by Melissa West
“What are those?” Aidan asked as we started up the steps.
“Brownies.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You bake?”
“Only Southern food and baked goods. You can call me Paula Deen if you’d like.”
He smirked that sexy grin I loved. “I have a few other names in mind right now, but we’ll save those for later.”
Later? Oh, my, my, my.
The stairs continued up forever, and guilt worked through my stomach at Aidan suffering on my account. I had just decided to tell him to take the next floor’s elevator, I’d see him up there eventually, when he opened the door to level twelve and held it open for me. “After you.”
“You just walked up twelve flights of stairs for me.”
“I find myself willing to do a lot of things for you.”
“You said no romance.”
He flashed me a grin. “I’m not being romantic. I’m just trying to get in your pants.”
“Is that right?” I asked with a laugh.
The stairwell door closed, and I took his hand, stopping him from walking. I wanted to say something, but my thoughts were muddled with emotions too complicated to express. Too against the rules. Then realizing I didn’t want to say something, I wanted to do something, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his.
The kiss started out so innocent, a little thank-you for rocking my world, but then his free hand slid into my hair and my hands clutched his shirt and suddenly we were pressed against the stairwell door, our bodies flush, every bit of restraint tossed back down the stairs. I had just risen onto my toes for better access to his amazing mouth when a gasp, followed by whispering, sent us flying apart.
My chest heaved as I peered around. A pair of older women scurried down the hall away from us, both their heads shaking in complete disgust. Aidan and I burst out laughing as soon as they rounded the corner, and then he took my hand and led me three doors down to his apartment.
As soon as we stepped inside, I could tell the place was 100 percent Aidan. Dark hardwood floors stretched out from the entryway into a large living room with a fireplace and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. The leather couch and dark end tables and art on the wall were all very modern, but then I spied a worn UT blanket folded on the back of the couch.
“We haven’t talked about the UT thing. What made you choose to go there?”
“I grew up in Tennessee, so it was in-state or no education at all.”
I twisted around to look at him. “You grew up there? But you don’t have an accent.”
He smiled. “It rarely comes out to play.”
The sun had started to set, giving the sky an orange and red glow, and cueing me in to the time—dinner, then a movie, then…
Aidan walked up behind me and ran his hands down the curve of my waist. “I thought we could order in.”
“Sounds perfect.” I spun in his arms and rose onto my toes to kiss him again, but he pulled away.
“If you continue to kiss me like that, I won’t be able to stop myself, and I know you’re hungry.”
“I can wait to eat.”
His eyes darkened as he peered down at me, his hands gripping my waist, and that look was enough to make me forget eating for a week to stay in bed, doing other things with my mouth, but then my stomach growled, and Aidan’s gaze fell to the traitor. “Chinese?”
Aidan went to order the food, while I took the opportunity to look around his apartment. There was only one photo to be seen, in a small five-by-seven wooden frame, the photo inside of a woman, maybe fifty. She was beautiful, her eyes squinted in silent laughter. Instantly, I knew the woman must be his mother. We’d barely talked about her, and I wasn’t sure he wanted to. Sometimes talking made it easier to miss someone, but I knew firsthand that talking could also make it worse. Plus, we were already walking a dangerous line. We shared bits of ourselves with the other, yet we claimed this was casual. Nothing about us felt casual.
For the first time all day, the weight of this decision pressed on my chest, fear working its way up my spine. What was I doing here? Four years of focusing on school, two grueling summer internships, all in the name of my career, and here I was jeopardizing it all. The thought released a fresh wave of panic, and I eyed the door. I could stop this right now, say I was sorry, I changed my mind.
But the problem was I hadn’t changed my mind.
The war between what I wanted to do and what I should do waged on in my mind and heart as I continued on around the room, stopping at a large wooden shelf beside his wide-screen. I expected to find it filled with books, but instead records sat in perfectly organized rows. I slid out the first one, then the second, a smile forming on my face. They were all older bands, many of them classic rock. My dad would have loved the collection and loved Aidan for having it.
“I see you’ve found my other addiction.”
I ran a hand across the shelf, my eyes shifting to him. “Other?”
“I thought the first was obvious.”
I swallowed hard, every inch of my body acutely aware of how close he stood to me. “I didn’t see a record player. Do you listen to them or just collect them?”
Disappearing through a door on the other side of the room, he returned with a record player that appeared to be as old as the records. He set it on the metal coffee table, walked over, and thumbed through the records, then pulled one out and placed it on the player, gently dropping the needle onto the record. I waited, eager to hear what he’d chosen, when the guitar chords for “Sweet Home Alabama” filled the room. I grinned at the nod to my home state and reached for his hand. “Dance with me.”
He took my hand and pulled me close, and I expected him to ease us into slow dancing, when he quickly pushed me back out, then rolled me in, so my back was to his chest, our bodies moving in time with the music. My mind drifted back to old line dances back home at the Harvest Festival, haystacks surrounding the dance floor, and the thump of feet keeping time to live music.
