The Hearts Series

by L.H. Cosway

In the end I get so annoyed with him that I jump up from my seat, the metal squealing against the floor. He’s being completely rude, and I can tell that Owen is upset but is trying not to show it.

  “You’re…you’re being a dickhead,” I burst out before grabbing Owen’s hand and leading him away with me. Jay’s expression at my outburst isn’t shock or guilt; it’s satisfaction. He wanted me to get mad. Stopping when we get around a corner that leads from the main section of the apartment to the bedrooms, I put a hand on Owen’s shoulder and apologise profusely.

  “I’m so sorry about him. I think he might be drunk.” Jay isn’t drunk in the slightest, but it’s the only excuse I can come up with for his terrible behaviour. Owen’s cheeks are red with embarrassment.

  “It’s okay. I think I might call it a night anyway,” he says. “I’ve got work in the morning.”

  “You don’t have to leave.”

  “Nah, I should go. I’ll call you. We’ll do something else soon. Just the two of us.”

  I smile at him. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” My smile is half-hearted, though, because I have a feeling Owen isn’t going to be calling any time in the near or distant future. Jay made sure of that.

  He leans down and gives me a reluctant peck on the cheek, then a quick hug before leaving. I stand there, trying to tamp down my fury. I have a good mind to march right back out to Jay and give him what for. In fact, I think that’s what I will do.

  Striding through the apartment and back out onto the balcony, I find Jay in the same spot I left him in. He’s lounging back in his chair, nursing his beer and smoking a cigarette. I stop a foot or two in front of him and fold my arms, my eyes narrowed to slits.

  “The douche chef gone already?” he asks with a big grin, leisurely blowing out smoke. I want to smack the expression right off his stupid handsome face.

  “Yeah, no thanks to you. What the hell were you playing at? You were so…so mean. It’s not like you at all.”

  Another swallow of beer and a shrug. His lack of a response infuriates me.

  “You hurt his feelings, and he was nothing but nice to you. I don’t like this side of you, Jay. What’s gotten into you?”

  He looks away, gracing me with his gorgeous profile. God, does he have to be so attractive? It doesn’t help my situation one tiny bit. He sets the bottle down on the table and stubs out his smoke, then leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. When he looks up at me, his eyes are dark, angry, almost. “I don’t like him.”

  “He’s done nothing to you.”

  Jay lets out a joyless laugh. “Oh, I beg to differ.”

  We stare at each other for a long time, our eyes battling it out.

  “Is everything okay?” Michelle asks, walking over from the railing where she and the blond guy had moved their conversation, probably to escape the tension between Jay and me.

  “Owen’s gone home,” I tell her, finally breaking our stare.

  “Oh. Well, not to worry. He was probably just tired.”

  “Nope. Jay was acting like a right arsehole,” I snap, my eyes on Jay the entire time. “That’s why he left.”

  With that I turn on my heel and stomp away. Behind me I can hear Michelle chewing out an uncharacteristically silent Jay. I make my way to the kitchen, where Jessie is currently doing shots with two attractive brunettes.

  “Hey, Matilda, you want one?” she asks, offering me a shot glass of dark liquid. Without a word I take it from her and knock it back all in one go. It tastes vile, like chemicals and liquorice. Still, when she gives me another, I drink every drop the same as the first.

  “Have you got any vodka?” I ask, and she locates a small bottle. I take it from her and go in search of orange juice, pouring both into a glass.

  “Are you all right, honey?” Jessie asks, concerned.

  “Jay’s a dick.”

  She laughs. “Yeah. I love that man like my own flesh and blood, but he has his difficult moments. I put up with them because it’s only one percent of him. The other ninety-nine percent is pretty fucking amazing.”

  And isn’t that the truth. Right now I can’t stand him, but at the same time he’s probably the best person I’ve ever known. I hate fighting with him, but I really can’t let him get away with his behaviour around Owen. He needs to know he can’t treat people like that.

  Michelle shows up then, petting my hair. “Don’t let him ruin your night, honey. Come on, we’re going to dance that frown upside down.”

