I bite down hard on my bottom lip and continue to the bedroom door at the end of the corridor. Stopping momentarily, I stare at the wood, my mind a complete blank as I down yet another mouthful of tequila before that idle hand of mine does the Devil’s work and reaches up, tentatively knocking against the pine.
I wait.
Nothing.
Chewing nervously on the inside of my cheek, I look down at the bottle in my hand before staring at the door once more. I knock again, this time slightly harder. But then as I continue to wait with no sound of life coming from the other side of the wall, the seconds begin to feel more like never-ending infinities as they tick by at a snail’s pace. I swallow my nerves and reach out for the knob, turning it slowly before pushing the door open as quietly as I can.
As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I zero in on his form curled up lifelessly in the armchair, his legs stretched out with his feet resting upon his duffel bag, and my shoulders sag in resignation. He’s asleep. In the armchair. I spent too long deliberating with my snarky subconscious and now he’s passed out, and I’m standing here like a complete and utter fool. Thankfully, I’m the only one who will ever know about this particular humiliation.
I tiptoe inside, stepping over my randomly strewn clothes on the floor as steadily as I can in my state, continuing through to the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I release a trembling breath, looking down to the bottle of tequila still in my hand. With a shrug, I console myself with one final swig before placing it onto the counter by the sink.
Talk about an anticlimax. But I know it’s for the best. I mean, God knows what would happen if he’d been awake. Kissing is one thing, but would I actually have sex with him? What if I did, then what? I’m sure I would only wake up tomorrow morning with a serious case of regret and self-loathing. Maybe it would change everything. Surely, we couldn’t remain friends after something as intimate as that. It’s been bad enough looking him in the eye today after drunkenly kissing him last night, I can only imagine how awkward things would be after having drunk, mindless sex with him. There’s no way we could be friends after that.
With another sigh, I move to the vanity, removing the elastic from my nest of hair and allowing the wayward curls to fall down around my shoulders. I untie my shirt, unfastening the buttons before pushing my skirt down over my hips, the material pooling at my feet before I kick it off into the corner. I top my toothbrush with some of Harley’s toothpaste because I forgot mine, and I stare at myself in the mirror’s reflection as I brush my teeth, thinking of all the things that could’ve happened tonight, realizing just how lucky I am that they didn’t. I really dodged a bullet.
Harley and I can’t have sex. It would be mortifying. I’m so not the type of woman Harley sleeps with, and I’m proud of that. I don’t need to be another notch on his proverbial bedpost; that’s for sure. It’d be awkward as hell. I can’t help but laugh at what could have been as I spit and rinse, but just as I’m wiping my mouth with the hand towel, I startle when the door behind me suddenly swings open.
Shielding what I can of my barely dressed self with the tiny hand towel, I turn, swaying unsteadily thanks to all the tequila I’ve consumed, and my eyes bulge at the sight of Harley standing in the doorway.
“What the hell?” I try to yell, but my voice cracks at the end when my traitorous eyes trail down over his naked chest, taking in the tattoos inked into his smooth skin, moving down over the peaks and troughs of his abs to the shadowed V line of his pelvis dipping beneath the low-hanging waist of his boxer briefs. Swallowing hard, I force my eyes back up to his, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but I’m rendered speechless when I find his gaze focused intently on my body, slowly raking up and down my form as if he simply can’t get enough of me. Me. Alice Murphy.
“W-what are you doing?” I stammer, cringing inwardly at my sudden inability to speak with even the slightest semblance of conviction.
Harley rests languidly against the doorjamb, folding his strong arms over his broad chest, which only emphasizes his tattooed biceps. The hint of a smile plays on his lips; a cocky smile that pulls at his dimples, and I actually feel my knees go weak, and again, I blame the tequila.
“Harley?” I press, trying so hard not to give away my breathlessness, but he just continues watching me, his eyes unabashedly taking me in.
