by Andre, Bella
Her smile dimmed. "Heard the bad news about your friend. So sad."
"Yeah, thanks."
As the waitress left, Sara could see that the tension had returned to Aiden's face. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea," she said.
"It doesn't matter. I had to come back sometime. It's kind of nice not to be here alone."
"So did you and that waitress…"
"No," he said with a shake of his head. "Never."
"She's interested."
"Well, I'm not."
"Okay," she said, wondering why he was suddenly so snappy.
A moment later, the waitress returned with their beers and a bowl of peanuts.
Sara lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip. It tasted great. She'd never thought of herself as a beer drinker, at least not since college. Most of the parties she went to now involved wine or hard liquor. But the beer was nice, and she liked the warmth and friendly spirit of the bar. People seemed to know each other and care about each other. She was a long way from New York.
"This isn't your usual kind of place, is it?" Aiden asked.
"No, but I like it. It's a nice change of pace. I've been moving so fast for so long, this is the first time in a long time I've really slowed down. It's a dangerous feeling. Makes me wonder if I'll be able to rev myself up again for the seventy-hour work week."
"What else do you do besides work?"
"Nothing."
"Come on. You must have some hobbies."
"Occasionally, I go to the gym, but usually I consider the three-quarter mile walk between my apartment and work to be my exercise. Museums and theaters and nightclubs surround me, and I never go to any of them. I do like Central Park though. Sometimes, I'll take a walk through there on a Sunday, especially in the spring when the flowers are blooming."
He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze solely on her. She'd never had this much attention from Aiden, and she found it both pleasurable and a little unnerving.
"I can see you in the park," he said. "You loved to garden with your mom. Don't you miss having some land of your own?"
"Sometimes," she admitted. "I never thought New York would be forever. I always thought I'd go back to San Francisco."
"You still can."
"Maybe." She sipped her beer and listened to the music. The latest song was typical country, some woman yearning for some man she couldn't have. The story was poetic and emotional, heartfelt. "I like songs that are about something," she said aloud. "Country always tells a story."
"Usually about some man who did some woman wrong," Aiden said dryly.
She smiled. "I was just thinking the same thing."
"At least my gender provides a lot of material for songwriters. But it's not all our fault, you know. Women can be very mysterious. They need to come with instructions."
"As if that would matter. When's the last time you read instructions?" she challenged.
He laughed. "Guilty. Your tongue is sharper than I remember. I like it."
She did not want him talking about her tongue or letting his gaze rest on her lips, because it only reminded her that the few kisses they'd shared had not been nearly enough.
"It's her," Aiden said suddenly, his attention moving across the room.
She turned her head to see a blonde woman talking to the bartender. "Who is that?" she asked, looking back at Aiden. "Is she another one of the women you've had fun with?"
"No," he said, his tone somber, his gaze speculative. "Remember when I told you that I'd seen Kyle with a woman outside of a hotel. That's her."
"You should talk to her. Ask her how she knew Kyle."
He hesitated and then gave a nod as he got to his feet. "I think I will."
Unfortunately, his doubt had cost him valuable time. The woman was already leaving the bar.
Aiden headed after her, but returned far too quickly.
"She got in a cab. I couldn't catch her," he said. "Damn, why did I wait?"
"Go talk to the bartender, or the waitress. They might know who that woman was. She must have had them call a cab for her."
"You're right." He went to the bar and conversed with the bartender for several minutes, then returned to the table, looking a lot happier with himself. "I've got a name. Sandra Ellingston. Bartender didn't know much about her except that she's divorced and comes in almost every weekend, usually with some other women."
"Well, that's a start. I'm sure Jeanne can find out more about her."
He nodded, pulling out his phone. "I'll text her right now."
While he was composing his message, Sara wondered if Kyle had been having an affair. It could explain why he'd distanced himself from Aiden. He might not have wanted to be judged for his actions. But…
As Aiden finished sending his text, she said, "Even if Kyle was having an affair, how do you think that played into his death?"
Aiden frowned and let out a heavy breath. "I don't know."
"Do you think he was just not paying attention that day, because he had other things on his mind?"
Something dark settled in Aiden's eyes.
"No, you don't think that," she said. "Aiden, talk to me."
"It's hard to say out loud." He paused for a long minute and then said, "Every time I close my eyes, I dream that I'm in that forest, and Kyle is walking away from me. I'm yelling at him, and he's ignoring me. It's as if he's deliberately going into the fire."
Her stomach turned over. "It seems too extreme," she said quietly, knowing where his thoughts were going. "An affair isn't worth dying for."
He met her gaze. "I hope not," he said. "But Kyle could be hard on himself. Who knows what guilt could have driven him to do? Let's get out of here."
Chapter Seventeen
Aiden felt unbelievably tense as he drove Sara back to his apartment. He couldn't believe he'd actually acknowledged aloud that Kyle might have killed himself. It was something that had been festering in his mind for weeks, and he felt like he'd just betrayed Kyle by putting words to the thought.
But Sara could be trusted. And he'd needed to say the words, because he needed to find out the truth. Hopefully, the investigator would be able to connect Kyle and Sandra Ellingston in a way that made sense.
