There it was.
The question I never wanted to answer.
The regret I’d never escaped.
“Why does it matter?” I asked, my voice too soft. “You became who you were meant to be. Who is to say it would’ve happened if I had followed you?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. “I do. I say. Only difference in this life would be you—maybe a kid on the way or a few bulldogs running around my place.”
My smile ached past the tears. “Bentley . . .” I sighed.
“I need to know.”
“Why?”
“Because it never sat right with me. Not once. And now you’re here and we’re . . . friends,” he said like the word pained him. “I can’t . . . I just need to know.”
Exhaustion settled over me, seeping into my bones.
The weight of my past, of my mistakes, of my guilt . . . it was enough to crush the air from my lungs.
A warm hand slid over mine, comforting, supportive, electric.
“I’m so sorry, Bentley.” I sounded like that seventeen-year old girl again.
Desperate and scared and selfish.
“You don’t have to be,” he assured me. “I just want you to give it to me straight.” He raked his fingers through his hair, blowing out a breath. “My heart was crushed after we ended, but I can’t ignore what’s happening between us. Friends or more or whatever this is . . . I can’t think straight, Chloe. I can’t stop thinking about you and about us and I keep going back to that day. And I’m fucking lost all over again.”
The break in his voice shattered my resolve, the walls crumbling around my heart.
He deserved to know.
Even if he hated me for it.
“I lied to you,” I said, and he flinched. “I’d never lied to you before that. Not once. And I was so sure you’d see right through me, but you believed me. You believed me so easily.”
His entire body locked up, his eyes on mine.
“I had to make sure you went,” I said. “Because I knew if you knew the truth you’d stay with me.”
“What truth, Chloe?” His voice was nearly a growl.
“I couldn’t go with you. Even if it was all I’d ever wanted in the world. You and me. Free.” I finished my drink. “You remember how hard senior year was?”
He nodded. “Your mom was sick a few times, you had to skip because of it.”
“Right. Well, that sickness turned out to be a dementia diagnosis.”
He sat up straighter, tilting his head. “She was so young.”
“I know,” I said. “But it doesn’t matter. It runs in the family.” I ignored the flare of fear I always had when I uttered those words. Wondering if it would come for me next and knowing I would be powerless to stop it. “Dad didn’t know what to do, except work. The hospital bills were piling up and there was no one else. We couldn’t afford full-time care and she needed it for her own safety. That’s why I couldn’t go to college for a couple years until we found a balance—dad taking care of her and then me, off and on and off and on.”
He ground his teeth.
“Finally, Dad got a better position and was able to afford care. That’s when he convinced me to go to Canada—to take the internship that changed my life. Helped me cultivate those camps, my career, all of it. Gave me the position to send money home to help with her care as often as I could.”
A flash of anger twisted my stomach.
“Except,” I said, wringing my hands. “Dad was self-medicating, and I didn’t have a clue. The pressure of handling things on his own, without me, got to be too much. And the money I’d sent home went to . . . well, other things. And then he left.”
A low growl rumbled from his chest.
“That news . . . it woke me up,” I said, my breath catching on how much it illuminated. “So, I came back here and signed the contract for her. To place her in the best care possible. To be closer to her.” I visited her almost every day. She was so much happier now that dad was gone, but I’d never realized it until he wasn’t there. The truth tumbled from my lips, in a free-fall, so I worked up the courage to dive into the other reasoning’s of my presence here. “I also left because I needed to get away from—”
“You didn’t tell me,” he snapped, rising from his seat and stalking to the railing that overlooked the dancefloor.
I followed him despite wanting to crawl into a hole.
Now that this wound was open, I might as well get it all out.
“I know, and I’m sorry, Bentley. I knew you. I still know you. You would’ve stayed with me. You wouldn’t have left. Wouldn’t have taken your scholarship. You would’ve ended up tanking your career before it even started. For me.”
He gripped the railing, his head hanging between his shoulders. “I could’ve helped you. I could’ve been there for you.”
“You were exactly where you were meant to be.”
“I wasn’t,” he said, pain lancing his eyes. “You . . . you were suffering, and I was . . .” Something flashed across his face, realization and regret and hurt.
He’d moved on so fast.
I’d seen it all over his social media pages.
By the time I’d caught my breath, he was already with someone else.
Me . . . forgotten.
No more than I deserved.
“I wanted to be selfish,” I said. “I wanted to leave with you so badly. But Mom, she needed me.”
She still did.
There would never be a day she didn’t until . . .
I clenched my eyes shut, hating to think of it.
“I’m sorry, Bentley. I’ve never regretted anything more than hurting you like I did. But look where you are,” I said. “You’re incredible and you’ve accomplished every single one of your dreams. How can I regret that?”
I sighed, the truth settling between us like a lead weight.
At least he knew I never meant it. Never wanted to push him away.
