Love Me Crazy

by Camden Leigh

  “Just watch our feet and the size of our stride,” I tell the girl who should be in my arms. “It’s a dipping, swaying kind of box step.”

  I swear Cassie rolls her eyes, but she drops her gaze to our feet and taps an impatient finger against her arm. I tug Annabeth stiffly into place and dare her to cross into my space. If anyone will be melting in my arms it will be Cassie.

  I lead Annabeth through simple steps. She whispers how boring the dance is and takes over, leading me into an elaborate and complicated system of turns and steps.

  “What are you doing?” I ask her as I twirl her against me, then away.

  “Reminding you how perfectly we go together.”

  “I’m not interested in your kind of perfect. There is no us. No together. No chance in hell.”

  “Quinny, you’re such a bear sometimes.” She sighs dramatically. All things are drama with her. “Fine, I’ll give you a week to get her out of your system. Then, come back to me where you belong.” She shakes her head and continues. “It’s a shame, you know, coming back, reconciling with your sisters . . . your mom, and dragging a sweet, innocent girl like her into your mess. That’s what you’re doing, you know. But I’m willing to forgive you, Quinny, and your family will in time. Shouldn’t you spare that girl the pain and grief?”

  I drop her hands and stare at her. “There’s nothing you can say to sway or tempt me back to loving you,” I whisper, but it comes out in a growl. Heat ignites at my center, charging me for a lightning strike. I clench my fists.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” She stretches her hands overhead, then does a graceful spin on her toes. “See. Easy,” she says to Cassie. “You’ll be doing spins in no time. Want me to show you?”

  She skips up to Cassie before I can stop her and positions herself in my place. Cassie glances over Annabeth’s shoulder. I can’t tell if she’s shocked or pissed. Probably both. Lord knows, I’ve got fire running in my veins at the moment.

  “Be a dear and restart the song, Quinny.” Annabeth throws me a coy smile.

  “Just the box step,” I say as I push Play.

  Annabeth talks Cassie through the first steps, as I had. She catches on so Annabeth throws in a spin. Cassie grits her teeth on the reconnect but keeps chugging through Annabeth’s demands.

  Toward the end of the song, Annabeth pulls her close and whispers something. Cassie stares at her, then says something back, which puts a suspicious catlike grin on Annabeth’s face. She drops her hands and dusts them off.

  “Well, she’s better than when she started. You’re welcome, Quinny. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” Annabeth grabs her bag and heads out the door, not waiting for a reply.

  I glance at Cassie, unsure of what to say or do next. “What did she say to you?”

  “Apparently you’re on loan. I can return you at the end of my stay.”

  Say what? I can’t even—

  “Don’t worry; I told her I can’t return what I’ve already used.”

  “Oh.” Oh. Um . . . what do I say to that? “What she showed you is way too, um, complex for a beginner.”

  “Is that what you like, Quinn? Complex?”

  “No, actually.” I shake my head. “Let’s try again.” I ask, ready to rid the awkward tension between us.

  “I think I’m good for today.”

  “Cassie, please.” I walk up to her. “Just one more try. You did great with her, I know you can do it, but I want the last person I danced with to be you.”

  “I’m not too simple?” Her lip begins to poke out. She has nothing to be jealous about, but it sure does look good on her.

  “Actually, you’re the right kind of perfect.” I lift her arms into place. “Light, airy.” I smile, happy to have her back in my arms.

  “Yes, I know. Straight spine, head tilt. Let’s get this over with so I can leave.”

  Like hell. I’m making this last as long as possible. The classical piece drones on and on, and she’s punchy with the steps. Different than earlier. “Lighter, Cass,” I whisper. “Let me lead, close your eyes and follow.”

  “This isn’t working. This music sucks and my back hurts, and you’re a jackass. Can I go?” She rolls her shoulders and drops her arms.

  “I’m a jackass?”

  “Are we done?”

  I switch the song and pull her into a tight closed position. “No,” I breathe, lips inches from the stud in her ear.

  “This isn’t the waltz.”