  I muster a smile and allow her to drag me away. She leads me over to the open space that’s been designated as the dance floor. One of Jessie’s friends is DJ-ing over in the corner, loud dubstep music filling the apartment. I close my eyes and just go with it, dancing to the beat. A while later the guy Michelle had been talking with and one of his friends join us. We all dance as a group, but soon Michelle pairs off with her guy, and the friend sets his sights on me.

  Usually, in a situation like this, I’ll figure out some way of keeping the dancing friendly. But not tonight. Tonight I’m out to erase my crush on Jay once and for all. The guy I’m dancing with is tall and dark-haired. He puts his hands on my hips and leans down to whisper in my ear.

  “I’m Stuart.”

  “Matilda,” I reply, and he smiles.

  The music seems to get louder as we continue dancing. After a while, his hands stray from my hips. It feels like they’re everywhere. Sliding up and down my back, grazing my bottom. All the while there’s an itching beneath my skin. I can’t lie to myself and pretend that I like this. In fact, I kind of hate it. I want his hands off me right now.

  I’ve never been one of those girls who can let men do things because I’m feeling reckless. Even when I’m reckless, if I don’t like the guy, then there’s this weird little bubble of steel deep in my gut that won’t allow me to take things further.

  As I dance, I curse myself for having that steel bubble. It ruins everything.

  I don’t have to politely tell Stuart that I’d prefer it if he kept his hands to himself, though, because all of a sudden those hands are being ripped away from me.

  Twenty-One

  I see the punch connect before I recognise who’s doing the punching. Then I notice the familiar tattoos on the arms, and I know it’s Jay. Oh, my God.

  “Keep your fucking hands off her,” he fumes, clutching Stuart’s shirt in his fist.

  “What the hell, man? We were only dancing!”

  “Yeah, I don’t give a fuck what you were only doing,” Jay spits.

  At this moment Jessie saunters over, throwing an arm around Jay’s shoulder and crooning “John, I’m Only Dancing” by David Bowie into his face. Obviously, this is an effort to diffuse the situation. The second Jay hears her, his anger dissipates, and he almost smiles. His jaw is still set tight, though. He lets go of Stuart’s shirt, and Stuart backs away, looking at Jay like he’s nuts.

  “You’re crazy,” he mumbles, smoothing out his shirt.

  Jay smiles at him, showing teeth. “That’s what they tell me.”

  My brain can’t comprehend why that just happened, and my cheeks are flaming red. Did Jay think I was letting myself down by allowing Stuart to essentially maul me while we danced?

  I turn on my heel and hurry away, finding myself back in the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. Needing a moment alone, I open the door to one of them and step inside. It’s mostly empty, with just a bed and a few sparse bits of furniture. It must be Jessie’s spare room. Letting out a sigh, I flop down onto the bed and cover my face with my hands.

  This entire night has been a huge disaster.

  I take deep breaths, trying to calm down and push away my embarrassment. A familiar scent hits me when I turn my face into the bed sheets. They smell like Jay. He must have spent the night here at some point, and that’s why they smell of him. Trust me to pick this room of all rooms to seek refuge in. I want to get him out of my head, but somehow he keeps worming his way back in without even having to try.

&n
bsp; Minutes tick by, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying myself a little too much. Secretly relishing Jay’s scent, remembering what it felt like to sleep in the same bed as him, his big arms wrapped around me. God, I’m so ridiculous.

  I cover my face with my hands again just as I hear the door to the room open and shut so quietly I almost miss it. Something inside me knows that it’s him, a sixth sense alerting me to his presence.

  Slowly, I remove my hands from my face, my heart jumping a little when I see he’s standing over me right at the foot of the bed, a torn look on his face. The top half of my body is lying flat, while my legs dangle off the edge.

  “I don’t want to see you right now,” I practically whisper, my eyes becoming watery.

  His head tilts to the side, his gaze trailing hotly down my body before returning to my face. “Why not?”

  I sit up quickly, gesticulating furiously. “You just punched Stuart for no reason! What the hell was that about? Do you have anger-management issues?”

