers of yourself—”

“I showed you more than I’ve ever shown anybody else.”

Dizziness swept over her, because he believed that. The way he was looking at her, a fierceness to his gaze, he had to.

“I know I showed you more, because it was more than I’d shown myself.” He took her hand in both of his. “After you left, I had to face it. There wasn’t any pretending anymore. I tried. God, I tried. But none of it was the same.”

“So what? You’ve just been wasting away without me these past few months?”

He shrugged, but he missed casual by a mile. “Essentially, yes.”

And that was it. The intensity of his gaze was too much. She suddenly couldn’t breathe, and she twisted, tugging her hand away and squirming out from under his arm.

“I’m just a girl,” she insisted, retreating. It was a couple of feet worth of distance, but it felt like the world.

“No.” His voice broke. “Don’t you get it? You’re the girl. The one who opened my eyes. Before you, Kate, I—” He turned, taking her place with his back to the wall. It seemed like it was the only thing keeping him up. “I was running. I wouldn’t let anyone get close to me. And you barreled right through that.” He lifted his head. “Two days ago, I took off my father’s ring.”

A shiver ran down her spine. Right. He’d pressed her hand to the center of his ribs until she’d felt that absence. The place where that band of gold used to be.

“I came here. To New York, to a board of directors meeting to save my father’s company, because I’m tired of acting like I don’t have any choices anymore. You made me want to take my life back again. To find some good in it.” His eyes went bright. “I’m tired of living in my father’s shadow. I want to be here. I want to fix things with my family. I want to fix things with you.”

Her lip quivered. “But what if you can’t?”

“Then I’ll die trying?”

She laughed, but it came out with a sniffle. “Melodramatic much?”

“Hardly.” He licked his lips. “Kate . . .” He trailed off, hands twitching at his sides like he wanted to reach out again. She took an unconscious step backward. And then another.

Her apartment was such a shoebox, it only took her a half dozen more for her knees to hit the edge of her bed, and she sat back against it heavily.

“This is crazy.” The thought finally made it past her lips. “You barely know me, you barely let me know you. We had just—what? A week together?”

“We were supposed to have seven nights.”

“And we didn’t even get that far.” How could they hope to get any farther? “And now you want to uproot your whole life because of me? It’s too much.”

“It’s barely the half of what you make me want.” Rough, he said, “What we had, it might not have lasted long, but it changed me. I think it changed you, too.”

It had. In so many ways.

“When you let me touch you, when you let me inside you, it meant something.” His words sent molten heat to the center of her. But the sex wasn’t the problem. Before she could open her mouth to protest, he swallowed, throat bobbing, eyes darkening. “I still think about it. All the time. How sweet you tasted, how it felt to put my hands on you . . .”

“Don’t.” She raised a hand as if that could stop him. Her insides trembled. God, it had been a long three months, with nothing to sate her. He’d started this fire within her from the barest kindling, and she’d had no way to put it out. Only the time to let it burn. Three words from him, and the smoldering embers of it threatened to consume her whole.

“I still have the toys we bought. I’d love to put them inside you again. Make you come over and over—”

It felt like a blow, the wave of need that threatened to knock her over. She shook her head even as she clenched her thighs.

“We had something. Something I’ve never had before, and I was a fool to let it go without a fight last time. Hell if I’m going to do it again. Isn’t it at least worth something? All I’m asking is for you to let us try. Let me try, to win you back, to earn your trust.”

And just like that, it all bubbled over. The anger and the hurt and the betrayal, and it was so mixed up with how much she had loved him, how much she still wanted him. How much she didn’t know if she could ever trust him again. “I don’t know you!”

She’d thought she had, but he’d hidden himself at every turn, and so everything he claimed they’d had was ash, scattering at the faintest wind. He’d been just like her father, just like Aaron, pretending to be one thing while deep down he was someone else. Just waiting to turn on her.

He was the reason she’d hardened her heart. She’d learned her lesson, thanks to him, that opening yourself up only led to pain.

She dug her nails into her palms, blinking back tears.

If she let him in again and he hurt her, she’d never forgive herself.

But if she threw him out. If she didn’t give him this chance. Would she regret that just as much someday?

She closed her eyes for a long moment, fighting to catch her breath. She should throw him out. Even if it was only for the night. Having this all tossed back in her face just as the wound had been starting to heal had her reeling. She had to catch her balance—needed time to think.

When she opened her eyes again, though, he was closer. The sight of him on his knees a scant few feet from her . . . It sucked the air from her lungs all over again.

He worked his jaw, the sharp, perfect point of it flexing as if with a contained strength, a coiled need. “You know me,” he gritted out. “Better than anyone in the world. I showed you my fucking soul. I let you draw me. And if that isn’t enough . . .”

