by A. D. Ryan
“Guy logic. Dad logic.”
“It’s stupid.”
Owen steps closer, so close I can feel his warmth and smell his cologne. I want him to pull me into his arms and make this all go away. But we can’t…can we? I reach out for his hand, and he takes it without a second thought.
“I realize it doesn’t make any sense, sweetheart.” His thumb moves back and forth over the back of my hand in its usual soothing way. “But we’ll do whatever we can to make him understand. Okay?”
I nod, stepping closer to him without thinking, and I place my other hand on his hip. I know I shouldn’t, and something in my brain tells me to back away, but I just can’t. I need to be near him right now as much as I need air to breathe.
At least, that’s how it feels.
Owen must feel the same way, because his free hand comes up and cradles my jaw tenderly, his long fingers teasing the short hairs at the nape of my neck as he leans down to brush his lips over mine.
“I know we shouldn’t,” he whispers, his warm breath tickling my skin, “but I just can’t help myself.”
“Good,” I tell him, pressing my mouth to his firmly before either one of us comes to our senses.
It doesn’t take long before we’re completely lost to each other again. Owen’s tongue slides along my lower lip, and I sigh, giving him just enough room to slip past them. I can taste the scotch on his tongue as it sweeps over mine, his fingers curling behind my neck to hold me close. The booze has emboldened him, and I’m too hurt to know any better. I just want to forget what happened upstairs and lose myself in him.
Warmth flows through my veins like a wild fire as I loop my fingers into the waist of his pants, pulling him forward to deepen our kiss and fully welcome him into my embrace. He doesn’t try to pull away; in fact, he goes with the momentum until he’s got me pressed hard up against the washer.
Something in the recesses of my brain screams at me to end this before it gets out of hand. I choose not to hear it, my desperation to be reassured of Owen’s intentions winning out and making it sound like no more than a whisper that eventually fades into nothingness.
It’s clear he’s just as anxious to show me how he really feels as his hands move to my ass and he lifts me onto the washer, pushing himself between my legs. My skin blazes like it’s on fire as his hands move down my thighs to the hemline of my dress, and I tremble when they slip beneath the soft fabric and begin to push it up toward my hips.
The second his fingers hook into the sides of my panties and tug—too light to remove them, but hard enough to make the pulse between my legs intensify—I throw my head back and moan. “Oh, god. Owen…”
He kisses his way down the column of my throat and along my collarbone. Waves of warmth wash over my skin with every pass of his lips, and my heartbeat grows louder and louder.
Thump thump thump.
Growling, he pulls me forward again, forcing me closer to his body until I can feel his erection pressing against me.
Thump thump thump.
I’m about to beg him to keep going when I realize the pulse in my veins doesn’t match the one I’m hearing in my ears, but when he tugs on my panties again, I forget all about it.
Right up until I hear, “What the hell is going on down here?”
16. You Found Me
When we’d first arrived, I didn’t foresee any of this happening. Sure, I knew that Amelia and I would have more than our fair share of difficulty covering our relationship up, but we were both confident that we would succeed. Did I expect the topic of conversation to focus on the woman I’d been seeing? No, I can honestly say I didn’t. I mean, I suppose I expected someone to say something, but to have it brought up while surrounded by everyone was a bit unexpected. And uncomfortable.
What I expected even less was for Amelia to be blind-sided about our relationship.
Julia bringing it up hadn’t been a malicious act; I think she was genuinely curious and happy for Amelia. At least, this is what I hope, because I’d like for my younger sister to approve of our fast-growing relationship.
Additionally, I don’t think Alan ever meant to ask Amelia about the guy she’s seeing in front of everyone, but he did, and when he mentioned that she was being taken advantage of…well, I didn’t take too kindly to that. I wanted to set him straight. To tell him that I would never take advantage of her. That I cared for her more than anything.