  His jaw ticks. Yeah, I’m definitely starting to recognise that as a sign he’s not happy. “Oh, it’s ‘Stuart,’ is it? Your date just left, and you’ve already moved on to someone else? That’s real classy, Watson.”

  “Are you serious? I’m the classless one? You started all this with your snide behaviour toward Owen, so let’s not pretend this is my fault.”

  “I told you I don’t like him. And I don’t like that Stuart guy, either. You need to be more selective about who you let put their hands all over you.”

  His words make me jump up from the bed. It seems to surprise him, because he steps back a little. I march toward him, glaring up at him and pointing my finger hard into his chest.

  “You shouldn’t care about that, Jason! You only want me to be your friend, remember?”

  Swiftly, he grabs the finger I just pointed at him, holding it to his chest. The warmth of his hand makes some of my anger dissipate. A quick breath escapes me. Now he starts to move forward with purpose, backing me up against the wall on the other side of the room.

  “I care,” he says harshly, voice low, threatening, almost. It’s confusing that such a voice can still give me chills all down my spine. Good ones. “Friends care about their friends.”

  Something inside of me deflates. “That’s all it is? A friend looking out for another friend?” I ask, needing him to say no, praying that he doesn’t say yes.

  “Yes,” he murmurs, then swears under his breath. “No. Fuck. I didn’t think this would be so difficult.”

  “What?”

  He doesn’t tell me, just keeps staring intensely into my eyes until I think I might melt into a puddle on the floor. “I don’t want you to date Owen.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t want you dancing with fucks like Stuart, either.”

  I lick my lips, and his gaze zones in on the movement. His body is pressed right up against mine, and I can feel his thick length harden against my thigh. His arousal turns me on. Fizzy bubbles pop in my belly.

  “Why?” I ask again, whispering now.

  His hands, which are braced against the wall on either side of my head, slam down into the plaster with frustration. My entire body jumps, and my lip quivers.

  He leans his face in agonisingly slowly, then tells me in a gravelly, possessive, stomach-flipping voice, “Because you’re mine.”

  I gasp.

  His lips descend on my lips, hard and frenzied, and I can feel every ounce of his passion. I moan into the kiss, his tongue sliding into my mouth with intent, caressing mine, claiming me. His hands cup either side of my face, his thumbs brushing the hollow of my throat, tantalising my nerve endings and making me feel it all the way down between my thighs.

  I’m not entirely sure of what’s happening, but I’m incapable of proper thought. My body is in charge now, my brain instantly forgetting the events that brought us here, to this moment. And really, I don’t care. I want him more than caution would deem wise.

  I’m so taken aback by his kiss that I press my palms flat against the wall behind me, too afraid to touch him. Frightened that touching him will make me wake up from the dream of him telling me that I’m his.

  I once read that people who have imaginary friends never reach out to touch them. There’s some part of their brain that subconsciously knows it will break the spell. That’s what it feels like with Jay. He entrances me in a way that makes me feel like he must not be real. Someone so incredible could only be a figment of my imagination.

  But he isn’t.

  His erection grinding hard into my thigh is evidence of that.

  Bravely, I grip his shoulders, breaking past the barrier. I could stay in this kiss forever. Stay in this room where there’s only the sensation of our battling tongues and the noise of our frantic, heavy breathing.

  He plunders every inch of my mouth, nibbles on my lips, murmuring hot words, his voice reverent. His thumbs continue to stroke at my throat, so erotically I feel like I could come without him having to so much as venture any lower.

  A harsh cry of pleasure rumbles out of me, and he moves his mouth down my chin to my throat to join his dexterous thumbs. He nuzzles and sucks and massages, and I feel like I’m going to burst.

  “Christ, I need you,” he swears. “If you don’t stop me now, I’m going to fuck you, darlin’.”

  He licks a line from my neck to my earlobe, taking it into his mouth and sucking, his tongue flickering.

  “Jay.” I moan his name, and an appreciative groan rumbles up out of his chest. “Yes. Please.”

  He growls with satisfaction as I urge him on.