  “It’s the jackass waltz. Now close your eyes and listen. Don’t move. I’ll move you. Don’t talk, don’t count, just be.” She closes her eyes and turns her face away. “Let the jackass lead, please.”

  Her chest hardens against mine with a held breath.

  I can guess the reason for the shift in her, but I can’t let her leave angry. We’re finishing this. I’m fucking making her see me and not what someone else wants her to see.

  Guitars and maracas take over the silence. She loosens when a voice sings the melody. Her finger taps the beat against my arm. I graze my fingertips up her spine, then down to rest on her lower back.

  She opens her eyes. “I’ve got it. Start the song over.”

  I put the tune on Repeat and we’re off. Our bodies press together. The first few laps we keep form. By the third, my arms drift down, fingertips grazing her skin above her waistband. She rests her chin against my shoulder and tucks her elbow between us. I press my lips against her blue fingers, the freckles on her shoulder. Her soft neck.

  “Quinn.” She squirms against me but doesn’t pull away.

  I hover my lips above the dip in her collarbone. “You’re beautiful.”

  She softens and relaxes into me as I guide us into smaller circles, shorter steps, until we’re barely moving. The lowering sun gives way to shadows, peppering her face with gentle light. Picture perfect. My heart hums quietly, calmly. God, she blows me away. She centers me and pushes everything thrown at me into oblivion. Wish I could do the same for her.

  “I want to be honest with you,” I whisper as we rock offbeat.

  “That doesn’t sound good?” Her ear brushes against my lips as she pulls away.

  “Wait.”

  She rubs her ear and scowls, making me want her more. I pull her in and hold her until she nestles against my shoulder.

  “At the Battery, Annabeth implied she’d be waiting for me to screw up. With you. She thinks you’re trouble and figures once the wedding’s past, you’ll be gone.”

  “I get it. I—”

  “Let me finish, please.”

  She nods and bites my shirt, which is sexy as hell, but probably the only thing stopping her from bleating out in defiance.

  “I like you, Cassie.”

  She bites harder and the warmth from her breath wakes my skin.

  “And I’m done playing this game.”

  “Where are you going with this?” she mumbles.

  “Annabeth was my first . . . for a lot of things. I don’t think I’ll forget those moments, but they’re in the past. She’s my past.” I tilt her chin up. “I want many firsts with you, because you’re the kind of trouble I like to get into.”

  “You see me as trouble?”

  I pull her closer. “Oh yes. Fun trouble. Sexy trouble.”

  I massage her lower back with my fingers. The heat between us doubles as she leans against me, but, still, she’s looking through me. And I want her to understand. “What do you want, Cassie?” It’s a risky question because she could break me right here.

  Her eyes dart to mine as she steps back. Fear highlights the shadows, then recedes, pulled under like a wave swept through her. I spot a sliver of a chance.

  “Come here.” I gently tug her close and trace infinity signs under her ear. I track my lips across her jaw, up her chin to her perfect red lips but stop just shy of contact. I stare at them, wishing to taste them. To feel how smooth they are. I slip my gaze to hers. “I want you, Cassie. Your tangled strings, all your baggage, all your
memories. Because having you means you get all of me—strings, baggage, and guilt. And I really want you to have me.”

  “Why? We’re both broken.”

  “But the right kind of broken.” I lean closer, hovering my lips over hers.

  Her breath sends spicy charges over my skin, begging my lips to find hers.

  My eyes drift shut as I lean into them. Her lips graze my chin as her hand slips away. I tilt my head down to feel her breath against my skin. The brush of heat enough to awaken my cock.

  “Quinn,” she whispers.

  My name isn’t hate or indecision on her lips. There’s a request in her sigh. But fear in her quivering lip. She wants my kisses and my touch—and maybe my heart—but she isn’t sure what to do with them. What she doesn’t realize is the past five years taught me patience. She can take as long as she needs to figure it out, and I’ll be waiting. “Yes?”

  She looks up. “I think . . . getting into trouble with you suits me just fine.”

  “Mmmm, I love the sound of that.”