I’m fully aware of my mismatched bra and panties, wishing I could go back to when I packed my bag three times for this trip. If I’d known I was going to be standing in front of Harley Shaw with little more than this on, I would have tossed in a lacy thong and matching bra. But I didn’t, and instinctively I pull my gaping shirt together, covering myself as best I can as I continue standing my ground, silently wagering him with a hard look.
Harley chuckles to himself, scratching the back of his neck. For a moment he averts his eyes, looking away, and I can almost see him considering turning away. But then his eyes find mine again and that infuriating smirk falls from his lips the very second his green eyes begin to darken. And suddenly I’m being looked at in a way I’ve never been looked at before, and my heart starts to race almost violently in my chest. I take a step back until I bump into the vanity. Realizing I have nowhere to go, I grip the counter behind me tightly as I stare into his eyes that are so dark they’re almost black.
Time seems to come to a standstill. The space around us is palpable and thick with an overwrought tension. The bathroom suddenly feels too small—the air stifling—and I almost can’t breathe as I wait for him to say something. Anything.
“Fuck it,” he suddenly grunts, pushing off from the doorjamb. And he launches at me, his hands grasping my face as his lips crash against mine in a kiss so full of desperation it’s both sexy as hell and heartbreaking at the same time because he needs me to kiss him, like he needs air, but I’m momentarily frozen, deliberating whether or not this is a terrible idea.
Of course it’s a terrible idea—I can confirm that without a doubt—but before I can make yet another mistake and allow him to get away, I reach up and wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him even closer. Meeting his tongue with mine, I’m rewarded with a raw, animalistic groan, one that tumbles into our kiss and only turns me on even more than I am already. His hands move down, pushing my shirt off my shoulders before reaching my waist and grasping me low on my hips, his fingers digging into my flesh almost to the point of pain.
I gasp when he effortlessly lifts me up onto the vanity. Our toothbrushes, my makeup, his cologne, everything goes tumbling, crashing loudly to the tile, and I pull back from his kiss, startled by the sound as it echoes through the bathroom. I take the opportunity to try to catch my breath, meeting Harley’s hooded eyes watching me so intently, his lips swollen, his cheeks flushed, and I actually can’t believe this is happening.
“Is this okay?” he whispers, his fingers dancing over the waistband of my panties.
I don’t know. Is this okay? Do I want this? It’s now or never.
I graze my teeth over my bottom lip painfully, looking between his eyes and finding something in his gaze I hadn’t been expecting, nor prepared to see in Harley Shaw. He’s scared. Or nervous. I can’t quite tell, but it’s an emotion I’ve definitely never seen in him before. I watch as his shoulders rise and fall with every rushed breath, and I find myself reaching out, placing a hand over the pirate ship inked into the center of his chest, tracing the outline of the violent waves crashing around it with my fingertip. I’m shocked at the feel of his heart racing just as hard as mine, and for some reason I take some solace in that.
“Murph?”
I snap my gaze up, once again meeting his eyes, and I exhale the trembling breath I’d been holding, my hand still placed against his heart.
“Can you call me Alice? Please?” I whisper, hoping I don’t sound as needy and pathetic as I think I sound.
The ghost of a familiar smile, one I haven’t seen in a long time, tugs at his lips as he sighs my name in the most incredible way, like the soft
tune of a beautiful melody. “Alice …”
My eyelashes flutter closed as the pad of his thumb traces the curve of my bottom lip, and I sigh in contentment, never having felt this before. My name has never sounded better, and a small smile pulls at my lips at the sheer look of relief that seems to flood through him at the sight of my smile. And in an instant, his lips are on mine again. And while tomorrow morning’s impending regrets flash through my mind like a warning sign, I’m inundated by everything Harley. Tomorrow can wait.
Chapter 26
I shiver as calloused fingers, rough and demanding, contradict the softness of his touch, burning my skin and bringing goose bumps to erupt all over from my head to the very tips of my toes. My back arches in response to his lips, warm, soft yet firm and unrelenting as they torture the sensitive skin at the base of my neck. At first his kisses are gentle, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. But then they become urgent, needy, his lips almost bruising me as if to leave his mark so that I’m forever branded by him. Never before have I felt such desire, such inexplicable need and want. With each kiss, his lips creep closer and closer to mine. My hands find his hair, fingers tangling through his curls as he claims me completely.
