What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 4)

by Selena Kitt

  I drew in a sobbing breath. I was attached, too. But now, I was determined that there would be no tomorrow for us. It was too life-altering. That cut would slice me twice as deeply. Tomorrow I’d be losing both Adam and FallenOne with the same severing blow.

  I pushed back from the table and out of my chair. “We should go,” I said quietly.

  His eyes widened and he stood. We faced each other across that table for a long moment. The swirl of chaos inside me told me I had hours—probably more like days or weeks—of thinking to sort all this out and figure out what it was. But I didn’t need him to speak to me of being attached. I didn’t need his confusing tempest-like sway ripping my control from me.

  I didn’t say another thing as I turned to leave and he followed closely behind. We twisted down long walkways and up two flights of stairs to make it to our suite. After several long minutes of silence, Adam rested a light hand on the small of my back, walking beside me in the darkness as the balmy Caribbean air swirled around us. As my dress was backless, I was all too aware of that hand and the heated imprint it left on my skin, the way his thumb moved across it with the tiniest caress. I was so focused on that touch that I nearly tripped and fell in my heels, making a huge fool out of myself.

  Back in the suite, things felt tense, awkward. I looked around the room, with the candles lit and the bed turned back, the white mosquito netting loosed and dancing in the breeze like an errant bridal veil. My heart started to race. How could I avoid the conversation, the declarations that were certain to come, that were hanging in the air like dark clouds threatening to drop a torrent of rain at any moment?

  He’d moved to the dresser and, after having doffed his coat, was now undoing his tie. He looked at me, his face unreadable, but he didn’t say anything.

  I went to fetch my T-shirt, which was in the dresser beside where he stood. I thought to change for bed because I couldn’t think of anything else to do. I wasn’t terribly tired and I knew I’d have no ability to concentrate on a study guide.

  I pulled the shirt from the middle drawer on the dresser while he watched me with unreadable eyes. He had unbuttoned his shirt and I was feeling weird and tense and shy. I kept my eyes averted.

  I moved to the bed, stepping out of my heels and letting the gauzy material of my skirts float around my legs. Of the three, this was the dress that most made me feel like a fairy princess. Only thing was, midnight was about to strike and I could feel it in every tense look we shared, the silence hanging over our room.

  And my handsome prince—well, he wasn’t who I thought he was, either. I reflected on that. He knew so much about me and yet he’d always kept himself a mystery from me. He was hiding still, behind the persona, behind this entire arrangement. Heated anger stirred in my chest. I was most angry with myself, for not knowing, for not realizing. While I’d mostly found Adam remarkably easy and fun to be with, I’d never once associated him with FallenOne. How could I have been so blind?

  I almost went to change in the bathroom, but that seemed silly after we had seen so much of each other. I laid the shirt on the bed and tried not to focus on where he was in the room—or the fact that he’d removed his shirt and undershirt and now wore only his suit pants and socks. I wouldn’t look. Nope, I wouldn’t. Confusion or no, my body still wanted his. Hungrily so. Probably more now than before we’d started sleeping together.

  I reached around and unhooked my skirt before loosening the halter at my neck and lowering it, feeling the cool bay breeze hit my breasts, bringing my nipples immediately to hardened points. I unzipped the skirt and stepped out of it.

  Suddenly his hands cupped my hips. He’d come up behind me while I was concentrating on trying not to notice him. I froze and he slowly pulled me back against him.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he whispered against my hair.

  I closed my eyes, shivers cascading down my spine in a waterfall of quick succession. Just a couple whispered words and the lightest touch from this man and I was in pieces, ready to surrender to him.

  I didn’t say anything, just let him hold me for a long moment, the feel of his warm, muscular chest pressed against my back stirring my desire to life.

  “Emilia, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

  I held my breath. His hands cupped my shoulders, traveled down my arms. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted our bodies pressed together, sticky with sweat and passion. I wanted one last memory before I said good-bye.