But I couldn’t. Not if I wanted to avoid an all-out brawl in the middle of his living room. So, instead, I tried to keep my voice as even as possible and asked him to end the interrogation, even though I could feel my blood beginning to boil. He didn’t need to play bad cop right now. Especially with his daughter.
Amelia was hurt, though. I could see it in her eyes as she forced a smile and excused herself from the group without another word on the subject. Julia looked at me apologetically—not because she knew about us, but because she didn’t mean to cause an argument—and Alan sighed, clearly upset with himself.
He’d offered to go talk to her, but Carla gently suggested he leave her for a few minutes, telling him that Amelia just needed a little “girl time” to process things. I knew otherwise, though. What Amelia needed was to be reassured of us. And I needed to reassure her as much as she needed to hear it.
I waited a few minutes before excusing myself to use the washroom, and when no one was looking, I bypassed the stairs and headed for the basement door instead. I never meant for things to escalate as far as they did between us. All I knew was one minute, I was telling Amelia that I wasn’t taking advantage of her, and the next I was kissing her.
It was only supposed to go as far as kissing as a means to reassure her of my intentions, but our mutual need to prove our feelings to one another takes over. In a burst of intense heat, I’m throwing her up on the washer with her legs around my waist. Her skin is warm and soft as I slide my hands up her thighs and beneath her skirt. She moans my name, sending a tremor through my body, and I instantly grow hard as I pull her hips toward me.
I know I should stop—I even try telling myself to step away several times—before it gets to the point of no return, but we’ve already passed it. More than once. Just like every time Amelia’s hands are on me, I forget about everything around me. Her lips anchor me to wherever she is, and nothing else matters.
We’ve completely lost control—a known problem—and it seems unlikely that either one of us is within the right mindset to put a stop to the runaway train we’ve found ourselves on.
There is one thing that can stop us, though. One thing we’d wanted to avoid more than anything during our stay here, and it happens: we are found out.
“What the hell is going on down here?”
Amelia inhales sharply, and I remove my lips from her neck as she meets my startled gaze, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. We both recognize the voice but are too stunned, having been ripped back to the reality of the situation, to visually confirm her presence.
Once Amelia fully realizes the weight of what’s happened, she drops her hands to my chest and pushes, hopping off of the washer and adjusting her dress as she rushes toward the stairs. My eyes follow her and land on a very surprised and confused Carla Atwood staring between the two of us with wide-open eyes.
“I-I came down to check on Amy,” Carla tries to explain. “Figured she’d need someone to talk to. Definitely didn’t expect to walk in on…” Most people who walk in on a scene like this would sound apologetic, but Carla doesn’t; she sounds upset.
“Carla, I can explain,” Amelia says pleadingly, her voice quivering with fear.
“Oh, I think I understand quite clearly.” Carla looks past Amelia at me, and I stop in my tracks, a healthy distance from both of them as she shifts her gaze back. “Your dad—”
“We’re going to tell him,” Amelia interrupts desperately. “We were just waiting until the right time. Th-this wasn’t supposed to happen here.”
“But it did.” Carla shakes h
er head and heads back upstairs.
“Wait, Carla… Please!” Amelia’s voice is strained as she calls after Carla, chasing her up the stairs and reaching for her. “You can’t tell him. N-not today.”
Carla whirls around at the top of the stairs and looks Amelia straight in the eye. “You want me to lie to your father?”
“Not lie,” I interject carefully, quietly.
Amelia decides to finish explaining, letting me off the hook. “We were going to tell him after Christmas. You know how much this time of year means to him. We couldn’t risk upsetting him now. This—what you walked in on just now—wasn’t supposed to happen. We weren’t…and then everyone was…it just…” She sighs, defeated. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. We…we slipped up for a second.”
Amelia exhales loudly, pressing her hands together in front of her. “I know you don’t owe me a damn thing, but I’m begging you. We’ll tell him, I swear. We just need a little more time.”
