Don't Let Me Go

by Rin Daniels

  He laughed. It cut. “You think he’s nice, Nadine? You think he can take care of you?”

  The questions, flung with unerring accuracy, lobbed into Nadine’s heart.

  Into her rising panic.

  With wide eyes, she looked at her mom, who stared back this time in severe disappointment.

  “You…” She took a shaking breath. “You read my texts?” When neither said anything, neither confirmed nor denied, she laughed in eerie echo of her dad’s bitter amusement. “Ohmigod, of course you did. Why not? It’s not like it’s a violation of civil privacy or anything.”

  “It’s my phone line,” he began, but fell silent as she shouted, “I’m an adult! I’m twenty-one, you can’t legally—”

  “Nadine Renee Sherwood.” Her mom’s reprimand dripped ice. “You are behaving disgracefully.”

  She sucked in a breath, jarred into silence. Into throat-grippingly acute panic.

  Betrayal.

  And yeah, guilt. Because she had gone behind their backs, but it was only until she could really introduce Lucas to them. The new Lucas.

  The one she loved.

  Tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t get it.”

  “We understand exactly—”

  “No!” She swiped a hand over the papers, scattered them into the kitchen. Mary stepped aside hastily, surprise briefly undercutting her cool fury. They fluttered, rustled. Went still.

  Screaming yellow on white.

  She sniffed hard, but it didn’t stop the tears from welling over. “I love him,” she said into the silence. “I love Lucas Bourdin, and I have since I was thirteen!”

  Germaine’s head drew back, features twisting like she’d shoved something foul in his face. “It’s clear to me that we were wrong to give you as much freedom as you’ve had.”

  “What?” She took a step back.

  “You’re grounded.”

  She cracked a laugh that only carved a line between them. She could feel it, sense it widening with every word. Every step back she took.

  She couldn’t help herself.

  “You can’t keep me locked up.” Her smirk felt ugly. Painfully sharp. “I’m twenty-one, I’m old enough to go where I want.”

  Red crept into his face, spots mottling his skin beneath his neat sideburns and mustache. “That boy is common trash,” her father said tightly. “If you take one foot out that door, Nadine, we are going to have problems.”

  “Fine,” she shot back, whirling. Her hair scattered over her shoulders, stuck to her cheeks where her tears left damp trails. “I don’t need your stupid Big Brother creepiness or your stupid house or your stupid, stupid rules.” Her voice cracked. “I’m leaving!”

  “Nadine!”

  She stopped in the door way, knees shaking. Her whole body trembled, even her vision, but she looked back over her shoulder.

  Her parents watched her, red- and white-faced respectively. United in their disappointment.

  In their effort to see her kept from what she wanted most.

  She grabbed the door frame with her free hand, holding on in case her wobbling legs dumped her. “For the record,” she said, every ragged word as firm as she could possibly make it, “Lucas is a brilliant mechanic. He’s going to blow everyone out of the water, and I’m going to make sure that he does. You’ll see.” Her chin lifted as her father’s face turned redder and redder. “And,” she added, forcing a grim little smile, “I’ve already slept with him. He’s damn good there, too.”

  She strode out on her mother’s shocked gasp.

  They wouldn’t give her time to collect her things. She wasn’t even sure what she’d pack. All she could do was grab her purse from the side table by the door, make sure her keys and wallet were there, and leave.

  As she got into her light blue hybrid, her chest hurt so much that she didn’t even know how she breathed around it. Backing out of the garage took a few tries, her hands were so unsteady, but as she eased down the long driveway and into the roundabout, her gaze flicked to the front of the house.

  The door stayed shut. The windows blank.

  Her parents didn’t get it. They only knew Lucas as the sullen kid Nadine hung out with. They didn’t watch him grow up, they didn’t see him fight through everything to become the man he was now.

  She did.

  The fact they wouldn’t even give him a chance—give them a chance—hurt almost as much as the fact that they’d pulled some kind of rich bitch magic to get her texts.

