“That’s probably what she did.” With a sigh, I grab my wineglass and drain it. It’s like I don’t even care any longer. The “I need to be on my best behavior so he’ll like me” veneer has been completely washed off by wine.
There’s no reeling it back either. Even though I know I should. The panic races through my veins as I contemplate the nearly empty wine bottle sitting in the middle of the table. I want to lunge for it, bring the bottle to my lips and drink it dry. I know I need to restrain myself and play my part, but I can’t. The alcohol has made me melancholy, the fact that this boy knows my mother yet we sit here and pretend that she’s this fuzzy myth…
It’s fucking with my head. My emotions.
My heart.
“So sorry for the delay.” The stressed-out server is standing beside our table, a plate balanced in each hand, and he sets a plate in front of me before doing the same for Rhett. “It’s extremely busy tonight. Do you need anything else?”
I think about asking for more wine, but Rhett answers for the both of us, telling the server we’re fine.
“Very well.” The waiter bows, like we’re royalty, and then takes off.
“I’m sorry if I made you upset,” Rhett says quietly. “I was just trying to help.”
His apology throws me off guard. “I—no, it’s fine. You didn’t upset me.”
“Clearly you’re lying.”
My heart threatens to explode from my chest.
“Because I know what I said about your mom made you upset,” he continues, his expression pained. Like he hates that he hurt me. My heart swells and for the quickest moment, I wish this night, this date with Rhett, was real. “I just, I don’t know, I wanted to help. And sometimes I overstep my place. So I’m sorry for that.”
We both go quiet, choosing to start on our meals so we can avoid conversation. At least, that’s what I’m doing. Maybe he’s giving me time, space, whatever you want to call it, and I’m sort of floored. As in, I don’t know how to react. He’s just so nice. And respectful. He’s unlike any other guy I’ve ever been with before, and I’m drawn to his polite manners and kind gestures. It doesn’t feel fake.
The way he treats me feels all too real.
“Thank you for apologizing,” I finally say, causing him to glance up from his plate, our gazes meeting. “It means a lot to me.”
“Honestly Jens, I didn’t want to see you cry,” he says, his voice tender, his brown eyes full of concern.
My eyes fill with tears at his words and I blink them away. I drop my gaze, concentrating on the plate of food in front of me, letting my growling stomach remind me that yes, I should keep eating. “You’re too good to be true,” I murmur.
Maybe he does actually like me. And God, maybe I…actually like him too.
That thought is too terrifying to contemplate.
We go to the movies after dinner, and it’s so normal, such a typical date, yet something I’ve never done with a guy before. Standing in line in front of the movie theater feels surreal. It’s cold out and I’m standing close to Rhett, my side pressing against his and he wraps his arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze.
“I can feel you trembling,” he tells me laughingly, and I laugh too, pretending that yes, I’m so cold.
My trembling is more from nerves. Just standing next to him makes me feel edgy. Scared. Excited.
Aroused.
I turn toward him, relishing his warmth, his scent. He smells amazing, woodsy yet citrusy, and I breathe him in deep. He has no clue his effect on me, and that’s probably best. I don’t want him to know the power he holds over me. How I have to work so hard to fight it, to remind myself why I’m with him.
Tonight, I don’t want to remember.
I sneak a glance at his face. He’s staring straight ahead, scanning the giant movie listings board, and I admire his sexy jawline, those defined cheekbones. He’s got a rich boy face. It sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. There’s nothing soft about Rhett Montgomery. He’s all sharp lines and moneyed features. He inherited his good looks from a long line of attractive rich people that goes back generations.
It’s intoxicating, all that rich sexiness. It’s not just his looks either, but the way he carries himself, how he speaks, the cut of his clothing, the silk of his hair, the tone of his voice. It all screams money. And as I’ve gotten to know him, I realize I want a piece of it, a piece of him, if only for this moment.
“Funny or scary?” Rhett looks down, catches me staring. I don’t look away and neither does he. The pleased smile on his face tells me he likes that I was watching him. “What are you in the mood for?”