As he parked in front of his building, a different kind of tension tightened his muscles. He and Sara were about to spend the night together. He couldn't remember a time in his life when he'd had a woman over and they hadn't had sex. It just didn't happen. He didn't have close women friends. He'd always felt he had enough females in his life with three sisters.
Sara was almost like a sister, he tried to tell himself, but that rationalization fell short. He didn't feel like a brother to her at all. He did feel like they were friends though. And as a friend, he couldn't take advantage of her.
Would it be taking advantage if she wanted it, too?
Of course it would. Because Sara was upset about her parents and feeling angry and reckless. Sleeping with him might make her feel better for a few hours, but in the morning she'd regret it. He wasn't the kind of man for her. She'd grown up with such a cold father, that she needed someone to really, really love her, to commit heart and soul.
Love wasn't his thing. It never had been. Love hurt. He could still remember the pain of losing his mother, and that had happened over twenty years ago. The fresh pain that came from losing Kyle had only reinforced his belief that love was an emotion he did not want to embrace; he only wished he didn't want to embrace Sara.
Sara gave him a wary look as she got out of the truck and followed him up the stairs. He wondered if the same kind of thoughts were going through her mind. They'd been dancing around their attraction to each other for a few days now. The kisses they'd shared had only whetted his appetite for more—a lot more.
He opened the door and told himself it wasn't going to happen. He would do the right thing.
"I'll sleep on the couch," he said, as he turned on the light. "You can take the bed."
"No, I'l
l take the couch. I'm shorter than you. I'll be more comfortable."
"I'm not going to let you do that, so can we save ourselves a long discussion that's only going to end up the same way it started if you just agree to take the bed."
"You Callaways are extremely pigheaded even when you're being generous."
He conceded her point. "I can't argue with that."
"I guess I'll go to bed then," she said, her words a bit hesitant.
"You should," he agreed, knowing that the sooner they had a door between them the better.
"Do you need anything from the bedroom?"
"Yeah, I'll grab some sweats," he said, heading into his room. His very comfortable king-sized bed looked far more inviting than the couch. He could imagine Sara tangled up in his sheets, her beautiful brown hair spread across the white pillows, her legs intertwined with his, her soft, round breasts perfect for tasting. His groin hardened, and he turned quickly away.
He grabbed some sweat pants out of a drawer and left the room, deliberately avoiding her gaze as he passed her on the way out. When she shut the door behind him, he felt like he might be able to leave her alone, maybe…
***
Sara stared at the bedroom door for at least three solid minutes, before she finally opened her suitcase and pulled out a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. After changing, she debated the stupidity of going into the hall to use the bathroom and brush her teeth. It wasn't Aiden she didn't trust. He could stay away from her. He'd proven that a long time ago. The question was whether she could stay away from him.
She flopped back on the bed, appreciating the comfort of the soft mattress and the thick blankets. Aiden hadn't slept in the bed in a couple of weeks, but she could still smell his musky scent on the sheets. Or maybe it was just that her senses were acutely aware of every little thing about him, the taste of his mouth, the tenor of his voice, the strength of his stance. He was in the next room, but her nerves were still tingling.
She pressed her fingers to her mouth. It was a crime that he was such a good kisser. He put every other man she'd kissed to shame. In fact, she realized now that she'd been subconsciously comparing every date she'd ever had to Aiden. She'd set the bar with him when she was fourteen years old, and no one had ever come close.
She'd tried to hate him for humiliating and rejecting her, but deep down she'd still had a soft spot for him. Over time, she'd pushed him to the back of her mind. She'd gone out with other men. She'd even come close to falling in love, but she'd always held back. No one had ever felt exactly right.
Aiden felt right.
But he didn't care for her the way she cared for him. He'd been up front about being a no-commitment guy. And they were opposites in so many ways. There were a million reasons why they didn't work together, the most obvious being that Aiden would probably never feel for her the way she felt for him. He was her friend. There was an attraction, but something more? Was Aiden even capable of more?
He said no, but she'd seen the way he loved his family, his friends. She wished he could let himself love a woman that way. And not just any woman – her.
Maybe she was just lonely. It had been a long time since she'd been attracted to anyone the way she was to Aiden. And it had been a long, emotional day. Her entire sense of identity had been shaken to the core. She was looking for escape, searching for something solid to hang on to. She really shouldn't be thinking of hanging on to him.
She turned on to her side, closed her eyes, and tried to think of something else, but a restless need finally drove her to her feet. She walked to the door, paused one last second, and then entered the hall. She made a quick stop in the bathroom, thinking some cold water on her face might also help. But ten minutes later, face washed, teeth brushed, she felt even more of a need to talk to Aiden.
The living room was dark, but she doubted he was asleep. If he were, that would certainly solve her problem.
She walked down the hall and paused.
"Go to bed, Sara," he said.
His husky voice drew a tingle down her spine. The caution in his tone was mixed with something else – desire?
She walked into the room, stopping at the end of the couch.