  She’d show them.

  No, Lucas would show them. He’d show them how incredible he was.

  She wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve. It was fine. Everything was fine.

  She’d made her choice.

  The gate opened up to let her out.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ICE CREAM, WINE, and stupid reality TV shows went a long way to making life bearable. If it meant she had to down a couple of painkillers before visiting Lucas at his garage, Nadine figured it was a small price to pay. Her hangover wasn’t so bad that she regretted it.

  Kat was a lifesaver, anyway. Without her, Nadine didn’t know what she’d do. Where she’d go.

  Not until she patched things up with Lucas.

  So here she was, making the familiar walk up his driveway. The envelope in her purse—decorated with glitter and ribbon and a cheeky lipstick imprint in bold red—felt like it weighed a ton on her shoulder. Or maybe that was everything else.

  He hadn’t texted her. Or called. Again. Still.

  It bothered her.

  Practically speaking, it wasn’t as if he ever did. This was normal. And given that her parents had gone completely Big Brother on her, it was probably better that he didn’t text her.

  And yet…

  Was he still mad?

  Nadine had barely slept, she was so nervous. What would she do if he was angry?

  If he was done with her?

  The garage door had been left open, letting a swath of early afternoon sunshine fan out over the stained floor. A new car occupied the interior, its hood propped open and a few rags already draped over the lip of the frame. An old Subaru, it looked like. She recognized the hatchback design.

  They required specialized mechanics. She’d seen this car before, which meant Lucas had another job. Awesome. Another job meant some extra money for him. That was great. Maybe it’d make him feel better about her surprise gift.

  Nadine sidled past the gray car, fingers tight on her purse.

  She wanted to call out, to yell his name like she always did, but her voice stuck in her throat.

  Before, she could bank on the fact that he’d cool down and think it over, that she’d show up and smile and he’d sigh and forgive her anything because they were friends. Key word: friends.

  Before, she hadn’t seen him naked.

  He hadn’t seen her naked.

  She froze, one foot on the single step in front of the kitchen entry.

  Was naked the ultimate deal-breaker here?

  The nerves she’d been fighting welled up into her chest, sent her heart rocketing into her throat. Ohmigod. What if this was it? What if Lucas couldn’t handle her naked body? What if the fact he’d been inside her—inside his best friend—was the thing he couldn’t get over?

  What if this was just pity?

  What if she’d lost everything in the space a week?

  The door jerked open. “You’re taking forever. Get inside.”

  Lucas’s brusque command ruffled every feather she had left. Her chin snapped up. She opened her mouth to sass right back, but then her gaze pinned on a bead of water as it slid down one sculpted shoulder. It traced the contour of his pectoral, hugged his golden skin as it rolled down his ribs. Battered jeans rode low on his hips, baring the chiseled line of his hip flexors, that abdominal vee that made her forget everything but her own name—and only because she wanted him to call it when she licked a path down all that skin.

  “I have so many issues,” she said huskily.r />
  The hands he’d wrapped around the ends of the towel slung around his neck clenched, even as he laughed a short, sharp sound. “Now you figure that out?” He stepped back, out of easy reach but not out of view. Barefoot, bare chested, his jaw clean-shaven and smooth, with his hair raked back and dripping, he looked a lot like her favorite dessert.

  She had a twisted view of dessert.

  Her sex tightened. She wanted him still. Again. As often as possible, and how was that for messed up priorities? She wondered what angry sex would be like.

  What make-up sex would feel like.

  The ache low in her belly drained off some of her nerves, but she swallowed hard, forced her gaze away from his back—so much yum, and she was seriously drooling—and followed him into the kitchen.

  And through it.

  “I need to finish getting dressed,” he said over his shoulder.

  “Don’t bother on my account.”

  He shot her a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder.

  Nadine smiled back, innocent as she could possibly manage. Which seemed a lot harder, now that she knew exactly what he looked like naked. What he tasted like.