  I turned around in his arms and pressed myself to him. “I want you. Right now.”

  He hesitated, looking into my eyes for a long time before bending to kiss me. I wanted the storm. I welcomed it. I wanted him to fly over me and overwhelm me, to suck me in so I wouldn’t think or feel anything else but his hands, his mouth, his body.

  I threw myself into that kiss, opening for him, hooking my arms around his neck to pull him to me. This would be our last time together. A tiny sliver of me lightened with relief. At the back of my mind, the greater part of me protested.

  His eyes darkened and his hands were on my breasts, softly caressing the peaked nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through me. He nudged me toward the bed and I acquiesced, swept up in him.

  “Emilia—” he said.

  “Shh.” I put my hand on his mouth. “No talking.”

  He pulled my hand away, grabbing both my wrists, leaning against me to push me down on the bed with him. He held my arms above my head, cinching my wrists together in the grip of one hand to secure them there.

  He then proceeded to kiss me senseless. His other hand floated across my breasts, my stomach, to rest at the apex of my thighs.

  His head came up and he looked me in the eyes, a multitude of questions unasked. I wouldn’t let him give them voice. I couldn’t. I squirmed against his hold, pushing my chest toward him.

  “Stop it,” he said. I stilled, looked at him with the question that he didn’t wait for me to ask. “You’re using sex to avoid talking about this.”

  I closed my eyes and pushed against his hold. His grip tightened in response and my pulse leapt. I ached for him everywhere. “Please, Adam. I want you inside me.”

  His hand returned to rest atop my underwear and he began a firm but languorous stroke. My gaze flew to his and he had that calculating stare that had taught me to be wary. “You want this?” he asked, sinking his mouth to my nipple, taking it between his lips, his teeth.

  I gasped, throwing my head back, arching myself into him. “Yes. Now. I want you now.”

  He tore his mouth away almost violently, eliciting another cry from me. The pressure of his hand on my sex increased. “What about tomorrow? Do you want me tomorrow, too?”

  I froze and looked away. Now I understood him. If I was using sex as avoidance, he was using sex to force the conversation. His hand stilled, then slipped inside my underwear. His touch was light but I shivered everywhere, needing more. “Don’t talk about tomorrow,” I whispered, my eyes closing tight.

  His fingers slid inside me and stopped again. “I want to talk about tomorrow. And the next day. And the one after that—”

  I struggled against his grip on my hands. My eyes shot open and I fixed him with a ferocious stare. “No.”

  He moved his fingers again, stroking in and out, and my eyes rolled back, an intoxicating dizziness overtaking me. Trying to concentrate on anything else was like downing three shots of whiskey in quick succession and then walking a tightrope.

  “Fuck me,” I whispered.

  His hand didn’t stop its tortuous slide inside me. The tension tightened in my belly. I moaned.

  “I don’t want to,” he said, his posture stiffening. “Not if I can’t have you tomorrow, too. And the day after. Not if this would be the last time.”

  Despite my aggravation with him, his hands were working a spell on me. I was so close, and he knew it. He withdrew his hand, then rolled his hips on top of mine, pinning me down. “Will this be the last time, Emilia?” he asked, his voice husky. His erecti
on pressed against my sex.

  Here was my moment of leverage. I’d dictate my terms. He’d have no choice but to abide by them. I couldn’t have planned it better. “I’ll have sex with you again.” I gasped when he moved over me, fitting himself between my legs. “I can be your fuck buddy.”

  He thrust against me again, his hand still clamped around my wrists. “But I don’t want a fuck buddy.”

  I hesitated, frowning. Wouldn’t most guys be overjoyed about that type of arrangement? He seemed more annoyed than anything else. Confusion swirled inside me. It threatened to rise up and drown out these other, more pleasant feelings. “We could hook up—”

  His expression went blank, his voice flat and even. “I want more than a cheap, quick fuck.”