  Chapter 17

  Cassidy

  Quinn spins me around, making my feet leave the ground. When I land, I settle my feet on top of his. He dances me through the song again, not caring about the beat or my posture, just wanting to consume me for as long as possible.

  He nuzzles the tender spot below my ear and scrapes his chin across my cheek, but doesn’t kiss me. Ever the gentleman when we’re in public, or semi-public. I know he’s treading carefully because he’s afraid my honesty back at his dad’s office might’ve been a false claim, but it wasn’t. I really want us to work.

  To tamp down his unspoken fear, I welcome his lips into my space. I give his lower lip a little nibble, then sigh into him, wishing we were back at the empty office and not in the dining room where anyone could walk in. I didn’t have time to revel in the afterglow, and he left me lit up like nuclear aftermath. He moans against my lips, filling me with a heady high that only he can generate.

  “I think we have the place to ourselves. Want to go upstairs?”

  I nod and sweep my lips against his cheek.

  He cuts the music off and grabs my hand, pulling me quickly behind him up the stairs.

  Once we’re locked in his room, he strips his borrowed clothes from the Gentleman’s Quarters and trades them for a simple heather-blue tee and jeans. I’ve never seen him in jeans, and believe me, there are guys in jeans then gods in jeans. They fit snug in all the right places yet look more comfortable than a pair of sweats. I sigh inside a little because he’s not only the most handsome man I’ve ever laid on eyes on, he’s mine. Mine.

  I glance down at the skirt Kat suggested I wear to get the correct feel on the dance floor.

  “Want something more comfortable?”

  I nod. Naked would be good.

  He disappears into his closet and comes out with two shirts: a blue, worn, dress shirt and an emerald green tee-shirt hoodie. “I can’t decide if you’d look sexier wearing more indigo or not.”

  I grab the green hoodie off the hanger. “Smart ass.”

  “Actually, I knew you’d look sexier in the green. It matches your eyes when you come.”

  “What?” Red seeps up into my ears and I turn away to shed my skirt and shirt and pull the green one over my head. “You’re crazy.”

  “Mmmm, no. Your eyes darken just before, and blaze when you fall over the edge.” He stretches out across his bed. “They go from June bug to Katydid in a matter of seconds.”

  I land on my stomach and kick my feet up behind me. “What are they now?” I blink rapidly.

  “Serene.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “No? Then what are they?” He pulls me against him.

  I curl on my side and rest my head on his chest. “Bored.”

  His breath catches, stilling the rise of his chest for half a beat. “I need a nap and some food to recharge before I un-bored you.”

  “I like that plan.”

  He heads downstairs to grab us some food and I must drift off to sleep, because when I wake he’s reading a magazine at his desk, shirtless, mind you, and there’s a spread of cheese, crackers, and red grapes sitting on the nightstand.

  “Am I not good enough for strawberries and whipped cream?” I tease as I stretch my cramped limbs then drag the heavy cheese board to the bed beside me.

  He stretches out on my other side and reaches over me for a grape. “I reserve strawberries and whipped cream for cheap thrills. You deserve the wine and cheese board.”

  I eye the bottle of wine he grabs from the opposite nightstand. “I can do cheap thrills if you want.” He hands me the glass and I take a sip of the white wine. “Yum. No I can’t. I want the wine.” I take another sip, enjoying the punch of sweet followed by a bite similar to a tart, green apple.

  Surprised by my hunger, I finish off a handful of crackers, try several different flavors of cheese and am content feeding myself grapes from above like I’m Cleopatra on her golden throne.

  “Knew you’d need more than just strawberries. Besides, picking season has long passed.”

  “Are you always right?” I ask as I roll to my stomach and pluck grapes from their stem. I feed him one, then place one above his navel. I feed him another then add a second to the line dissecting his abs. I keep altering between the two until he’s sporting fifteen grapes between his navel and the indention near his throat.

  “According to Kat, I’m wrong about everything.”

  “She’s coming around.”

  “Have you ever tamed a wild horse?” he asks.

  I stare at him, bewildered. A horse?

  “She’s like that.” He picks up one of the grapes from the line-up and slips it between his teeth.