  His hand travels under the hem of my dress, sliding up my leg to my inner thigh. I whimper when he cups me right between the legs — hard. He moves his face down to my chest, whispering his lips over the crest of my cleavage, pressing needy, feverish kisses to the tops of my breasts.

  His other hand cups my breast as his mouth returns to my lips, licking and nibbling. Locating my nipple, he bites it hard through the fabric, and I cry out. I’m completely breathless. Without warning he picks me up, my legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. He carries me to the bed and lays me down, then goes over to the door and turns the lock.

  “Don’t want anyone interrupting us,” he says in a dangerously sexy voice.

  I’m practically panting. He comes and settles himself between my thighs, his hands braced on the bed to hold himself over me.

  “These sheets smell like you,” I say, unable to help myself.

  My words seem to surprise him. “You like that?”

  I can only nod in reply.

  “I used to live here, before Jessie decided she wanted her place to herself. This was my room.”

  “Oh,” I breathe.

  We lock eyes for a long time, and one of his hands goes to my mouth, fingers brushing tenderly at my bottom lip. One finger slips inside a little, and I suck gently. Jay swears.

  “Those fucking lips. So soft. So perfect.”

  My cheeks heat up

  “I’ve never seen a more exquisite sight than you when you’re all turned on, darlin’. You know that?”

  I avert my eyes, but he takes my chin in his hand, forcing me to look at him.

  “You want me?” he asks, swallowing.

  “Yes,” I answer, my voice barely audible.

  My eyes flicker back and forth between his, my heart fluttering. When his hand travels from my mouth and back to my neck, he grips me, his big hand practically going all the way around to my nape. I turn completely boneless beneath him. As he bends down, his mouth meets mine again harshly. He claims me with his tongue. Our chests rise and fall with our rapid breathing. I break the kiss and nuzzle my nose below his ear, finally mustering up the courage to tell him what I want.

  “Make love to me,” I whisper. Emotion catches in my throat. “I want you inside me.”

  He pulls back to look me in the eye, and I’d swear he’s trying to see right into my soul. “Once we
do this, you’re mine. There’s no going back.”

  “I’m yours,” I tell him fervently before reaching down and pressing my hand to the erection straining against his jeans. He shudders. I go for his fly, undoing the button and pulling down the zipper. All the while he’s just breathing over me, holding still, on the verge of losing control.

  I want him to lose control.

  Sliding my hand inside his jeans, I’m greeted with the feel of his hot, hard, silky flesh, and I moan. I move my hand up and down, relishing how big he is and how he groans appreciatively when I touch him. He grips the elastic of my underwear on either side of my hips and yanks it down so hard I think I hear a tear. My shoes got lost somewhere along the way, because my knickers glide easily over my bare feet before he throws them onto the floor. His cock presses against my sex, and I shiver. Skin to skin.

  “Fuck,” he mutters, biting his lip. He holds his cock in his hand, rubbing it up and down my wetness, teasing at my entrance.

  “What?” I ask, breathless.

  “Forgot to bring Johnnies.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll just eat you out,” he suggests, already moving down my body, but I grab his shoulders.

  “No. It’s okay. I mean, I don’t have anything. You don’t have to worry about that. And I’ve been on the pill since I was a teenager.”

  “Jesus, don’t offer me something like that, darlin’. I might just take it,” he says, eyes not leaving mine.

  “Please, take it, Jay.”

  One eyebrow rises. “You trust me that much?”

  I nod. “You’re clean, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I trust you.”

  “Fucking hell.”

  He pushes the rest of my dress up and over my head, then makes short work of getting rid of my bra. His eyes feast on my naked breasts as he moves his head down to suck each nipple into his mouth. “Hey, girls,” he says, talking to my boobs with a wicked grin curving his lips. “Missed ya.”

  Oh, God.

  I didn’t think a man talking to my breasts could be such a turn-on, but when Jay does, it really, really is. He lavishes them with attention for a long time, so long that I’m on the verge of begging him to fuck me. He slips off his jeans and boxer shorts, then pulls his shirt off over his head. His expression is serious when he looks back at me. His hand goes between my legs, a couple of his fingers slipping inside me. I arch my back at the pleasant invasion.