Carla seems to weigh everything we’ve told her, and while she still doesn’t seem particularly keen to the idea, her posture softens, conceding to our request. “Fine.” She raises her gaze, her determination obvious, and points a finger at Amelia, then down to the foot of the stairs where I still stand. “You have until the first week of January to tell him…or I will.”
“Thank you.” Amelia smiles weakly, grateful.
Carla meets Amelia’s appreciation with a shake of her head. “I’m not doing this for you,” she informs us both. “I’m doing this because I care about Alan, and I don’t want to see him upset right now. You’re just lucky it was me who offered to come down here in his place. I shudder to think what would have happened had he walked in on the two of you carrying on like that. I suggest you figure out a way to keep it from happening again, because next time…” She lets her threat hang there before turning on her heel and stepping through the basement door, leaving Amelia and me alone.
I slowly climb the stairs and reach for Amelia’s hand—not in any way that would imply intimacy, but just in an attempt to comfort her. She pulls away, though, shooting me a remorseful look.
“Sorry,” she whispers. “I want nothing more than for you to wrap your arms around me and tell me that we didn’t just mess everything up, but I’m afraid of what I might do once I’m there. And Carla’s right. We need to make sure that doesn’t happen again. What we did was…” She pauses, and I suspect she’s trying to find a way to call it a mistake without saying she regrets that it happened, because she doesn’t; I can see it in her eyes. “Well, it just can’t happen again while we’re here.”
“I understand,” I tell her, standing next to her and giving her hand a quick and gentle squeeze. “You go first. I’ll be right out.”
Nodding, Amelia opens the basement door and steps outside. From what I can see, no one is hanging around the door, and she leaves it open just a crack so I can slip out in a few minutes. I use my time alone to inwardly chastise myself for being so careless. All we had to do was get through a few days without something like this happening, and we couldn’t even last twelve hours. Sure, I’d figured since we were hidden away in the basement that one stolen moment would go unnoticed, but I should have known better with all these people here tonight. Especially with how upset Amelia had been; someone was bound to check on her sooner or later, and Carla was right to say we were lucky it wasn’t Alan.
Certain that the coast is still clear, I emerge from the basement, but instead of heading to the party, I turn for the kitchen, still not ready to face Carla or Alan.
Well, at least I avoid one out of the two.
As I round the corner leading to the kitchen, I find Amelia and Alan standing at the island. I stay back and out of sight, silently watching them. Amelia’s leaning over the counter, her eyes downcast and one leg bent casually as she picks at a cocktail napkin. Alan stands next to her, facing her with his arms crossed in front of him. His posture reads relaxed, so I don’t get the feeling he’s getting mad at her, and my assumptions are confirmed when he speaks.
“I really am sorry, kiddo,” he tells her. “I didn’t mean to upset you like that. I just…I worry about you all alone in the city.”
Amelia huffs, crumpling the napkin and then flattening it again. “I know you worry, but you don’t have to.”
“Amy,” Alan says, “You’re my little girl. I’ll always worry.”
I feel guilty listening in on their conversation, but my curiosity keeps my feet planted firmly in place.
Amelia drops the mangled napkin and stands up straight, turning toward her dad. “Well, worry a little less intensely, all right?” She smiles as he reaches for her and pulls her into a hug, her arms wrapping around his middle.
And just like that, all is almost right in the world. It would appear that Alan is still in the dark—for now—and that he and Amelia have made amends. Of course, I still feel shitty that I’d allowed us to almost compromise everything.
“There you are!” Julia says from behind me. When I turn around, I find her smiling up at me. “Where’ve you been?”
“Around,” I tell her.
“Have you seen Amy?” she asks quietly. “I want to apologize to her for earlier. When Alan brought up the fact that she was seeing someone older, he didn’t imply that it was such a big deal. Or maybe I just didn’t pick up on it.”
“You shouldn’t feel bad,” I tell her honestly. “You couldn’t have foreseen the outcome of that.” I tilt my head toward the kitchen. “I saw her in there with Alan a minute ago.”