“Scary,” I tell him. I can envision me hiding my face in his shoulder, him having to hold me close. Jumping in his arms every time I’m startled. I like the direction this is going.
“Scary it is then.” He removes his arm from my shoulders when we’re next in line to pay, and I feel hollow. That arm around me was like a public claiming, and I never thought I’d be the type to like that sort of thing, but I do.
Once Rhett pays for our tickets, we enter the main lobby, and I may sound like a total idiot right now, but I’m dazzled. The lobby is enormous, lit up like I imagine Las Vegas is, and it’s full of people. The concession stand has lines, the scent of popcorn lingers in the air and I watch a kid no older than eight haul away a bucket of popcorn and a cup of soda, both items almost as big as him.
“I want popcorn,” I admit, and Rhett laughs.
“Same,” he agrees, steering me toward the concession counter. We stand in line and I remain quiet, listening to the conversations around us, spying on people. Rhett checks his phone discreetly—I’m sure he doesn’t want to seem rude on our date—but I don’t mind. It gives me time to observe, to figure out how I should act.
The girl behind us is telling her friend how she saw the trailer for the scary movie we’re going to see, and how she nearly peed her pants, it frightened her so bad. The couple ahead of us are also going to see the same movie, and they’re both discussing the director, who’s well known and respected in the movie world, so they expect this to be a decent movie and not trash, as the guy tells her.
By the time we’re seated in the hushed quiet of the theater showing our movie, the giant popcorn bucket wedged between us, I’m feeling anxious. Why, I don’t know.
“Are you regretting our movie choice?” Rhett asks, his voice low.
I turn to look at him, startled to find his face so close to mine. “What do you mean?”
“You’re squirming in your seat and the movie hasn’t even started yet,” he says, his voice teasing.
“Oh, I guess I’m not the biggest fan of scary movies,” I confess.
His brows draw together in seeming confusion. I love when he does that. “But you’re the one who wanted to see a scary movie.”
“I guess I liked the idea of you holding me close during the bad parts,” I murmur.
His smile is knowing as he slips his arms around the back of my chair, his hand dropping to my shoulder. “I’m here for you. You want to jump in my lap, bury your face in my neck? I’m your man.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “How kind of you to offer up your services.”
“If a beautiful woman wants to throw herself at me in the middle of a movie, I’m not going to protest.”
My entire body goes hot at him calling me a beautiful woman. It’s dangerous, how easily I could get used to his compliments.
I part my lips, ready to continue our conversation, when the lights go dim and the screen flashes with theater-themed messages about turning the ringer off your cell phones and how we shouldn’t talk too loud. Rhett removes his arm from the back of my seat as I settle into my oversized reclining chair and reach for some popcorn at the same time he does too.
It’s downright intimate, our sharing the popcorn, sitting in the dark, our gazes glued to the big screen. I forget about everyone else sitting by us. All I can focus on is the man sitting next to me, his kne
e occasionally brushing against mine as he shifts around in his seat, like he can’t get comfortable.
Once the movie finally starts, I realize quick the subject matter is a little too close to home. It’s about a woman who’s seeking vengeance on the man who killed her husband—and this man was her husband’s business partner. I mean, my situation is totally different, but then again…it’s not. Vengeance is vengeance, and as the story unfolds, I become more and more uncomfortable. She not only wants to destroy the business partner who was acquitted of murdering her husband for lack of evidence, but his entire family as well. His friends, his business…everything and everyone that means something to him, she wants to eliminate.
And I can relate. I really can. She’s laughing and crying and trying to kill the man’s wife, setting his home on fire, chasing after his precious dog so she can brutally kill him, for the love of God, and I’m still rooting for her.
I shouldn’t be rooting for her. Not at all. But I understand her anger and how it drives her to do such horrible things. Things I don’t think I’m capable of.
Maybe I am, though. Maybe we all are, if we’re pushed hard enough.
