Текст книги "The Finn Factor"
Автор книги: Rachel Bailey
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“Did what again?” Apart from the muted sounds from the party at the end of the hall, the only sound in the room was his breathing, heavy and rasping.
“Interfered in your love life.” He took a step closer. “I promised not to, so I’m confessing. And apologizing.” He didn’t sound in the least apologetic. He sounded fierce. Primal. I wanted to touch him, to feel all that surging power that was surrounding him like an aura, but I waited.
“How did you interfere?” I whispered.
“Someone wanted to ask you out and I told them not to.” His eyes had no color in the dim light. They were dark, intense, and focused only on me—a heady sensation.
“Who?”
“Wrong question,” he practically growled.
A delicious shiver raced up my spine. “What’s the right question?”
“Ask me why.” He took another step closer, and I could feel the heat emanating from his body, feel his need filling the air around us. “Ask me why I interfered this time, Scarlett.”
“Why?” The word was not much more than a breath escaping, but it was all I could manage. My entire body buzzed with anticipation.
“Because I wanted to be the one to touch you.” Another step, and he gently pressed me back against the wall with his body along mine. “Because I’m the one that can barely sleep at night, knowing you’re just down the hall. In your bed. Practically naked.”
Shit. I might never sleep a wink again knowing he was in his bed thinking of me naked. His hands were still at his sides, the only place we were touching was the light press of his torso against me.
“Finn?” I rested my hands on his arms, felt his biceps clench at the contact.
He drew in a shaky breath. “Yeah?”
“I’m not mad that you interfered.” My hands trailed from his biceps up to his shoulders then down over his back.
“You’re not?” he asked, his voice tight.
“Nope.” My hands reached his butt and I pulled him closer, sighing when I found him already hard. “And you want to know something else?”
“Hell, yes,” he rasped and sucked my earlobe into his mouth, biting down softly. My knees buckled but his weight kept me pinned to the wall. “Tell me.”
“I don’t care who it was.”
His breath was warm at my ear. “And why is that?”
“Because I want it to be you, too.” I lifted his hands and placed them on my breasts, shivering at the contact. “Touching me.”
“Scarlett,” he said, though it sounded more like my name had been wrenched from his throat.
“And there’s nowhere I’d rather be right now than here. With you.”
It was nothing short of the truth. If my fairy godmother appeared and offered to send me anywhere on the planet, this was exactly what I’d choose.
“Here, as in alone in my office?” he said, his thumbs brushing over my breasts. “Or here, as in against the wall?”
“Here, as in pressed up against your body.” I wiggled my hips and he drew in a sharp breath. “Wherever that happens to be.”
He reached down and lifted my leg, and I wrapped it around his waist, arching to find more pressure. We hadn’t even kissed but this was way more intimate than we’d ever been before. It felt vaguely dangerous. I liked it a lot.
Needing to feel skin, I pulled his button-down, pale-blue shirt from his jeans, and once my fingers made contact, I took full advantage. I’d touched his skin before—of course I had—but it had always been hands or forearm, places that were safe. Places that were firmly in the friend zone. Now I was running my fingertips over his lower back, up over muscles that bunched as I stroked them, then back down to his waistband.
This whole thing was wrong on so many levels that it probably wouldn’t happen again, which only gave my questing hands more urgency. I wanted to experience everything I could in this small window of opportunity.
I reached for his belt buckle and his mouth landed on mine, momentarily distracting me. This wasn’t like our other kisses. This one had more…intent. No soft start, no gentle brushing of lips. This kiss began with open mouths and sliding tongues and only became more carnal from there.
My fingers thrust through his hair, gripped, moved around to his neck, searching, wanting more. His teeth closed over my bottom lip and tugged, and I gasped as it triggered a wave of sparks through my body.
“I might die if you do that again,” I whispered, and felt him smile against my mouth.
“I’d better not do it, then.” His voice was ragged, yet still teasing.
“Yeah, but I might die if you don’t do it again.”
He did it again.
If I didn’t survive this, it would be a marvelous way to go.
His hands grabbed the hem of my dress and roughly pushed it up my thighs until it bunched at my waist. Not wanting to risk it falling back, I tucked the edges under the band of my bra, the next best thing to taking it off altogether, but I didn’t want to break contact long enough to do that.