  My jaw clenched and eyes narrowed, irritation contending with arousal, threatening to supplant it. “Then you can fucking buy me dinner once in a while,” I ground out between clenched teeth.

  Our gazes collided in silent struggle. He released my wrists and I immediately put my hands on his solid shoulders and shoved. He didn’t budge.

  “I know what I want,” he said in that firm, charged voice that held an angry undercurrent. “And when I put my mind to something I tend to get it.”

  Heat flushed my face and I looked away from his dark, penetrating stare. “I hate to disappoint you, but in this case, you aren’t going to,” I replied.

  He studied me for a long moment and I couldn’t take his scrutiny a minute longer. I pushed on his shoulders again and he slid off, unburdening me of his weight. I sat up and ran a hand through my hair while he rolled on his side and watched me.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  I clenched my teeth. “Who said I was afraid?”

  “I’m saying it.”

  Stiffening, I bent to snatch up my T-shirt and pull it over my head, turning my back to him in the process. “There are two of us talking here and only one of us is a proven liar. I’d stop talking if I were you.”

  I jerked to my feet and began pacing in front of the bed. Adam watched me with enigmatic eyes the color of midnight. “Actually there’s only one of us really talking. Me.”

  I smirked, gesturing at him sharply. “The proven liar. That’s just great.”

  He shrugged. The movement was stiff, like he was faking it. “You’re the one who’s lying now.”

  I halted, turning to him with arms crossed over my chest. “Oh? And what am I lying about?”

  “Your feelings. About the fact that this doesn’t bother you. You don’t want to talk because you’re afraid of what this is going to start.”

  Hot anger pooled, settled into my joints, stiffening them. “I’m pissed at you for not telling me the truth. How’s that? I may have been preparing myself to lose you tomorrow, but not Fallen.”

  “You don’t have to lose either one of us,” he said quietly.

  I put my hands to my forehead. The whole concept made my brain ache. “You are still two separate people in my head. I haven’t even had a chance to absorb any of this and you demand to know my feelings? I don’t even know what the fuck they are.”

  He stood and walked toward me slowly, as if I were a scared rabbit that might hop away from any sudden movement. The ambient light gleamed on his muscular torso, his pants slung low on his hips. He was so damn sexy he took my breath away, even when he was irritating the hell out of me. He stood very close but didn’t touch me.

  “Then allow yourself the time to figure it out. Give us the time.”

  I sighed and looked away, off to the side, anywhere but at him. “No.”

  His hands came up to take my shoulders in a gentle hold. When he spoke, his voice had a desperate edge to it. “Emilia—”

  “No!” I gritted out between clenched teeth, finally meeting his gaze. “Explain to me about this fairy tale you are proposing. About how something like this is supposed to even work—even beyond the trust issues, which are monumental at this point. With my two jobs and preparing for medical school and your hundred-hour workweek, how would something like that work? Neither of us even date.”

  “It’s not a fairy tale. It’s a real life, honest, grown-up relationship where two adults work out their differences once they decide they want to be together—”

  I pulled back against his hold on my shoulders and he dropped his arms. I continued to back away. “Is all this because you feel guilty about us sleeping together even though you never planned for it to go this far?”

  He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “No.” His fist knotted.

  “I think it is.”

  His head darted up to pin me down with an angry glare. “Well, you’re wrong. You have no fucking idea what is going through my mind, so stop twisting things to support your cynical and warped view on the world.”

  I stood still, stunned. I’d never seen an angry outburst from him. I put up a hand in surrender. “Fine. I’m sorry for doing that. I hate it when people do it to me.”

  He fixed his unwavering gaze on me. “Why aren’t you willing to give it a chance?”

  I took a deep breath. “Because I don’t want a relationship. Not with you. Not with anyone.”

  “Why?”

  Frustration crawled up my spine, tightening that knot between my shoulders. I put my hands to my temples, closing my eyes. “You are making me crazy, Adam.”