I think of my mother. Does she ever think of me? Remember me? Would she recognize me if I met her on the street?
She better not, because that’s why I’m here.
Just like that, I’m mad. Anger is all I’ve had left for so long, and I reveled in it. My anger fueled me, and I needed it like air.
Rhett suddenly takes my hand and laces our fingers together loosely. Lost in my own thoughts, the sweet gesture startles me, and I glance over at him to find he’s already watching me, his lips curled in the faintest smile.
“This movie is crazy,” he whispers, his eye wide in the darkness. “She’s crazy.”
My heart falls. If he thinks she’s crazy…
What will he think of me?
Rhett takes me home in his fancy sports car, zipping down the streets, passing the late-evening traffic with ease. The satellite radio is on low and I remain quiet, my head filled with thoughts of the movie, of what I’m doing, of what I’m going to do. He makes light conversation and I respond to him as casually as possible, hoping he doesn’t catch the tremor in my voice that’s been brought on by nerves.
Watching that movie threw me. Spending time with Rhett and actually liking him threw me even harder.
We make it to my house in what feels like record time, and he walks me to the front door like the gentleman that he is. “I had fun tonight,” I tell him, pulling my keys out of my purse as we approach the door.
“I did too,” he agrees, shifting closer to me. So close I can feel his breath on my cheek. I turn to find him invading my personal space, not that I’m protesting. I tilt my head back so I can meet his gaze and he smiles at me. It’s an intimate smile, not the shark teeth he flashes at the pretty girls in the bar. This one is just for me, and witnessing it makes everything inside me go liquid. “Even though that movie was a trip.”
My stomach sinks and slowly starts to churn. “You didn’t like it?”
“Oh, it was entertaining, but that chick scared me.” Rhett shakes his head. “She was hell-bent on ruining that guy.”
“You didn’t think it was deserved? He did kill her husband, and the justice system let him get away with it,” I point out.
He tilts his head to the side, contemplating me. “True, but still. She was way over the top. Why not just take him out and be done with it? Why did she have to destroy everyone else in his life too?”
I’m compelled to explain her feelings and what drove her, not that he cares. I guess I do. Too much. “Because it hurts to see the ones you love suffer. If you’re gone, then it’s over. But if someone takes away the ones who matter to you, you’re in pain for the rest of your life.” Oh, it sounds so logical when I explain it that way. Simple.
Nothing in life is simple, though. I’m complicating everything right now just having this conversation with him. My sworn enemy. My stepbrother.
It’s all so weird and twisted. I feel like I’m living in a Lifetime movie.
“You’ve been thinking a lot about this, haven’t you?” Rhett’s amused. He wouldn’t be if he knew I was planning the same sort of thing.
“Maybe,” I say with a careless smile.
Without warning he moves in on me, so I have no choice but to back up until my butt hits the front door. “You are unlike any girl I’ve ever gone out with before,” he murmurs as he reaches out and drifts his fingers across my cheek.
“What do you mean?” I’m breathless, and no guy has left me breathless before. The warm glow in his eyes as he studies me is making my heart beat faster, and I feel like I could practically jump out of my skin as I wait for his answer.
“It sounds so cliché,” he admits. Oh, I am living the cliché dream, so I mentally tell him to go for it. “But you’re—different.”
“Why? Because I don’t chase after you? I’m not one of your adoring fans who surrounds you at the bars?” Um, I probably shouldn’t have said that.
He chuckles, and his fingers move to my hair, threading in the strands, tucking some of them behind my ear. “That’s exactly it. I sound like an asshole, but they all chase after me.” He hesitates. “Except you.”
“Doesn’t the guy prefer to chase?” Yes, yes, I read that in a magazine article too. Men prefer the chase. They don’t want to be chased. It’s flattering at first, but then the challenge is gone. And that has always been my goal. To be a challenge.
The code he can’t crack, remember?