He was stretched out, a light blanket covering him, his head on a pillow, his feet dangling over the edge.
"What do you want?" he asked.
How did she answer that question? A dozen suggestions fled through her brain, but only one stuck. She couldn't give him that answer. It was too bold. Then again, where had being shy ever got her?
"I think you should take the bed," she said. "You can't be comfortable here."
"If I take the bed, you're sharing it with me."
She swallowed hard at his purposeful words. In the dark shadows, she couldn't see his face clearly, but by his tone, she sensed that she was standing on the edge of a precipice.
"Are you sure about that?" she asked. "You're better at starting things than finishing. Every time we've kissed, you've been the one to pull away."
"To protect you."
"Really?" she challenged. "Or were you protecting yourself?"
"You were too young for me, Sara. You didn't know the score."
"That was true back then. I thought I'd gotten over you. But then I came home, and suddenly I was right back where I was before—wanting you." She drew in a much-needed breath. "I'm taking a big chance right now. You could reject me again."
"Then why risk it?" he asked.
"Because I want you." There, she'd finally said it. "It's as simple as that, and you like things simple, so what's the problem?"
He sat up. "You're not at all simple, Sara. You're complicated, beautiful, smart, and way out of my league. I knew that when I was nineteen, and I know it now."
"That was the past. This is now. You know me, and I know you. You're probably right that we are wrong for each other. Our lives are in different states. We have different priorities, but tonight we're here together, and I don’t want to think about tomorrow. I just want to be with you. No strings. No commitment."
"You say that now, but you'll change your mind—"
"Sh-sh," she said, sitting next to him on the side of the couch. "Stop putting walls between us. I know you want me. And that's not a teenage girl with a crush talking. That's a woman who knows when a man wants her. And you want me," she repeated.
His gaze met hers. "I don't want to hurt you," he said, a desperate note in his voice, as if he was getting tired of the fight. "I hurt you before. I didn’t handle things well. I don't want to make the same mistake."
"Aiden."
"What?"
"Would you just kiss me already?"
A charged, tense minute followed her words,
Then Aiden slid his hand around the back of her neck. He pressed his mouth to hers in a gentle, tender kiss, almost as if he were afraid he might break her. She didn't want gentleness from him. She didn't want to be the sweet, good girl. She wanted to be bad—with him.
She opened her mouth, inviting him in, his tongue tangling with hers as his hands roamed up and down her back. Urgency and need stripped away the barriers between them. His mouth devoured hers, his kiss touching off the storm that had been brewing for years. It was as if the dam had broken for both of them.
Aiden pulled her t-shirt up over her head. She shook out her hair as his hands cupped her breasts, as his mouth dipped, and his tongue slid along her collarbone and then the edge of her bra, the light touch teasing her nipples into fine points. She put her arms around him, pulling him closer, sliding her hands up under his shirt, tracing the lines of his rippled muscles with the tips of her fingers.
He groaned and stopped kissing her long enough to shed his shirt. Then his hands moved to her bra. He unhooked the clasp and pulled it off of her shoulders. His mouth sought her nipples, and she gasped at the streak of pleasure that ran through her body.
She ran her hands through the wiry strands of his hair as he kissed her breasts. His fingers slid down her stomach, one han
d dipping into the waistband of her loose-fitting pajamas, his fingers seeking the heat that was threatening to consume her.
"Aiden," she whispered as he pushed her back against the pillows of the couch.
"Sara," he muttered. "Beautiful Sara." Then his mouth was on hers again.
She moved her legs restlessly wanting so many things, and on top of her list was her naked body next to his. She reached down to peel off her pajamas bottoms, grateful when Aiden kicked off his own pants.
He stood up, not at all self conscious, and why should he be? He was gorgeous and male and for the moment all hers.
He held out his hand to her and she took it, getting to her feet.
"Let's go to bed," he said. And then he led her into the bedroom.
He grabbed a condom out of the nightstand, and she swallowed hard, suddenly realizing they were really going to do this. They were going to make love to each other.
He gave her a questioning look.
She answered by stretching out on the bed, happy to see the relief in his eyes when he joined her. For a long minute his gaze ran down her body. She almost covered herself up with her hands, but she didn’t want to hide from Aiden. She didn't want him to hide from her. She'd dreamed about this moment for half her life, and she wanted to see it, feel it, live it.
She pulled him down on top of her, loving the weight of his body on hers, the way his hard angles fit so well with her soft curves. He kissed her mouth again, the curve of her neck, the lobe of her ear, his mouth setting off every single nerve ending in her body. He didn't move fast, but there was deliberateness behind every movement as if he knew exactly how to bring her to a quivering peak of need.
She ran her hands up and down his back, around his waist, cupping the long hard, length of him, hearing his groan of pleasure and feeling an incredible delight that she could make him happy. And she planned on making him even happier.
While a part of her wanted to savor every second, another part of her was urging her on. She wanted to get closer. She wanted Aiden inside her, all around her, so she cupped his buttocks and urged him forward. She was ready, more than ready, and when he slid inside of her, it was absolutely perfect, a feeling better than any she'd imagined.