  “Because I’m forcing this conversation when you want to avoid it? It’s been the elephant in the room for days—weeks, now—and I’m not going to shove it aside any longer, no matter how uncomfortable it makes you. When we get back to California, I want to know where we stand. Exactly where we stand.”

  My mouth set, irritation burning like hot lava. “You’ll be standing in your office somewhere in Irvine and I’ll be standing in my apartment in Orange.”

  He folded his arms across his chest and angled his head, studying me. “I’m not amused.”

  “Quit trying to save me. I don’t need you to save me.”

  He blinked. “Emilia, I’m telling you I want you in my life. I want a relationship with you—as equals—and you somehow twist me into your knight protector coming to a meek maiden’s rescue?”

  I sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Isn’t that what it is?”

  He shook his head. “That bastard really fucked you up good. He’s screwed you because in every decision you make for the rest of your life, you’ll never even consider trusting someone enough to allow them in.”

  I tensed. “I did my therapy. I’m fine. That little shithead has no part in what decisions I make—”

  He exhaled in exasperation. “I was talking about your father.”

  Those words hit me like a blow, knocking my breath away. I held up a hand to ward off any more words he might consider hurling my way. Because they stung, like darts sinking into my skin.

  I fought for breath. Memories of taunts on the playground from my erstwhile friends—Mia doesn’t have a daddy. She’s never had a daddy. At least their daddies came to see them on the weekends, or took them on fancy vacations once in a while. Mine just wished I’d never existed, if he ever thought of me at all.

  I wasn’t the only child from a broken home. Well, that would imply that our home had ever been in one piece to begin with—but at least they knew their fathers, their paternal grandparents, their siblings, their heritage. Their names. Late at night sometimes I’d hear my mom crying. She’d rifle through a box of letters that I knew were from him. A box of letters that I wished I could burn when she wasn’t around.

  She’d tried to tell me, once, who he was. She’d wanted desperately to talk to me about him—upset that I’d only heard the negatives from her and from my grandmother as I grew up. But I’d screamed at her. I’d thrown a vase against the wall and shouted that I never wanted to hear her speak a word about that scumbag. And I’d stormed out of the house.

  He hadn’t cared about me. Why would I care about him? I tried to breathe, instantly aware of the truth behind Adam’
s accusation. It burned me like the raging wildfires that screamed through the dry hills in autumn.

  “Don’t even—” I said, baring my teeth.

  He didn’t flinch, didn’t even move. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

  “Fuck you,” I whispered, struggling to dam the tears. They clogged in my throat. I hadn’t cried in the longest time. I was a tough woman. But Adam had shredded my defenses in less than five minutes. He knew too much. I stepped back and gestured stiffly at him. “You don’t know shit about my father.”

  His expression was grim, gaze focused on me like two laser beams. “I know he turned you into a coward. I know that every single man you look at for the rest of your life is tainted by him. And I know that you are running scared—not just about this but about your entire future. How many times did I tell you to go out and retake that goddamn test? You could’ve taken it a dozen times by now but you still haven’t. You keep studying and studying, hoping for that perfect moment when you’ll know everything because you’re afraid to fail. In your education, in your life. So you protect yourself in this little isolated cocoon you’ve built. You’re a coward,” he sneered.

  “What—are you a fucking shrink now?” And I hated how my voice sounded, that strangled sob that escaped my lips on that last word. He heard it because his face changed immediately, softening for the slightest fraction of a second before I got in his face. I strode up to him and shoved against his chest. What I really wanted to do was throw my best right hook at his perfect jaw but, like my attempt at pushing him, it would have done nothing.

  He caught my wrists and wouldn’t let go when I flailed them. His grip tightened, holding them still easily. I spoke between clenched teeth. “Get out of my head! You have no right to throw your amateur theories in my face because I make a decision you don’t agree with. Especially when you are so fucked up yourself!”