Aidan spiraled me back out, then twisted me around again, moving again and again, until we were both laughing, getting more and more into the dance. Suddenly, he tugged me flush against him, his hands sliding down my waist to my legs as we danced, the closeness driving me insane. He gripped my hips and flipped me around, our chests heaving, every thought in my mind on how many pieces of clothing separated us and how long it would take to remove them all. I had just decided to start with his shirt, desperate to see his toned chest again, when a knock sounded from the front door.
“Dammit,” I said under my breath, before I could stop myself, and Aidan chuckled.
“I’m learning a lot about you tonight,” he said as he went for the door.
“Oh, yeah? Like what?”
He opened the door and took our takeout, then shut it back with a smile on his face. “Are you sure you want to know?”
I went into his kitchen and opened the fridge. “Water or beer?”
His smile widened. “Like that.”
“Like what?”
“You’re in my refrigerator.”
“Am I missing something here?” I eyed the open door, scanning its contents briefly. It was such a guy’s fridge, all chaotic and disorganized. I longed to arrange it properly. Line up all the condiments, sort the fruits from the vegetables. The bottled water in a row, then wine, then beer.
Aidan set out the takeout containers on his coffee table. “You’ve been in my apartment for less than an hour and you’re already helping yourself to my kitchen. It’s just…different.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Different good or different bad?”
“I like it. And I’ll have a beer.”
I grabbed the beers and sat down beside him on the couch. “So, I’m listening,” I said, reaching for one of the containers without asking which was mine. I settled into his couch and crossed my legs up under me.
He burst out laughing. “Nothing makes you uneasy, does it?”
“Are you joking? Th
ere are a thousand things that make me uneasy. One of them is staring at me right now.”
“You just seem very comfortable in your skin. Most women smooth their hair or watch their posture or do something they feel looks sexy, but you? You’re just you, Cameron, take it or leave it, and I find myself wanting to take every bit that you’re willing to offer.”
My gaze locked on his as I tried and failed to keep my emotions from rising at his words. Why did he do that? Say things that made me desperate for a future with him, when we couldn’t take this further? I had a decision to make, and I could feel the clock ticking toward an unspoken end. Either I do what I came here to do, or I leave. Only I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to bring up his parents, ask if he thought he’d ever marry. Ask what he wanted for his future. But I was afraid to hear the answer. I felt myself growing comfortable around him, label or not, and I didn’t want to give this up. Not yet.
“What else have you learned?” I set my container on the coffee table and rose onto my knees in front of him.
“You’re embarrassed of where you’re from, but you love it. I’m not sure you even admit that to yourself. But I could see it when you danced, how free you were. Even if you resent it, you love the South. All of it. The people. The food. The atmosphere. I know, because I love it, too.”
I edged closer to him with each word, like an invisible rope drew me in. The room grew warmer, a charge igniting in the air. Sensing the change, he set his container down beside mine.
“What else?”
“You hate to lose control. You’re organized to a fault.”
Still closer.
“What else?”
“I think you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. Maybe the most amazing person I’ll ever meet. And I don’t want anyone else to know the things I know that make you so amazing. I don’t want to risk them seeing what I see and stealing you away.”
I straddled his lap, my throat tight. “I hate when you say things like that.”
He brushed my hair from my face. “Why?”
“Because it doesn’t fit in my head. You say these things, but we have rules. You refuse to commit.”
“Do you want a commitment from me?”
“No.”
Yes. No. Maybe.
“Then what’s the problem?”
“We’re risking a lot for this. Both of us. Just…are we making the right decision?”
“No,” he said. “But I don’t care. The question is, do you?”
I considered the question, my eyes on his, two answers weighing in my mind, but despite what was right in action, only one answer felt right.
“No,” I whispered.
“Then I think we’re done talking.” He focused on my mouth, and as though he couldn’t wait another second, his lips gently touched mine, his hands in my hair, and then attraction took over, and the sweet kiss turned intense. It was full of the fears we both felt, the rush and excitement of knowing the risk, but being unable to stay away.
Aidan lifted me up, wrapping my legs around his waist, his lips never leaving mine as he walked across the room and pushed open a door. The room was dark except for a strip of light cascading in from the living room. He set me down just before a king bed and ran his hands over my face, then down to my shirt, tracing the edge, telling me without words that he wanted it off.
I gripped the hem and tugged the shirt over my head, revealing the black lace bra I’d picked out just for this occasion. He glanced down, and the sight of him, so full of want, sent my insides into a spiral. I shimmied out of my leggings and lay back on his bed, enjoying the feel of his gaze on my flesh, then he was over me, his hands skimming my thighs, then my stomach, then my breasts, each smooth touch causing my breathing to speed up. His lips pressed against my collarbone, then the swell of my breast, and my back arched, each second driving me more and more insane. I slid my hands under his shirt, running them over his taut abs, and then the shirt was off, and he kicked out of his jeans, and all the longing we’d had since that first night burst to the surface, overflowing with nothing but need.