“I didn’t though,” he said, his tone clear and rising as he turned toward me. He cupped my face in his hands. “I didn’t get all my dreams, Chloe. Because you were always the biggest one.” He furrowed his brow, like he couldn’t believe I didn’t understand it.
Then he was leaning down, brushing his lips over mine.
A whisper of a kiss that lit up my body and jolted my heart.
“Bentley,” I said, my eyes flashing wide.
“Don’t,” he said, pressing his forehead against mine. “Please don’t push me away again.”
I closed my eyes, sighing against the onslaught of emotions racing through my body.
Desire.
Love.
Fear.
“What about—”
“I know we can’t,” he said, and a little piece of me died with those words. “But I can’t stay away from you anymore. I can’t pretend like you aren’t still my world. You’ve always been it, Chloe. And I know we’re forbidden . . . but it physically hurts to be around you and not touch you.” A shudder ran through him when I placed my fingers on the center of his chest.
My heart beats for yours.
“Please,” he said. “Even if it’s just tonight. Give me tonight.”
Electricity rocketed up my spine.
One night?
Was I strong enough for that?
I wanted it.
Wanted him more than I wanted my next breath.
A secret slice of time—with nothing but Bentley and me—perhaps finding a decade’s worth of unresolved closure.
My brain said no.
Reminded me of all the reasons we shouldn’t—our jobs, the care my mom needed that depended on this paycheck, my ex and his threats. A tangled mess of issues that made me so ill-equipped to make decisions.
But my heart screamed yes.
And since it had always belonged to him, that was all it took.
“Tonight,” I said, nodding as I glanced up into his eyes.
“Are you sure?” he asked as if he hadn’t
heard me correctly.
“I’ve always been sure about you, Bentley.”
A deep sigh flew past his lips, and he intertwined our fingers.
We didn’t even say goodbye to our friends, he simply tugged me down the stairs, out of the club, and situated me into the passenger seat of his car.
My heart raced with each passing minute as he drove in a silence so charged, I thought I might burst if he managed to say my name.
Chapter 9
Chloe
“Put your head in my lap.”
I shot a look at Bentley, who was still driving to his place.
“What?” I half-snapped, half-laughed.
I mean, I knew—or had a pretty damn good idea—what we were going to do once we got to his home, but . . .
“Hurry,” he said, keeping one hand on the wheel, the other now gently pulling my neck toward him.
“Ohmygod,” I said, unable to stop laughing as I settled my head in his lap.
“What?” He chuckled. “Spotted the paparazzi,” he said. “They normally only tailgate the Trio, but ever since we’ve grown closer, they’ve been sniffing around.”
“Poor, Rookie,” I teased. “Getting attention.”
A low growl rumbled from his chest, and I felt it in the back of my neck.
“Don’t ever call me rookie.”
“Or what?” I challenged, the heat between his massive, muscular thighs and the steering wheel causing my already overly sensitive nerves to fire sporadically. Being this close to him . . . it was more intoxicating than the expensive bottle of whiskey we’d shared.
What am I doing?
The voice of reason prickled in my mind, hitting me with doubts and logical reasons I shouldn’t have my cheek pressed to his thigh.
And I definitely, most certainly, shouldn’t run my fingers up and down it.
But I did.
He shifted slightly underneath me. “I am capable of doling out punishments, or did you forget?”
A warm shiver ran the length of my center.
I remembered.
Remembered nights full of teasing touches and torturous tongues.
Remembered falling over the edge only for him to catch me, take me right back, and shove me over again.
Stars above us, the river trickling in the distance.
“I could never forget,” I finally said, my voice slightly breathless as I continued to feel him with my fingers.
So strong.
So much of him.
I rolled my neck, and gasped.
He was hard as a rock.
For me.
I went slick between my thighs. “How much longer?”
“Oh. They’re gone.” He chuckled. “You can sit back up.”
I pinched his thigh, then turned my head just enough to graze my teeth over the bulge in his pants.
“Fuck, woman,” he hissed, the leather on the steering wheel groaning from his grip.
“I meant how much longer until we’re home?”
I froze the second the word left my mouth.
“I mean . . . your home,” I said quickly, pathetically.
This is a bad idea.
One night.
That’s all it is.
This is a lifetime and one night.
Shit.
I pushed myself upright, hugging my arms around myself as the cold doubt crept into me.
“We’re here,” he said, pulling into a large garage and closing it before I’d even reached for the handle. He eyed the closed garage door, then me. “No one will ever know.”
“Just us,” I sighed, chewing on my bottom lip as he easily slid from the car where I was frozen solid.
Gone was the teasing bravado from seconds before.
My slip about home reminding me just how much my heart ached for his—because Bentley did feel like home.
And if I gave myself to him—regardless of career stakes or threats from my ex—it may ruin me.
Bentley opened my door and reached for my hand.
No words, just his eyes and his offer.
Sincerity, warmth, desire.
But clearly my choice.
That was my Bent—it was always up to me.
Something went taut between us, and I took his hand, knowing it would wreck me more to leave him.