She finally heard the undercurrent. If I’m not enough . . .

He shook his head. “Let me prove to you that I’m the man I said I was, deep down. I’ll show you the rest of it, too, if you want. The money, my family. Everything. But it won’t change anything. The man who made love to you in Paris. That’s me. That’s all the important parts of me.”

A hardness, a tight muscle that had been aching inside her all these months, gave beneath the pressure. Softening. “How?” she asked.

He paused, blinking for a moment. Then as if hit by sudden inspiration, his gaze brightened. Still on his knees, he shuffled closer, reaching out to take her hands, and by God, she let him.

“Seven nights. That’s what we were supposed to have in Paris.”

“Yes . . .”

“So give me seven nights more, here, in New York. If by the end of that, I haven’t shown you, if I haven’t proven to you that I am who I say I am . . . if you still don’t think you can trust me . . .” He worked his jaw back and forth. “Well, I can’t promise I’ll go quietly, but I’ll go.”

She couldn’t decide if it was the most ridiculous idea she’d ever heard or the best. “Rylan . . .”

“Kate. I’m—” The words seemed to choke him, but he got them out all the same. “I’m begging you. Please. Give me a chance. I promise, I will be so good to you.” That heat crept back into his tone, making it richer. Deeper. “Remember how good we were?”

The problem was, she did. The summer had been a disaster because of him, but it had had these shining moments she’d remember forever. Standing next to him in a museum, telling him what she saw in a Cézanne, and listening to him break down and start to tell her about his family.

Moments when she lay under him, when his mouth had been on her, when he’d filled her and made her body spark with pleasure in a way she hadn’t even known it could.

She was an idiot for even considering it, and even more of one for the way a part of her, a part that had gone unsatisfied for so long, wanted to give in to it right now.

If she was going to think about it, she should think about it. Take a day and mull it over. Definitely not let him keep rubbing warmth into her hands, pressing broad fingertips to the skin of her wrists.

She shouldn’t be turning her palm over in his to grasp him back. It shouldn’t feel this good.

As if to clinch it, he dipped his head to kiss her knuckles. “Please.”

Really, what were seven nights? She could guard her heart for that long, and take from him all the pleasure he himself had taught her she could ask for from a man. And when it inevitably fell apart, she could let him go without any lingering doubts in her mind. She’d never have to look back on this moment and wonder what if?

Shakily, she said, “Seven nights.”

“It’s not so much to ask.”

“Does that include tonight?” It was another not-quite test, because she was exhausted from all of this. Hungry, and not just for the dinner she’d barely managed to eat half of.

Hungry for connection and touch and to just give in for a while. To surrender.

“I suppose that depends.”

“On what?”

She held her breath as he drifted his hand up her arm, to her shoulder and her throat before letting it fall down the center of her body. He stopped it with his palm between her breasts, every inch of contact throwing sparks. All the supplication from before disappeared, replaced by the quiet, commanding confidence he’d always shown when they were like this. When he was about to prove to her that he could teach her body to do so much more.

“On whether or not you’ll let me lay you out on this bed. On whether you’ll let me remind you just how good we can be.”

“Seven nights,” she said one last time, already dizzy with it.

“Starting with this one.” His other hand slipped to her thigh, edging upward with every exhalation.

A beat passed and then another. And maybe she was a fool. But she’d be more of one not to take this.

It was what he’d been trying to show her all along, after all. She deserved pleasure. She had the right to accept it from him.

Swallowing down her nerves, steeling her heart, she placed her hands over his. She gave in to the heat surging through her from this simple touch. To the tiny piece of her that was willing to give this a shot.

Leaning forward, she let her mouth hover just above his. “Then you had better make it count.”

Rylan will stop at nothing to win back

Kate’s trust – and heart.

Don’t miss the stunning sequel to

Seven Nights To Surrender . . .

Coming soon from

Their passion burned hotter than the stars. . .

Nothing’s been easy for Jo Kramer. But when she earns a coveted spot on a prestigious science internship in Puerto Rico, she won’t let anything distract her. Not the past she’s trying to escape, not the difficult professors, and definitely not her hot, chiselled research partner.

For Adam McCay, physics is simple – it’s women who are complicated. Especially brilliant, beautiful ones like Jo. He can feel the heat smouldering beneath Jo’s icy exterior, and he’s determined to be the one to make her melt. . .

Jo and Adam indulge in every desire under the endless stars of a tropical sky. But their summer together is coming to an end. Will their passion survive beyond this island paradise?

‘I couldn’t put it down! I loved every sentence! The writing is outstanding, the setting entrancing, and the characters stole my heart. Fresh, flawed and instantly lovable, you’ll root for Jo and Adam at every turn’ S. C. Stephens, #1 New York Times bestselling author

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