Still kissing me, his clever hands followed the trail they’d taken with my skirt, though this time it was skin on skin. Up, then down, each time moving a little further from my hips around to my inner thighs.
We broke the kiss, gasping for air, but I couldn’t stay away for long. I kissed down to his jaw, then along the strong column of his neck. Before this, kissing him had involved rules—the first time with the no touching below the neck rule, but even after that, there had been unspoken rules about where it was okay to touch, or how turned on we were allowed to make the other when we weren’t going to follow through. But it seemed all rules were now null and void. I could touch him where I wanted. And I wanted to touch him everywhere.
My tongue traced a path along the lightly stubbled edge of his jaw, then I found the soft skin below it and I bit gently. A shudder racked his body, so I did it again, this time holding the bite and sucking a little. His fingers dug into my ass, grinding me against him, and he hissed my name out between his teeth.
Then one hand found the edge of my underpants, flirting with the elastic until a finger dove inside, feeling the naked skin of my hip, then winding around the front until…pay dirt. His fingers slid against me and I almost came.
A whimper escaped my throat, and at first I didn’t recognize it was me making the sound. His fingers moved deeper, further, moving inside me then out in a rhythm that held me captive, and I was saying things without thought, saying his name, asking him not to stop, and he was talking back to me, but I barely understood his words.
Not even sure I hadn’t ripped any, I fumbled with the buttons on his shirt until it was open. I pushed it over his shoulders so I could kiss his bare skin, smell his scent, as he drove me out of my mind with only a hand. His movements became faster, and he whispered, “Need you like crazy,” in my ear. I bit down hard on his shoulder when everything inside me drew in deliciously tight then exploded out, taking every last drop of energy in my body, leaving me limp and clinging to Finn for support.
He tilted my chin up and kissed me with smiling lips. “That was sexy as hell.”
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a little square packet, then shucked the jeans down to his ankles. I wanted to help but my fingers still felt too thick and slow. Once his underwear was gone, however, I stayed his hands. He wanted to roll the condom on. I wanted to feel him first.
He’d been filling my fantasies and dreams since the very first night we’d kissed, and I had to know the shape of him, feel the weight of him. Know everything about him. I encircled his erection, my palm rubbing the softness of the skin that surrounded the hardness, wishing I could see better in the dim light.
Moving my hand away, he sheathed himself, toed off his shoes, and stepped out of the jeans that had pooled at his feet. He brought my leg up to wrap around his waist again, then the other one, and held my hips in his hands. I met his gaze and we both paused, breathing heavily.
There was something shimmering in this moment—it was the point of no return. No way were we stopping, but it was as if we each needed to acknowledge the line in the sand we were crossing. A slow smile spread across his face, and we began to move. I arched my back against the wall, giving myself purchase as he lowered my hips a couple of inches then sank into me.
I felt myself stretching to accommodate him. The sublime sensation of the empty places inside me being filled, and that it was Finn—Finn—doing this, made the rest of my body sing as well.
Finn’s gaze landed on a short bookcase to my left. It was higher than his desk, in fact, it was the perfect height. I nodded. Sweeping one arm out, he cleared the top of magazines and photocopied pages, then, even as those papers still fluttered to the floor, he moved me across to sit on the perch.
With my arms and legs now freed of the job of holding on, I returned to exploring the expanse of skin available to me. My ankles moved over the taut muscles at the back of his thighs, my hands roamed his shoulders and arms, all while the rhythm of our bodies joining, thrusting together, continued, taking me higher, higher, to impossible heights.
I’d never imagined sex with Finn would be like this. I’d thought about it a lot recently, and it was always good, but…sweet, contained. This, however, was raw and hungry, wild and glorious.
With the soft thump, thump of the bookcase hitting the wall as the soundtrack, he changed the angle and hit something amazing, and I dug my fingernails into his back. Being a quick study, he did it again, and this time all my internal muscles clenched tight. He stopped, his eyes closing, his breath coming in pants.
“Something wrong?” I asked, after swallowing to get my voice to work.
First one of his eyes opened, then the other, and the heat in them was bordering on combustible. “Never been more right in my life.” He started to move again, slowly, building to the same pace as before. “So right, it’s almost too much.”
“Know what you mean.” I’d thought I might die earlier, but now I was seriously at risk of dissolving into him, of losing myself, of being overwhelmed by off-the-scale sex.
