by Nikki Sloane
“And why’s that?”
How could I tell him? He was the only man I’d ever loved. I couldn’t have amazing sex and cuddle with him afterward, no matter how much I wanted to, and expect to stay immune.
I frowned. “It’s just not, okay?”
He flung the covers off and was up out of the bed so fast, it was stunning. His palms were warm as he held my arms and pulled us chest to chest.
“Remind me,” he demanded. “What was the line you made me add to our agreement?”
I sighed and stared up into his eyes. Why did he look worried? “Fine, you want honesty? Your agreement doesn’t say shit about getting into bed with you after we’ve . . .” Did he understand what I was trying to say? “I can’t shut off my emotions completely. You put in the final paragraph, so if you want this to work, I’m going to need distance after we’re together.”
He blinked slowly, and then had the fucking nerve to laugh. It was a warm, deep sound.
“What the hell is so funny?”
His palms coursed down my arms so he could pick them up and sling them over his shoulders, forcing me to hang them around his neck. His smile was brilliant.
“I thought you were pissed about what we did. What I did.”
“What? No, I—” He distracted me by planting his lips on mine, and I turned to the side. He didn’t seem to care. His mouth continued to find places to kiss me. My voice was hushed. “I liked it a lot.”
His words dripped with seduction. With persuasion. To emphasize his request, his hands trapped my waist. “So, stay.”
“I just told you, I can’t.” Yet I made no effort to escape from him.
His eyes gleamed with arrogance. “If you feel like you can’t handle it, that’s fine.”
The asshole was challenging me on purpose, and his words made my face grow hot. I bit back my knee-jerk reaction, which would have been telling him I could handle anything he threw at me.
It was good I didn’t say it. It would have been a lie.
I centered myself and plastered on a smile. “Okay, thanks for understanding.”
He so rarely gave himself away, it was a treat when his expression turned into a scowl. I hadn’t given him the answer he expected. Would he try to talk his way into getting what he wanted?
I’d do everything to make that impossible. I moved quickly to my pants and retrieved them from the floor. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Stop.”
He used the same tone from before, the absolute one which made me want to do anything he said. Since my back was turned, he didn’t see my eyes fall shut, but he had to have seen my shudder.
“You don’t want to spend the night,” he continued, “that’s fine. But you’ll have a conversation with me first. Don’t just fuck me and leave.”
Chapter
TWENTY-THREE
Holy shit. My eyes went wide and I spun to face Kyle. He looked pissed at himself that he’d said it, because it revealed a lot. Did he still believe the lies I’d left on his voicemail, saying he was just a good fuck and he’d been nothing more to me?
“I wasn’t—” I tried to defend myself, but his angry eyes accused.
Wait a minute. What was he playing at here? Why tell me we couldn’t have a relationship and then demand I act like we were in one?
“You don’t make any sense,” I said, more to myself.
He stormed over, wrapped his arms around my waist once again, and lifted me. “That’s your fault. You cause it.”
Was he drunk? This was the most he’d ever let his guard down with me. And . . . oh my God. Was this because of the scene we’d just done? I’d given him my trust tonight. Was he attempting to do the same now?
I wrapped my legs around his hips and held on as he laid me down on the bed. If I was going to curl up beside him in his bed, he needed to concede something as well. At least it seemed like now was the perfect time to get what I wanted.
I waited until he had us positioned with our heads on the pillows, the sheets over us, and his arm around me like he used to do when we were together. “What happened in New York?”
His shoulders tensed.
“Hey,” I said. “You wanted to have a conversation. Seems fair I get to pick the topic.”
He was silent for ages. He didn’t look at me, he just stared vacantly over my shoulder, as if he could wait me out.
“This conversation is fascinating, counselor,” I said, “but I think I better get going.”
He locked his arm tight, preventing me from leaving his side, and his focus came back to me. “Sharon wanted a ring.”
“Ah,” I said. “She gave you an ultimatum.” Was this Sharon an idiot? Kyle wouldn’t like that. And why would anyone want to force a proposal, anyway?
“I don’t know how to talk about this with you,” he said.
“Why?” I kept my tone light. “I thought we were partners.”
He sat up, scooting back in the bed, so I rested my head on the comforter covering his thigh. His hand slipped into my hair. “She pretended she wanted me to spank her.”
I hesitated. “Pretended?”
“It was a tactic. When she realized we weren’t going to be more, she changed her story.” His fingers toyed with my hair, absently combing through it, even as his tone changed to a frustrated one. “She used what I’d done against me, and took all my options away. That’s why I came crawling back to Chicago.”
Well. This explained his worried expression when I’d come out of the bathroom. He’d been concerned I was freaking out.
The rule was never to ask a question you didn’t already know the answer to, but I did it anyway, my heart lodged in my throat. This wasn’t violating our agreement, either. It only specified we couldn’t talk about feelings for each other. “Did you love her?”
I shouldn’t care if he had, but logic didn’t work when it came to him.
His answer was immediate. “No.”
Tightness eased in my chest. Damn, that had been one dangerous fucking question. We’d been together ten months, and not once had Kyle said, “I love you.” I had convinced myself that was okay. Even though he didn’t say it, he’d shown it to me in plenty of other ways. I’d repeated the mantra relentlessly to myself how actions spoke louder than words.