To deny what crackled between us.
He intertwined our fingers and gently pulled me through the garage and into his house.
The place was four times as big as my studio apartment. Nothing like Gage’s near-mansion, but sleek and luxurious and comfortable.
It screamed Bentley.
“It’s beautiful,” I said as he led me toward the kitchen.
“You are, yeah,” he said, dropping my hand near his giant marbled kitchen island. “Want something to drink?”
“Sure,” I nodded and fidgeted with my hands like I didn’t know where to put them. “Water,” I added when I realized my head was spinning enough.
A crooked smile, and he pulled two bottles of water from his fridge then set them on the island next to me.
I opened and shut my mouth several times.
Now that we were here, the agreement from earlier rang between us, and I wasn’t sure if I could stand just a night.
More than I could stand nothing with him, but still.
I trembled from the nervous energy—I’d never done something like this before.
Never climbed into the car with a man and rode home with him with the full knowledge that riding him is exactly what I wanted to do.
Though, Bentley wasn’t any man.
He was mine.
Once.
A lifetime ago.
And yet my heart pulsed and thrummed with the knowledge that time blended and warped until I wasn’t sure if he’d ever left.
“Chloe,” he said, sliding his fingers into my hair with one hand and resting the other one on the opposite side of me on the island, caging me in. “You’re trembling.”
“Cold,” I said too quickly.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips, flames licking his eyes as he inched toward me.
My chest rose and fell like I’d ran a few miles, the breaths coming too fast.
He bypassed my lips, and I almost whimpered at the motion, but then he pressed a kiss to my bare collarbone, the touch so searing and yet so damn gentle.
I arched against him, my body acting on its own as he kissed his way up my neck and under my ear.
“Still cold?” he whispered, his teeth grazing my lobe, his body now flush with mine.
My lips parted but my answer was unintelligible because he freed his hand from my hair and slid it down my arm, resting it on my hip.
His fingers gripped, their strength shooting bolts of electricity right to my center, and I arched again, shameless.
Tracing his lips over my cheek, he trailed the tip of his nose over mine.
Teasing.
Tempting.
So much the Bentley I remembered.
Drawing out the moment.
I tipped my chin up, my lips his for the taking.
But he only smirked, flicked his tongue over my bottom lip, and trailed his hand down my body, splaying it between us.
“Oh!” I gasped as he grazed his fingers over my center, the leather leggings doing nothing to stop the heat from his touch.
Soft grazes and harder pushes.
I was a lit fuse, arching against his touch, my head rolled back, sighing.
A quiet chuckle escaped his lips, the vibrations tickling my neck.
I gripped his face, forcing him to look at me.
“What’s funny?” I whispered, breathless.
“You’re making it so fucking hard to go slow,” he said.
“Then don’t.”
I rolled my hips, feeling both his hand and the hard cock begging to be set free.
He shifted, gripping both my hips, holding me so absolutely still.
“I have to take it slow,” he said.
> I tilted my head, my fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck.
He pressed his forehead against mine.
“If I only have you for one night,” he whispered. “I want to savor every single second.”
My throat tightened and I swallowed hard.
“You’ve always had me,” I admitted, knowing full well it could break my barely healed heart.
“You know that isn’t true.”
“It is.” I closed my eyes. “It’s just my fault you never knew.”
My cowardice.
Convincing myself he never spared me a second thought the minute those bunnies became a staple at his games.
And why shouldn’t he have fun?
I’d let him go.
And then . . . life happened.
“Ten years,” I said. “Ten years, Bentley.” I opened my eyes, locking with his. “And I’ve wanted you every single one of them.”
My confession unleashed some restraint in him, and he crushed his mouth on mine.
I whimpered when his tongue parted my lips, hungry and claiming. Flicking along the edges of my teeth, tasting of whiskey and Bentley and oh my god I couldn’t think straight.
I buzzed from the sensation, my entire being focusing on one primal need.
Him.
All of him.
On me.
In me.
Now.
I clenched his shoulders, forcing him to spin around, switching positions so now his back was to the island’s edge.
He could take it slow all he wanted.
I didn’t have to.
Breaking our kiss, I gasped for breath as my fingers found his waistband, and I dropped to my knees. The cold tile of his floor soaked through my leggings, but his growl when I unzipped him sent flames across my skin.
“Wow,” I said as his considerable length sprung free.
I’d forgotten—the years dulling how he looked, how he felt in my hand.
“Mmm,” I couldn’t help but purr as I gripped him and then sucked his head into my mouth.
“Fuck!” he hissed, his hands flying to my hair. “Chloe,” he growled my name like a warning or a prayer, I couldn’t tell.
I was too busy.
Tasting him—the hint of salt sweeping into my blood and sending my mind soaring.
Feeling him—the hard length, the way he gently fingered the strands of my hair as I devoured him.
My Bentley.
Rookie (Seattle Sharks Book 4) Page 8