His eyes didn’t close again, they stayed locked on mine. It was as if we were in his office, but not there, instead floating together in a place where time and space didn’t exist, where there was only feeling what he was doing to my body, what I was doing to his.
I was on the edge, needing more, unable to take more, desperate for more. His hand snaked down to where we were joined, gliding over already sensitive skin, and pushed me right off the precipice into a dizzying freefall. Stars burst to life behind my eyelids. My body was weightless, and I never wanted to land.
Finn tucked his face into the spot where my neck met my shoulder and let out a muffled roar. Shudders racked his body, before his weight slumped against me, pinning me against the wall. The best place in the world to be.
There was a crack, and the bookshelf below me gave a little, then another crack and it gave way completely. As we fell, Finn managed to pull me tight to him and roll backward, so I landed on him in the middle of the floor, instead of in the shards of cheap shelving.
We sat up, surrounded by the magazines and papers he’d flung to the floor earlier, staring at the mess of books and plywood, then looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“You know,” he said when he found his breath, “no one’s ever rocked my world enough to break furniture before.”
I grinned. “What can I say? I’m explosive in bed. Or,” I glanced around, “in an office.”
The amusement left his gaze, and he leaned in to lightly kiss my lips. “Abso-fucking-lutely you are.”
“If we hadn’t just had sex, I’d totally do you for saying that.”
He lay back on the wooden floor, pulling me to him with one arm and throwing the other out to the side. “Whatever happens, we’ll always have bookshelf-splosion night.”
My smile faded as I realized how true that was—we’d always have this night. But whatever more we had, or didn’t have, was much less certain.
I drew in a breath, pushed the thought away, and snuggled into Finn’s side, determined not to lose a moment of the now to worry. Instead I’d make the most of what I had in front of me. Or more precisely, beside me.
Chapter Eleven
Scarlett
The next day I was sitting on the living room floor with Amelia, painting Harvey’s nails. It had been Amelia’s suggestion, and Harvey seemed to have no problem with it. I suspected he’d put up with pretty much anything if it meant he was allowed inside.
My parents were on the sofa, reading the paper, and Finn had been gone for almost two hours, so was probably due back soon. Most Sundays he liked to go for a long bike ride—he said it worked out the kinks from being hunched over his desk all week—and he’d missed a couple since Amelia had come home. Today, however, he’d been up early and out the door. Of course, it had occurred to me that perhaps he was feeling awkward about seeing me…
“When is Billie arriving?” Amelia asked without looking up from the Border Collie’s bright blue toenail.
“Friday.” Finn’s birthday was Saturday and we were having a small family party for him. With Amelia already home, and Billie coming back for the weekend, our party list was almost complete.
“I haven’t got him anything yet,” Amelia said. “I’ll have to do something this week. Are you giving him a painting again?”
“Yep, it’s almost finished.” The ritual of the teddy bear painting would be continued. Which made me think of Marnie looking at them hanging in Finn’s bedroom, which made me scowl. But it also made me think of Finn in there thinking of me being practically naked, which made me swoon a little and smudge purple polish on the fur beside Harvey’s nail.
“Do you still see Darren?” my mother asked out of the blue.
There was only one Darren I could think of. “You mean my old roommate?”
“That’s the one. He was such a lovely boy.”
“He used to steal my underwear.”
“Ew,” Amelia said.
My mother frowned. “Did he? He seemed so nice.” She turned the page of the newspaper. “What about Sarah?”
“She was arrested for growing pot in the spare room,” I said without looking up from Harvey’s nails. “She moved interstate after that and we haven’t kept in touch.”
Amelia sat back. “Geez, you’ve had a bad run of roomies. Lucky Finn rescued you from all that. We’re much better.”
“That you are,” I agreed.
The year I’d been living in Finn’s house was probably the longest I’d ever lived in one place in my entire life. I felt safe here. Kinda stable, as if I’d set down roots. Not to mention only having to pay teeny tiny rent while I was saving up.
“Good,” Amelia said. “You should live with us forever.”
Before I could answer, the front door opened, and Finn strode in wearing Lycra riding gear that outlined his leg muscles and the breadth of his shoulders. He was panting, his hair was a mess, and his skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. I’d seen him looking that same way about twelve hours ago when we’d had sex, and he looked just as good now. I pretty much melted into the floor. His eyes skimmed over the room, snagged on me for a heart-stopping moment, then continued on, playing it cool in front of his sister. At least I think that’s what he was doing. We hadn’t really discussed what last night meant for our friendship.