“Thanks.” She takes a couple of steps and then stops, turning back to me, her eyebrows pulled together with concern as her eyes move between mine. “You okay? You seem…I don’t know. Off.”
Sighing, I nod. “I’m fine. Really.”
Julia smirks, nudging me with her elbow. “You missing your girlfriend?”
I laugh, running my fingers through my hair. Her question is both ridiculous and accurate. While Amelia and I are in the same house, I do miss being able to say whatever I want to her or hold her whenever the mood strikes. So, yeah, I guess you could say I miss her. “Something like that.”
“Well, chin up. I’m sure you’ll talk to her before the night is over.”
She’s not wrong, but I won’t be able to say the things I want to say. As Julia continues on toward the kitchen in search of Amelia, I head back to the party in the living room. Walking to the table, I grab another drink and a plate of food, and when I turn around, I catch Carla looking at me from across the room. It’s not in her nature to be this upset, but I can’t fault her for it. We’ve put her in an impossible situation, and while I’m grateful she’s giving us the opportunity to tell Alan ourselves, I also hate that we’ve asked this of her.
I offer Carla a smile, but the one she returns to me is both strained and awkward before she turns away and begins talking to another guest. Seems about right, don’t you think?
As the night wears on, it’s as though nothing’s happened; no one is any wiser, save for the three who know otherwise, and by the time the last guest says goodnight, it’s well after midnight and we’re all beat. Carla and the kids stay to help clean up before saying goodnight to all of us—mine is obviously a little more clipped than the others, but I suppose that’s to be expected. After they’re gone, I take the last of the empty wine bottles to the kitchen and find Amelia standing at the sink washing dishes.
“I’m sure those can wait until morning,” I tell her, startling her. Perhaps I should start walking louder or wear a bell; she’s so easily surprised.
“You really need to stop doing that,” she tells me with a laugh, her voice calm and steady as though nothing happened tonight. Then she shakes her head as though remembering and she refocuses all of her attention on the dishes. “There’s only a few more left. I’d rather have them done so I don’t have to worry about them in the morning.”
I walk farther into the kitchen and snatch the dishtowel off the oven handle and stand bes
ide her, reaching for one of the recently washed and rinsed dishes. “Then allow me to help.”
I notice Amelia furrow her eyebrows and press her lips together tightly. “It’s really not necessary,” she breathes softly. “There’s only a few.”
“Amelia,” I reply, “the sooner we can get this done, the sooner we can head off to bed.”
Her posture stiffens, and I suddenly realize what it is I said. “Shit,” I mumble, drying the dish. “You know that’s not what I…I just meant that it’s late, and we’re all exhausted.”
“I know.” Her voice is low, soft.
“Well, the living room is all cleaned up,” Alan declares, forcing us to drop our conversation and go back to the task at hand. “Oh, good. You guys have got the dishes covered.”
Amelia smiles, turning to her dad. “Yup. Almost done.”
“Carla and the kids should be here at about nine tomorrow morning,” he announces. “That should give us all a chance to sleep in a bit and get started on breakfast. What do you think?”
Amelia places the last dish in the sink in front of me, her hand accidentally brushing mine as I reach for another, and then pulls the plug to drain her side. “Sounds great.” She dries her hands on another towel and then walks past her dad, stopping to kiss his cheek. “I’m heading to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“Okay,” Alan replies. “Goodnight, kiddo.”
Before she can leave the room, I glance back over my shoulder. “Goodnight, Amy.”
Her cheeks brighten slightly in hue, and she smiles. “Goodnight, Owen. Sleep well.”
I didn’t. Sleep well, that is. I’ve never had a problem falling asleep on Alan’s couch before, but now, all I can do is toss and turn. I don’t know when it happens—definitely sometime after three in the morning—but I pass out. When I wake up in the morning, I’ve got a huge kink in my neck and my back is in knots. The clock on the mantle tells me that it’s just after eight. Getting through the day with less than five hours of sleep is going to prove difficult.