“Harley!” I cry out, breathlessly, my voice raw and hoarse.
***
I startle, my eyes flying open, and I gasp when I’m met with nothing but silence and darkness. Confusion overwhelms me as my heart races and my chest heaves with every labored breath I try to take. Clutching the sheets, I lift my head and look around to find the room dimly lit from that almost nonexistent glow of morning, just before the sun rises, casting the space around me in a shade of gray so hazy it’s like a smokescreen.
What the hell?
With trembling hands I scrub my face in the hope it will help to provide some semblance of clarity, help bring me back to the present, but nothing more than clouded, pixelated memories from the night before keep flashing through my mind, and I don’t actually know what to think. A vision of Harley and me in the bathroom pops into my head, one where my nails are scratching down his back so hard blood is drawn to the surface.
I close my eyes tight, trying to rid myself of that image. But then I’m consumed by another explicit vision of the two of us in the shower and, at that thought, I begin choking on my own breath, coughing and spluttering. Pushing up from the pillows, I bang on my chest as I continue gasping for breath, which is precisely the moment I come to realize that I’m stark naked on top, with only a bed sheet draped over my just as naked bottom half.
Christ.
I grip the sheet tight, pulling it up to shield myself, and just as I finally catch my breath, my eyes adjust to the muted light enough to make out the outline of the very tattooed, very naked body lying on the bed next to me. My jaw drops as I grip the sheet even tighter, but I can’t help but get a closer look at the man sleeping obliviously beside me. Face down, his pert backside barely covered by the mess of sheets, his head is turned to me, his eyes closed, eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. His pouted lips are slightly parted, his hair a chaotic mess of wayward curls sticking up in almost every direction.
I turn away quickly, searching the room for what, I’m not even sure. What the hell have I done? I’ve never felt so overwhelmingly full of remorse. We slept together. Drunk. Harley and I had drunk sex. The thought alone causes bile to rise up the back of my throat and I swallow hard in an attempt to stop myself from bringing up last night’s tequila right here in the bed.
I slept with Harley Shaw because drunk me let her stupid feelings get in the way. Can the earth just open up and swallow me whole? It would be so much easier. I had sex with Harley and, now, I want to die. It isn’t that I regret it, per se. In fact, if the hazy memories are anything to go by, regret is the last thing I feel. But what if he regrets it? What if I see that look of regret in his eyes when he wakes and finds me naked in bed right beside him? I doubt my heart will be able to handle it. I will never be able to recover from a humiliation like that. I wish drunk me had listened to her sober thoughts last night.
Pulling my knees up, I bury my face and try to take a few calming breaths. Breathing in through my nose and out again, repeating as best as I can. But it’s hopeless. I can’t come back from this. And the worst part is I can’t even remember it because of course I had to go and consume a quarter bottle of tequila before the fact, as if that was a good idea.
I’m on the verge of a full-blown panic attack when I feel a warm hand graze against my lower back, causing me to stiffen. The mattress shifts beside me and I close my eyes so tight, unable to risk seeing him and the look of regret in his eyes. I don’t think my heart could handle that first thing this morning. But then, completely unexpectedly, the hand on my lower back trails up over my spine, smoothing circles over my skin, which warms me from the inside, and I’m forced to stifle the shiver threatening my composure. I feel lips press to the skin between my shoulder blades, lingering slightly longer than necessary. Slowly, I lift my head, staring straight ahead at nothing as his kisses continue covering my skin, his lips moving to my shoulder, to the curve of my neck, and my brows pull together in utter confusion as a swarm of butterflies is let loose in my belly to swarm rampantly.
I turn my head toward him, my senses overwhelmed by his scent as I breathe him in. Hesitating momentarily, I reach a trembling hand out, running my fingers through his hair, tilting my head sideways to give him better access to the one spot at the base of my neck that drives me absolutely wild. And suddenly, the regrets from last night are washed away as an overwrought need floods through me. I don’t care about the consequences anymore. I don’t care that this is all sorts of wrong. I don’t care that we’ll probably resent one another. All I want is him.