“Hey, Finn,” Amelia said, “is there anything in particular you want for your birthday?”
“Uh, not really.” He headed for the kitchen then reappeared with a sports drink. He arched his neck as he drank, and my eyes were drawn to the strong column of his throat, to the Adam’s apple that bobbed as he downed the drink, and to the not-so-faint bruise just below his jaw that I’d made last night. Crap. I glanced around the room, wondering if anyone else had noticed the new mark, but it didn’t appear they had.
Or had they noticed too much and were pretending to be oblivious for politeness’s sake? Crappity crap. Lucky they couldn’t see the bite mark on his shoulder or the scratches on his back…
I looked back down at Harvey’s nails and tried to ooze I Haven’t Had Sex With Finn vibes. Nope, nothing to see here. Just two friends who happen to be in the same room at the same time, not thinking about sex.
Finn moved closer, I could feel him, but I didn’t look up. I was too busy pretending to not have had sex with him.
“You know this dog is not a toy, right?” he said.
Amelia glanced over at me with a puzzled expression, reflecting the one that was probably on my face, then looked up at her brother. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not normal to paint a dog’s nails.”
I shrugged. “Normal is relative. Harvey doesn’t mind.”
“Harvey is doing whatever it takes so you don’t throw him outside.”
At that, Harvey got up and limped around me to stand beside Finn, then raised his sore paw. He was such a sweet dog—even when his paw was hurting, he was willing to shake hands and be pleasant.
Finn frowned down at the Border Collie. “You’re not tricking me. The vet said there was nothing wrong with your foot.”
My mother tsked from the sofa. “Vets don’t know everything, and dogs have pure souls. They don’t lie.”
Finn snorted. “This one does. He has plans and schemes.”
Harvey whined at Finn, clearly desperate to be liked. I scooted over on my knees and wrapped my arms around Harvey’s warm, furry body. “Don’t worry, boy. We all love you.” Harvey licked my cheek, knocking my purple glasses off. I giggled as I replaced them and looked up to see Finn watching me with eyes that were an even darker blue than usual…and filled with scorching heat. All the air was sucked out of the room.
Amelia began to gather the nail polish bottles and put them back in the basket. “We were talking about your birthday,” she said over her shoulder. “Is there something special you want to do?”
Finn blinked hard then looked at his little sister. “Uh, something low key. Maybe grab some pizzas.”
“Not enough.” Amelia sat back on her haunches. “Billie’s coming home all the way from Melbourne for this, so we have to do something.”
“She’s right,” my mother said. “Birthdays are important rites of passage. We should mark it with an appropriate event. I know you’ve been the man of the house for a while now, but have you ever had an initiation into manhood? We could do something to pay you back for having us here.”
Finn turned panicked eyes back to me, clearly imploring my help, but it was way too much fun. I couldn’t resist teasing just a little. “Hmm. Twenty-four. Isn’t that an important year for men? Maybe we could—”
His eyes narrowed on me, then he interrupted, his voice calm. “Has Scarlett told you about her promotion at work?”
“Promotion?” my father echoed. “I thought this was a temporary job?”
Finn’s eyes lit with amusement and he took off down the hall for a shower, leaving me to a lecture about not getting settled in the temporary job, especially now I’d managed to extricate myself from accounting. The Universe had given me a gift with my artistic talents, and I wasn’t honoring that gift by ignoring it. Amelia and Harvey made themselves scarce, and I couldn’t blame them. I smiled and nodded in all the right places, but inside, I was planning payback.
Finn
It had been three days and twenty-two hours since I’d made love to Scarlett. And, even though we still hadn’t discussed it, not one of those hours had passed without me thinking about it. In detail.
Even now, sitting in the silversmithing workshop, where I was supposed to be learning how to work with silver so I could make my own replica of the pipes of Ur, all I could think about was that she was sitting beside me at the bench. Only inches away. Close enough to touch.
I reached across the bench to grab another sheet of silver, brushing her arm, the touch a little too lingering to be accidental. God, I loved her skin. Loved the way it felt, loved the way it smelled, loved the way it tasted…
She stilled and whispered, “Not while I have a sharp pointy thing near my fingers, Finn.”