So, if he’d said yes, he’d fallen in love with this Sharon chick, I might have broken down in tears. Thank God.
Skip this line of questioning, Ruby. “Do you miss it? New York?”
“Not really. Big cities are a lot alike. It wasn’t that different from Chicago.” He looked relieved I wasn’t going to press him further about Sharon. “It’s crowded. Filled with rude people. Lonely.”
His voice tightened on the last word. I pushed upright, bringing my eyes level with his. Once again, he seemed upset with what he’d revealed. Was this why he asked me to stay? Was Kyle lonely?
“You had plenty of friends at Randhurst. You didn’t keep in touch with any of them? I think Clarissa and Justin live here in River North.”
His expression said I was missing the obvious. The realization took shape. Oh, no.
“I got all of our friends in the divorce.” It was meant to be a joke, but it fell flat.
“You did.” He said it casually and free of blame, but wasn’t it mine? When word got out to our circle of friends what had happened, they’d rallied behind me.
I felt like dirt. “I’m sorry.”
“How are they?” he asked. “Did Greg ever grow a pair and break up with . . . what was her name?”
“Christina, and sort of. He got another girl pregnant.”
“No shit, really?”
“Yeah. I don’t know when he found time to cheat on Christina with how controlling she was. Not that I condone that sort of thing, but that girl was a fucking psycho.”
Kyle chuckled. “Truth. And . . . what about Leslie?”
“Oh, she’s a lesbian now.”
His eyes went enormous. “Really?”
“No, not r
eally.” I laughed. “Actually, I have no idea what she’s up to now. After that night, we didn’t talk much, and I guess she wasn’t doing well in school, because she didn’t come back the following year.”
“Oh.” He gazed at me, and his eyes seemed to sharpen with curiosity. “We never talked about that night.”
My tone was playful sarcasm. “But we’re such great communicators.”
“Any regrets?”
I swallowed a breath, and felt brave. “Just that she fell asleep on us before we got to the good part.”
He grinned and shook his head with pleasant disbelief. “You’re something else, you know that?” He skimmed his fingertips over my cheek, curled his hand in my hair, and dragged me into his lap. We were naked, only the covers on his lap between us, as his lips found mine.
His closed mouth pressed tight but he adjusted the angle, and the kiss began to gather steam. His lips parted. His sweet, soft tongue sought mine, encouraging me. I fell deeper into him. What had started out as a simple meeting of mouths escalated into something fiery and passionate.
Oh, holy motherfucking hell.
I clasped the sides of his face, swept up in our desire. His hands were all over me. They caressed down my back, banded around me, and pulled me tight to him. We were breathless from the heat generated between us.
Inside my head I was rejoicing, and screaming at myself. This kiss was a beautiful nightmare, because it felt like it was filled with love. Was what we were doing right now breaching our agreement?
He must have had a similar thought, because abruptly the kiss was over. Kyle turned his head and cast his gaze to the edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling with his hurried breaths. “Okay, time to go.”
“Yup.” I scrambled off him in total agreement. Every second I remained with him was more dangerous than the last.
It was twenty-five degrees outside, but my kitchen was sweltering. My oven had poor circulation, so to cook the macarons evenly, I had to prop the door open with a wooden spoon. It had driven Grant from the room, which was a help. He was a big guy and took up a lot of room in my tiny workspace.
“How is it now,” I yelled around the corner to where he was sitting in my living room, “at work with Morgan?”
He paused whatever he was watching on my television. “She’s kept it professional.”
“What do you feel like ordering for dinner? Thai? Pizza?”
“Pizza, hey?”
I smiled knowingly. Grant would eat pizza for every meal if he could. The plan was to eat dinner while I baked, and then meet some of our friends for drinks. We were going to celebrate his re-release into the wild as a single male. As I was the only other single in our group, I joked I’d be his wingman and show him the ropes.
Only . . . I wasn’t single now, was I?
I sifted the dry ingredients into the meringue and began to fold the batter. “Go ahead and order it. I’m going to be piping these in a few minutes, and then they need to rest.”
I didn’t allow myself to think about last night, because when I did, my thoughts skipped right over the scorching hot sex and straight to the conversation afterward. To the kiss which had sent us both into a panic.
He used to kiss me like that, and I’d used those kisses as proof he loved me when he didn’t speak the words.
Last night Kyle had offered to drive me home, but he’d had two glasses of bourbon, so I took an Uber and collapsed into my bed feeling like a confused mess.
“Pizza’s been ordered.”
I lifted the rubber spatula and watched the tails slowly melt back into the batter, signaling I was done mixing. Another turn of my spatula could overdo it and ruin the cookie shells.
My phone chimed with a text message. I hadn’t heard from him all day, but why would I? This was supposed to be about sex only. He wasn’t going to ask me to a movie or fucking brunch.
My heartbeat picked up and my breath went shallow.
“Who are you texting?” A curious voice floated from around the corner.
Shit. “Uh . . . McAsshole.”
Heavy footsteps pounded closer until Grant came into view. “What the bloody hell? You gave him your number?”