He flicked the clasp on my bra and tossed it to the floor with the rest of our clothes, exposing my bare breasts, and then his mouth was on my left nipple, sucking slowly as he rolled his tongue against it, his right hand toying with my other nipple, pulling and pinching, until I screamed out, unable to hold myself back any longer.
My hands clenched his shoulders as he moved back to my mouth, his tongue sweeping inside, taking over, as his hand stroked down my body, slipping inside my panties and gently stroking my core. I bucked against him, my hips lifting on their own accord with each delicious sensation. It’d been so long since I’d allowed my control to slip, my always-thoughtful mind lost to anything but the pleasure of the moment. It was freeing, a high I hadn’t felt before, and suddenly I was desperate to test how high I could go.
I slipped my hands into his boxers, running them over his amazing ass, then to his length, and he groaned against my neck. “Cameron…”
“Now.”
The sound of fabric ripping filled the air, and then my panties were off, my body fully naked below him. Aidan slipped a finger inside me, his eyes on me, and the intensity in them caused the fire burning in my core to rage out of control. His perfect mouth touched my thigh, gliding up, up, up, and then he took me in his mouth, licking and tasting, until my entire body shook with the need to have him inside me.
“Aidan, please,” I begged, not recognizing the desperation in my voice. I’d never needed anything like I needed this release.
In one swift move, his boxers were off, and he reached for a condom from his nightstand. His sudden absence made my body shake with the need for him to return. And then he was back over me, his lips crashing onto mine in a kiss that felt less like a kiss and more like a long, deep breath after being underwater for far too long. We lost all restraint, our hands everywhere, and then he thrust inside me and all I could do was scream out his name, over and over, until my insides felt boneless and utterly content. My body quaked one final time as Aidan released, and then his body relaxed against me, our breaths heavy.
He combed my hair gently as he pulled my back flush against his chest, and I closed my eyes, exhaustion taking over, yet a part of me still wanted more. Would I ever get enough of this man? Memories of our first night together poured in—hot kisses, overwhelming passion—but this was something else. Something more.
“Cameron?”
“Hmm?”
“Stay for the weekend.”
I stilled in his arms, sure I hadn’t heard him right, then turned around, blinking as I peered up at him. “What did you say?”
“Stay with me for the weekend.”
A smile played at my lips, refusing to be contained. “All right.” Nuzzling my head under his neck, I drew in his all-manly smell, content that for now I didn’t have to worry about our jobs or forever. For now.
Chapter Sixteen
“So, Lucy broke her ankle?” I asked as I lay back on the couch, my legs on Aidan’s lap. I’d been on the phone with my mom for twenty minutes, listening to the full family update, and for once, I didn’t want to hurry her off the phone. There was something about being here with Aidan and talking to Mom that made it all feel very real. A part of me wanted her to ask where I was, what I was doing here, all so I would have to look at Aidan with my eyebrows lifted, because God, did I ever want to know. What was I doing here?
Hoping.
That was what I was doing. Despite my agreement to follow the rules, I found myself hoping for more. I liked being with him, liked the feel of his warm arms around me.
“What was that?” Mom asked.
“Oh, I didn’t say anything.”
“Not you. Eric. What? What!” she called out, shattering my eardrum.
“I’m talking to Cammie. What? No. Cam-mie!”
“Mom?”
“No, not Sally. You need to go see Dr. Hand!”
“Mom?”
>
“There’s nothing wrong with hearing aids if you need them!”
“Oh my God. Mom.”
“What?”
“You sound busy. Why don’t I call you tomorrow?”
I heard a ruffling sound, following by a spraying sound. She was cleaning, likely something that was already clean. “All right then, love. Talk to you tomorrow.”
I hung up and set the phone on my stomach, smiling at the ceiling.
“Why was your mom screaming?” Aidan asked as he flicked between two games on the TV.
“Oh, she wasn’t. Well, technically she was, but she and Eric like to scream out at the other from across the house. Or across the yard. Or anywhere, really.” I smiled again. “It’s just one of their things.”
Aidan’s face hardened. “Yeah, screaming was one of my parents’ things, too. Or maybe just my dad.”
“Did he yell a lot?”
A commercial flashed across the TV, and both our eyes turned, picking it apart, analyzing, trying to see how we might have done it differently.
“God, that was terrible.”
“It’s a Graham Group ad,” Aidan said with a nod. “He’s too traditional. Always has been. But to answer your question—no. He wasn’t a yeller. He preferred to make my mom feel like she didn’t deserve to be his wife, didn’t deserve to even be in his presence. I remember one Halloween we were going to a holiday party at his office. All the kids were supposed to dress up and the offices would each give out candy. Well, I wanted to be a dinosaur, but Mom couldn’t find a costume, so she decided to make it. The costume looked like a pickle with teeth, but she was so proud. Until Dad walked in the door. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he saw me. Like he’d never been more disgusted in his life. He grabbed my mom by the arm and dragged her up to my room, me crying after them, and started throwing all my clothes out of my closet, ordering her to take that shit off me and put on something presentable. She’d worked for weeks on the costume, only to have him throw it in the trash.”