  What he felt like driving himself deep inside her body, which even now ached for him. Like she was nothing more than an empty space desperate for him to fill.

  Heat climbed into her cheeks.

  The look, whatever it was, altered. His tawny eyes banked with a heat she couldn’t help but respond to. Her breath caught.

  Would he still look at her like that if she threw herself at him and begged him to take her, take her now?

  Lucas shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  She followed him into the bedroom, sidled around him and perched on the foot of his bed. Silence descended awkwardly between them. Nadine watched his biceps flex and pull as he rubbed the towel over his hair, watched the way the muscles at his waist tightened. He made her hungry for him. Desperate for him.

  He always had.

  Only difference here was that now he knew it.

  She sighed, looking down at the purse she clutched like her life depended on it. “Hey.”

  “Mm.”

  Was it better or worse that he didn’t look at her?

  Nadine rolled her eyes. “So, okay, I’ve been thinking,” she said, going for brisk.

  “Mm,” he said again, a sort of hum of acknowledgement as he dragged the towel back over his shoulders. His eyes flicked briefly to her.

  She kicked her wedge sandals off—bright pink, this time, to match her frilly blouse—and pulled her feet up to sit cross-legged. The purse felt like it weighed a ton in her lap. “Um.” Why was this so freaking hard? “So, about the other day…” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

  Lucas went still, the damp towel hanging from one fist. He stared at it for a moment. “Okay,” he finally said.

  Just okay.

  What did it mean?

  They’d fought before, hard to be friends and not fight, but it was usually over stupid stuff. This wasn’t the same. His future—the future she wanted with him—wasn’t stupid.

  But he’d always been proud.

  Maybe all that naked skin of his made her forget that. Or maybe it was her own pride getting in the way.

  Her shoulders slumped. Her gaze fell to his bare feet, because that was suddenly easier to look at then the inscrutable shape of his mouth or the angle of his freshly shaven jaw. She couldn’t figure out what he was thinking; not here, not this time, with her words fresh between them and his pride probably still bleeding.

  How awful was she?

  She clasped her hands over her purse and forced herself to meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you to grow up,” she said on a rushed exhale. The skin around his eyelids flinched, a sharp jab to her conscience. “I’m an idiot. You’ve been more grown up than most adults I know since you were sixteen years old, and I’m so sorry.”

  He looked away.

  Everything inside her cramped with fear. Was that hesitation? Was he withdrawing?

  Did she mess it up forever?

  To her consternation, tears pricked sharply. She blinked before they could well over. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Nadine’s knuckles went white as she stared down at her hands. “Um.” God, this was hard. Who knew that love meant tearing the scabs off all the time? She bit her lip, and tried again. “You might have, um, guessed that I’m sort of new to this whole lover thing, and I get carried away. I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

  Silence. This time, she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face.

  “It’s just—” No. Not there, she couldn’t go there. No excuses. She took a deep breath. “If you hate me, Lucas, then just say the word and I’ll go. I never wanted to be a problem.” Despite the fact the words shook, her mouth hiked up into a rueful smile. “I mean, I always like bothering you, but I don’t want to feel like I forced you into this. Even if I did practically strip at your feet.” Her chuckle barely crested into humor. It broke on a breathy hitch.

  She couldn’t stop blinking. Don’t cry. That wouldn’t be fair.

  He always crumbled when she cried.

  Lucas sighed, something twisted with a rough sound she couldn’t identify. The end of the towel hanging from his hand twitched, like he locked down a movement.

  A tiny ember of hope kindled in her misery.

  “Christ, Nadine.” His voice graveled. “You didn’t force me. Do you even know—” He stopped, the words strangling as he tipped his face to the ceiling. Her gaze jerked up to him, to the cords standing out in his throat.

  That hope welled up into a warm glow.

  Flickered when he looked back at her, his gaze hard and angry and—what? What was that in his stare that made her feel like she stood naked in front of him? It wasn’t anything so tame as wanting. Wasn’t anything she knew how to read.