  I replace it. “I don’t understand.”

  “She was born wild. And stubborn.”

  “You were all born stubborn.”

  He laughs. “Wild horses tend to keep a firm hold on their wild side. They build trust slowly, and are capable of becoming socially apt. Kat and I were close, and when I left, all the trust she had in me disappeared. She dipped back into her wild spirit. She’d rather hang on to her tried and true wild side than waste her time learning to trust me again.”

  “She’s not a horse, Quinn.”

  He shrugs and the grapes roll off either side of him. I scoop them up and replace them one by one.

  “Don’t you think it’s possible the horse is the same horse, that it’s the trainer who’s changed methods?”

  He pulls his lips together then pushes my shoulder, making me roll off balance. “Whose side are you on?”

  I smile. “Mine. Just mine.”

  I straddle his knees and plop one of the grapes from his chest into my mouth. “Thanks, by the way.”

  “For what?”

  For helping me push through the awkwardness and resurrect the desire I feel whenever you touch me. Or kiss me.

  “The, uh, gift.” I was surprised earlier, when I went to my room to change for dance lessons, and found the art supplies he’d left on my bed. His note had said he’d attempted drawing in high school, and to keep the pencils if they were useful.

  Touched by his thoughtfulness, I excitedly sharpened the pencils and tested them out, surprised how the quality surpassed the El Cheapo brand I could barely afford. When I dumped the shavings in the kitchen trash, I found the bag from the art store and plastic wrap stuffed beneath blank sheets of paper that looked like they belonged to the sketch pads he’d left.

  My heart took a flying leap into that trash can. I swear it sunk to the bottom, but then it rebounded and came back twice as hard, twice as full. No one has ever bought me art supplies. No one has ever supported my love of art outside of school. For those few seconds, I felt as if everything I’d given up was worth it. I felt my dream chasing had finally found purchase. That’s some scary shit.

  And all because of Quinn. He wants me to succeed. He wants me just like I am.

  “It was
nothing.”

  “It was everything. I saw the bag. Those items were new.” I stretch my fingers in either direction across his stomach to see if I can reach both sides with only my thumbs touching. “And I wanted you to know, you’re the first person outside of teachers and classmates to gift me with the very tool I need to succeed.”

  “Pencils? It was nothing, I promise. I saw them in the store and thought you’d like them.” He drops his gaze from mine.

  I push his chin up. “Not pencils. Your belief that my dreams won’t stay dreams.”

  “You’re great at what you do.”

  I pluck one of the grapes from his chest, hold it between my teeth and lower toward his lips. He takes the grape, pops it between his teeth, and then watches me intently.

  “You’re not too shabby yourself, Mr. Covington.” I lean down and pick up another grape with my teeth. I lean over him and track it across his nipple, up to his shoulder, then across his cheek. I trace his lip. He cracks open his mouth, ready to receive the grape, and strains his neck to reach, but using my tongue I flip it slowly over and pop it between my teeth.

  His hands slip under my baggy shirt and caress my sides, strumming along my ribs. Up. Down. Over and over, light enough that goosebumps break out across my skin.

  One by one, I follow the trail of grapes, sharing some, saving the others for myself, until there’s only two left between his obvious arousal and my lips. I climb backward and settle between his legs, leaning smartly forward, lowering my chest, pressing my rear to the sky. And as if the shirt gets the message to turn on the sultry, it falls down my back, exposing my lace barely-there panties and gives Quinn the perfect shot of my ass.

  Making sure I have one hundred percent of his attention, I settle my hands on either side of the bulge in his jeans and lower slowly toward the grapes. I draw a circle around the furthest grape before maneuvering it into my mouth and teasing it between my teeth.

  “Remind me to serve you grapes more often.” He reaches for me, but I shake my head. He settles into the bed, growling in what I decipher to be approval.

  I kiss the line at his hip, paying special attention to the muscles that disappear beneath his waistband, before doing the same to the other side. I slip backward a few inches, unbutton his jeans, flick his zipper upright, then grab it with my teeth and work it easily down.