“Most definitely,” he murmurs as he leans his head in, his mouth hovering closer. Closer…
Oh God. He’s going to kiss me again. I can sense it. Usually I prepare to be spectacularly underwhelmed, but this time, I lock my knees to keep them from wobbling and inhale on a shaky breath, my eyes fluttering closed. Anticipation courses through my veins, making my skin prickle with awareness, and then his mouth is on mine. A gentle press of skin on skin, and like the weakling I never knew I could be, I immediately part my lips, inviting him in.
A jolt courses through him, I can feel it. Like I surprised him in the best possible way. He takes my open invitation, his tongue licking along my lips, a damp tease that makes me gasp. One large hand cups the back of my head while the other one wraps around my waist as he pulls me flush against his hard body, and I go willingly. He completely takes over the kiss, his tongue circling mine, his arm tight around my waist, his fingers stroking my hair. I reach for him, sliding my hands up his broad chest, circling my arms around his neck. He’s solid and warm, his mouth hungry on mine as he presses me into the front door.
I rip my mouth from his to stare up at him, and he looks just as shocked as I feel. His damp and swollen lips are parted, his eyes wide as he studies me. Our ragged breaths mingle, the only sound in the otherwise quiet night, and I blink up at him, unsure of what to say or do next.
“Can I come inside?” He phrases it as a question but I see the determination in his gaze. He wants to come inside and he really doesn’t want me to say no.
Slowly I nod and he loosens his grip on me so I can turn and unlock the door. I do so with shaky hands, getting the key into the lock nearly impossible until I take a steadying breath and tell myself to get a grip.
The door finally opens and then we’re both stumbling inside, Rhett kicking the door shut before he spins me around and I’m wrapped up in his arms, my back against the door. His kisses are hungrier, his searching tongue thorough, his hands everywhere. I’m just as greedy, my purse slipping from my fingers and falling onto the floor with a loud thud as I reach for him. He groans when I smooth my hands over his chest, this low, primal sound that makes my insides quiver.
He wants me. I can feel it in the way he touches me, kisses me. He’s not just kissing for kissing’s sake, he’s tasting me. Savoring me. His hands aren’t rough and groping like every other boy I’ve been with. No, he touches me with purpose, like he can’t get enoug
h and he wants to make sure I like it too.
We kiss for what feels like hours but is only minutes. My hair is a mess from his hands, my body shaking, and when he slides those big hands of his to my butt and lifts, I go with him, wrapping my legs around his waist, digging my ankles into his backside. He has me braced against the door, our lower bodies pressed together, his hands still gripping my ass. Oh God, the pleasure courses through me as we slowly grind against each other. We’re basically dry humping in my living room, our mouths locked, our hands wandering, searching, becoming bolder with every pass. This has never happened to me before. Never, ever, never—and I want more.
More, more, more.
“Damn, you taste good,” he mutters after he breaks our kiss, his mouth going for my neck, raining damp, hot kisses everywhere.
I tilt my head back, offering him better access. “Don’t stop,” I whisper, hating how desperate I sound, but I can’t help it.
I want him.
He nuzzles the sensitive skin of my neck just before he nibbles on my ear, his sharp teeth making me suck in a breath. I shiver, my eyes tightly closed, lost in the sensations of what Rhett’s doing to me. His hands slide up, up…until he’s cupping my breasts and I lean into his touch, eager for more.
His fingers slide over my bra slowly, making me ache. My previous sexual experiences were always a quick fumbling in the dark, bodies in awkward positions in the back of a car or in a bedroom, or in some stranger’s bathroom. He’d barely touch me, keeping most of our clothes on except for the important bits, his sole purpose to get his rocks off and that’s it. Forget about me. It’s like they didn’t even know how to make a girl orgasm. Every one of those boys had been self-centered and inexperienced, though they’d tell anyone who’d listen what a great fuck they were.
I just kept quiet. I never complimented anyone, and I never told them they left me unsatisfied either. I used them. They used me. Then we moved on.
Those encounters were completely forgettable.
Her Defiant Heart - Monica Murphy Page 7