  She shuddered under the force of it.

  “But,” he said tightly, and the word was a hand wrapped around her neck. She stopped breathing. His lips twisted. “Let me be clear. I don’t want your money.” Her fingers tightened on the straps of her purse. “I don’t need you to bail me out— No,” he said, cutting himself off with a hard sound. “I don’t need a bail-out. I’m a grown man, Nadine, I can take care of myself. Do you get it?”

  She did. She did understand. But how was she supposed to know where she stood? What he saw her as?

  Was she just a bail-out he didn’t want? A problem he couldn’t ask to leave?

  To her horror, unable to stop it, the tears she fought back welled over her lashes. She turned her head, a curtain of her own hair falling over her face, but too late.

  He’d seen.

  “Ah, shit,” he rasped, and the towel dropped to the floor with a damp splat. The bed dipped as he braced a knee beside her, a strong hand wrapped around her nape and tugged her hard against his shoulder. She held her breath, hoping it’d be enough, but as her cheek pressed against the bare flesh over his heart, as her body curved into his with bittersweet familiarity, her defenses cracked.

  After the fight with her parents, after the stress she’d felt over Lucas and the ticket she hadn’t yet given him, she didn’t have any reserves left. His touch, warm and strong, and the smell of his clean skin defrayed her willpower, until she couldn’t do anything but wrap her arms around his waist and cry.

  She was so unfair.

  * * *

  Her tears broke his heart. Lucas stroked one hand over her hair, held her close with the other, and bit down on the impulse to yell. Not at her. Not even specifically at anything. Just yell, because Nadine didn’t cry. She wasn’t the type.

  When she cried, things were bad.

  And he was the asshole who’d pushed it.

  His cheek rested against the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” he said roughly, her hair spilling like cool silk through his fingers. It didn’t take much to remember how it had felt wrapped around his fist, how she had thrown back her head under his tug and screamed he
r pleasure as he’d lost himself in her body.

  In her raw sensuality.

  So different from the girl who cried in his arms now.

  Miles different from the friend he’d forced her to be.

  Nadine’s hands blazed against his side, seared through muscle and bone until he wasn’t sure he’d ever forget what she felt like. He was in too deep. Tied too strongly.

  Leaving Sulla Valley had always promised to be hard, but as he pressed his lips to the crown of her head and murmured nonsense, he realized that it would be impossible now.

  He shouldn’t have slept with her.

  He shouldn’t have fallen so hard.

  Fuck. Lucas gathered her long hair into a loose tail and tugged her head up from his shoulder. His fingers tucked under her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. God, he loved her eyes. Always shockingly blue, now they shimmered with her tears—tears she cried for him.

  He shouldn’t have felt so good that she cried over him. He was an asshole, all right.

  “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” As gently as he could, as he dared, he leaned down to skim his lips over hers. She took a sudden breath through her nose, her eyes widening. His bottom lip rubbed against her soft mouth, caught, and eased a shuddering sigh from her.

  Her lashes fluttered. The hand she’d braced on his thigh tightened.

  Awareness rippled through his skin like a live wire, curled into his dick and that was the end of any rational thought he could muster. He moved his fingers from her chin, caught the side of her face and held her still so he could tilt his head and taste her lips. Her mouth opened sweetly, her tongue darting out to touch his. To dip into his mouth boldly, and retreat shyly.

  He groaned, shifting to ease her back onto his bed. Ignoring the purse in her lap, ignoring the fact that she was still dressed and his erection ached where it pressed against his zipper, he cradled her head in his arm and took his time kissing her. Tasting her.

  Imprinting her into his soul.

  For however long he had left.

  When his hand skimmed up her blouse, she grabbed at his hair. When his palm eased over her breast, she arched, moaning breathily against his mouth. He drank it in, inhaled the air she expelled in shuddering arousal, and his head spun.