“Yeah, like six years ago.”
Concern etched my friend’s face. “He’s decided to use it now, yeah? What’s that dickhead saying?”
“He wants to come over.”
Poor Grant. He stared at me like I’d just confessed I was an alien. “What’s this?”
I rolled down the sides of my piping bag and picked up the bowl, spooning the batter inside the bag, mostly so I didn’t have to watch his face as I dropped the bombshell.
“I slept with him last night.”
All I got from Grant was silence.
I twisted the bag closed, went to my baking trays already lined with the silicone template sheets, and began to pipe the circles.
“And also on New Year’s Eve,” I added. The quiet was unnerving. “It’s just sex.”
“Just sex.” His tone was dubious.
“Yeah. We’ve come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
Grant gave a humorless laugh. “Oh? What’s that about?”
I squeezed the bag with too much force and the blob of batter overran the template. “Shit,” I muttered. “We’re, like, fuck buddies. Whenever one of us wants to bang, we bang.”
I risked a glance at him. His expression was unease. “So, he wants to come over and bang.”
“Yeah.” I felt his judgement and frowned. “I’m a big girl.”
“Hey, sure. I’m not telling you what to do, or how I think it’s a bloody awful idea. It isn’t my place, is it?”
I pressed my lips into a thin line. “Nope.”
“Though I’m remembering what you were like when we met, Rube. Right after he’d left you.” Grant was the only one who used the nickname, and I liked it, but his words now cut through all my bullshit.
He was right. I’d been a mess. It was a miracle I’d made it through my first semester my final year of law school, with all the drinking and stupid partying I’d done. Grant had even helped my sister scrape me off the bathroom floor the night I’d been with Whiskey Dick. The first guy I’d brought home, some random from the bars I was going to use, determined to fuck Kyle out of my thoughts.
It hadn’t worked, but it did take me on the express elevator down to rock bottom, and from that moment on, things improved. I also went celibate for the next two years, choosing to focus on my career.
“Like I said,” I aimed for a firm tone and failed, “it’s just sex. I’m not going to get attached.” I couldn’t have sounded less convincing if I’d tried. One night with Kyle and I was already in serious trouble.
My phone chimed again.
I swallowed hard. What would happen when he got here and discovered I had company? Male company? I lied to myself that I was curious to see how Kyle would react, but deep down the truth was there. I was desperate to see him again.
Chapter
TWENTY-FOUR
KYLE
I knocked on Ruby’s door, and as I waited for her to answer, I shifted the messenger bag on my shoulder. The door swung open, and the funny feeling in my chest was back as I set my gaze on her.
Her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail. She looked casual in jeans and a deep orange cable-knit sweater, and beautiful as hell. A slight smile bowed on her lips as she let me inside her apartment, where it was excessively warm.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hi. What’s with the bag?”
I unslung it from my shoulder and handed it to her to hold while I took off my coat. “Don’t worry about it, it’s for later.”
Her eyes narrowed playfully like I was a shady character, but she didn’t peek inside. Her gaze swept over my dark jeans and the oatmeal colored sweater I wore over a blue button-down, the shirttails hanging out beneath.
“I wasn’t kidding when I said I had plans,” she announced. I hung my coat in her closet and s
et the bag on the floor, propped up against the wall. “After I finished the macarons, I was supposed to go out for drinks with my friends.”
“That was a real reason. You didn’t have to blow them off for me.” But inside, I was thrilled. Did she want to see me as badly as I wanted to see her?
Ruby snorted. “I didn’t blow them off. When I told my friend you were coming over, he bailed.”
I hesitated. “He?”
“Yes.” Her expression was plain. “He.”
A timer beeped in the kitchen and she pivoted on her heel, leaving me to follow. I ignored the wall of pictures to my left, not wanting to see all the people good enough to earn a place there, and the reminder I wasn’t one of them.
This was no small cookie-making project.
Every available surface was occupied with something baking related. The eat-in kitchen table had two trays on it with yellow circles. There were bowls, a mixer, various other things I didn’t know but assumed were tools, and sacks of flour and sugar.
She touched her finger to one of the yellow circles on the tray and seemed satisfied with the results. I watched her pick up the cookie sheet, march it over to the oven, and slide it inside. Only she wedged a wooden spoon in the door when she closed it.
“You know, the heat is supposed to stay in the oven.”
“Oh my God, is that how it works?”
I ignored her attempt to play dumb. “Can I ask why you’re making enough cookies to feed a small army?”
“My sister’s a high school vice principal. Monday they have a teachers’ in-service day, and she wanted to reward her staff.”
“And she demanded you make her cookies?”
Ruby shrugged as she set the timer. “I like making macarons. It’s kind of my thing.”
It hadn’t been her thing in law school; this was something she’d gotten into after. I disliked not being in the know about her new hobby. I stood in the center of the kitchen, in her way, as she unwrapped a stick of butter, dropped it into the bowl beneath the mixer, and set the machine running.
She washed bowls in the sink, paying no attention to me as I surveyed the room. Her fridge had two tickets stuck to it under a magnet, and I stepped closer to read the small print. Huh.