Sensible. Besides, in the three days and twenty-two hours since she’d blown my mind, the only time we’d been alone was the drive to this workshop, and that had only been about five minutes, so we hadn’t discussed where things stood between us. How our friendship had fared. We were in some kind of limbo.
Sure, I’d caught her shooting me heated looks, but I’d seen her avoiding my eyes even more, and that made my gut squirm with nerves. If a temporary loss of sanity had ruined our friendship, I’d never forgive myself. Getting us back on track was a priority, and this class was a good start. Two friends, attending an art workshop together. Nothing unusual about that. As long as I could stop imagining myself kissing every bit of skin I could see. Which I had to stop doing. Pronto.
So I sat back and watched her technique again. There were nine people in the workshop and we were each supposed to be making a project. A couple of students were making rings, one person was making a clumpy thing—though, in fairness, I think it was also supposed to be a ring—and Scarlett was making a star shaped pendant. I was making a flute. It wouldn’t be a proper one on my first go. Tonight was more about learning to work with silver and getting the general idea of flute construction.
Noela, the teacher, had at first encouraged me to make something simpler to start, but I wouldn’t be deterred. She’d given me the option of using a sheet of silver and warming it so I could roll it into a flute shape, or of making a wax mold first then working with molten silver. Scarlett had suggested the sheet method since the wax and mold process would take more than one night, so I’d gone that way.
I wasn’t getting a whole lot achieved, however, thanks to being spellbound by Scarlett. The way her hands worked was mesmerizing. So agile and quick. Everything she did looked incredible. She’d put the silver through a roller to flatten it, and had cut the shape according to the pattern she’d made on paper first, making the entire process look simple. I’d never get the hang of this. Although, anything artistic seemed to come easily to Scarlett, so I should be comparing myself to the guy making the clumpy ring rather than her.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” I said, laying down my sheet. “I’d be better off paying you to make me a set of pipes.”
She cast me a quick glance then focused back on her pendant. “I thought the point of you making the reed flutes and silver pipes was to help your understanding of the challenges the ancient musicians faced, and what was involved in their roles. If I make it for you, how is that different from you buying a replica off the net?”
“Because I can watch you do it. I’d just get my understanding second hand.” I sighed. “I think we need to admit I’m not as good with my hands as you are.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, her voice dropping a few notes. “When you’re motivated, your hands are like magic.”
And just like that, my body was on fire. Granted it had been on the brink since Bookshelf-splosion Night, so it didn’t take much to set me off. But I’d been hoping this class would get our friendship back on track. I was just a guy, sitting next to a girl, who was only a friend. Yeah, though all the evidence in my jeans right now was to the contrary.
Noela came past and looked at my sheet of silver sitting forlornly on the bench with marks where I wanted the air holes to be. “Finn, isn’t it?” I nodded and she picked up the product of my two hours of work. “Perhaps we should try something simpler?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve decided to pay Scarlett to make it for me. She has the knack for anything artistic.”
Noela’s gaze moved across to Scarlett’s side of the bench. “He’s right. Your work is very sophisticated for a beginner. Are you sure you’ve never done any silversmithing before?”
“No,” she said, not quite meeting Noela’s eyes. “But I’ve been painting all my life. And I’ve done lots of courses on sculpting and drawing and stuff.”
“I’d love to see some of your work.” Noela’s voice was interested and genuine, and I smiled on the inside.
“I don’t normally show it.” Scarlett fiddled with the little electric instrument she was using to decorate the pendant. “It’s just a hobby, really.”
The teacher smiled knowingly. “I’ve only known you for two hours, so I could be off base, but it doesn’t feel to me that it’s only a hobby.”
Scarlett didn’t say anything, so I stepped in. “Her work is amazing.”
Noela smiled at me before turning back to Scarlett. “I’m here Mondays and Wednesdays if you ever want to drop in. You know,” she said casually, “with a painting, or whatever.” Then she moved on to the next bench.
Scarlett’s hands fluttered up to her throat.
“Hey,” I said, taking her hands in mine. “Are you okay?”
She blinked. “Yeah, I’m fine. I guess she just surprised me.”
“You should do it. Bring one of your paintings up.”
“No reason to,” she said, in the same dismissive tone she used when she refused to watch football on the TV, so I let it drop.
At the end of the workshop, we were filing out the door when I noticed a poster on the wall in the corridor for an art contest.
“Hey,” I said to Scarlett. “You should enter that. The prize is two hundred dollars and a chance for your painting to be hung in one of the galleries downtown.”
“No,” she said without looking over.
I’d never understood her attitude to her art. If you were good at something, you followed it. What would it hurt to bring a painting down to show Noela, or to enter a contest?
“I can see your mind ticking over, Finn. Do not enter one of my paintings on my behalf.”
“Why would you think I’d do that?” I hadn’t thought of it, but it was a good plan…
She sighed and pushed her blue glasses further up her nose. “Because you think you’re helping but I’m not one of your sisters. We’ve already had this conversation.”
We reached my car and I clicked the keyless lock. Once we were in, I turned to her. “But you’re not making decisions about your art or your career. You’re standing in one spot.”
She shrugged one shoulder as she dumped her bag on the backseat. “It’s my life to stand in one spot if I choose.”
I rubbed a finger over my forehead. She was right. Maybe I was treating her like one of my sisters and trying to get her to do what I thought was best, instead of letting her make her own decisions. The realization was sour in my stomach.
“I guess,” I started, but didn’t know what words came next. I tried again. “It’s just that I care about you and want to see you achieve great things.”
“Maybe I don’t want to achieve great things. Maybe I’ll be happy with a nice, average life.” The streetlights that lit the parking lot showed the slope of her cheekbones, the curve of her lush mouth. She was so beautiful, she made my chest ache.
“You’ll never be average, Scarlett,” I said, my voice raspy. “Even if you tried, you’d never be average.”
Her eyes softened, and the sight made the ache in my chest grow until it damn near floored me.
Then she leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She hadn’t moved back after kissing my cheek and the air in the car changed, grew heavier. My heart picked up speed and her lips parted a little. It would be so easy to lean in the short distance and kiss her. Not the polite peck on the cheek she’d just given me, but a deep, messy, hungry kiss.
And now that I knew what sex with Scarlett was like, we probably wouldn’t stop at a kiss.
Which was the problem.
“Scarlett,” I whispered.
“Yeah?”
I swallowed, wondering if I could bring myself to say it. “We shouldn’t.”
She nodded and gave me a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, then sat back in her seat. “I know.”
We both looked out the windshield for a couple of minutes, neither of us talking or moving. Silence had never been a problem with Scarlett—we’d spent heaps of time in the past, driving somewhere or eating dinner, both lost in our own thoughts. No big deal.
This was different. This was a loaded silence, filled with more words than an average conversation held.
Finally, I cleared my throat. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”
“Yeah, me too,” she said, still not looking at me. “But once is an accident. Twice is a pattern.”
Yep, exactly. And patterns of having sex turned into relationships. And the idea of a relationship with Scarlett scared the crap out of me.
When I dated other people, things would follow a standard formula—time together would start out fun, then turn into a bit of a chore, then I’d feel claustrophobic and leave. Assuming they hadn’t broken up with me by that point, which was more common.
Every time I thought about a relationship with Scarlett, I jumped straight into the claustrophobic stage. It was too much. She was my best friend and my roommate—dating her as well would suffocate me.
Even just imagining us dating started the panic in my blood. The walls were closing in on me.
“Hey, your eyes are looking a little wild. Whatever is going on in your head, just stop it.” She reached over and squeezed my hand. “This is just you and me. We’re fine. We’ll always be fine.”
The pressure inside me eased until I could breathe again. Smile, even. Scarlett had a way of reaching me, of centering me, like no one else. Her hand on my back at Amelia’s school principal’s office. Late night mojitos and patient listening when I’d been tearing my hair out over my thesis. She could make my world return to its axis with a glance. A word. A touch.
Something shifted inside me and I looked at her with new eyes. She was so beautiful, she shone from within. I didn’t just want to have sex with her again, I wanted all of her. More than I’d ever had from her. More than I’d ever had from anyone.
“Scarlett,” I said, my voice cracking on her name.
“Yeah?” She sounded wary, as if she could tell something had changed.
“We’ve explained our connection away as being best friends, but what if there is more?”
Her lips parted, but didn’t form words for a long moment. “Like what?”
I leaned closer again and wound my fingers through her soft blond hair. “Maybe we should give a relationship a go.”