Forcing myself away from the assault of his lips on the one spot that will inevitably cause me to come undone, I grab him, cupping his stubbled jaw and taking a moment to look at him in the dim light. His face is pure sex. Or maybe he’s just still drunk, or half-asleep. I can’t tell. Either way, it’s sexy as hell. Hooded eyes, a lazy smile, mussed hair. He’s all kinds of beautiful, and my heart shifts suddenly in my chest as I take in his perfection.
“What are we doing?” I find myself asking in a whisper so soft I’m doubtful he even heard it.
Cupping my face, his hands are so tentative, soft and gentle as if I’m fragile, like I might break. His gaze penetrates mine in a look so intense I know he can see all of me, even the bits I’ve tried to hide my whole life. I’m open to him in a way I’ve never been open to anyone, and it’s both terrifying and exciting.
“Who cares …?” he murmurs, inching closer and closer until his lips are a mere hair’s breadth from my own.
Pulling him closer, I need his mouth like I need air to breathe, and he obliges without hesitation. His hands roam all over my body before finding their place in my hair, raking through the lengths as his tongue finds mine, producing a moan that only seems to encourage him. Pushing me back against the pillows, Harley nudges my knees apart with his thigh before settling in between my legs. As our tongues dance together, exploring one another, I smile into our kiss and I swear it takes everything I have not to outwardly giggle like a schoolgirl.
I’m having sex with Harley Shaw. Harley freakin’ Shaw. I wonder if I pinch myself, would I wake up? Would I even want to wake up if this was a dream that could end so abruptly? Focus, Murph. Harley’s lips move to pepper kisses over my jaw, my neck and shoulders, his hand trailing down my arm, to my waist, following the curve of my hips as desire pools low in my belly. My heart thunders in my chest as a comforting warmth floods through me. His lips claim me entirely.
And, in that moment, I realize that something has changed between us. This isn’t just some drunken, forgettable thing we will inevitably regret. This is real. The feel of his lips hovering against the shell of my ear as he breathes heavily against my skin causes me to shiver, as do his long fingers as they dance over my skin. My head falls back into the pillows, and
his lips find mine once more, his tongue invading my mouth desperately. When our touches, kisses and our animalistic sounds become all too much, Harley pulls away abruptly, his eyes glaring through the muted light as they search every inch of my face, his breathing labored and trembling as his gaze sets upon my own.
“Why do I feel like there’s no going back after this?” he asks so softly I’m not sure he meant for me to hear.
I know what he’s asking, what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking it too, but I don’t answer him because I don’t know how. To be honest, I feel like we crossed that blurry line of ambiguity the night at his house when we fell asleep together on his couch. We’ve just been too ignorant to whatever the hell it is we’ve been doing ever since that night to admit the truth to ourselves. I reach up and grasp the back of his neck, pulling him closer. We’re so incredibly close. Two souls joined as one. Our closeness is like nothing I’ve ever experienced with anyone before—not even Nash—and it’s overwhelming to say the least, but nothing has ever felt so perfect, so right, so meant to be.
Neither of us so much as mutters another word. We don’t have to. Somehow, it’s as if we know exactly what the other wants and needs, and the silence between us only adds to the tension settling heavily in the air around us, ready to combust at any moment. I’ve never been so close to someone before this. Never been so consumed by one person. It’s just the two of us, as if the rest of the world has faded away and we’re all that remains.
With my arms wrapped around his neck to stop myself from crumbling, I feel tears prick at my eyes from the all-consuming emotion as Harley presses kisses to my jaw, trailing down my neck. It takes all of about twelve seconds until I’m falling apart in a way so spectacular, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Crying out, gasping for breath, I feel my entire body tremble. Harley holds me even tighter as he stills, and everything around us comes to an abrupt stop. Nothing but the sound of our breaths rings through the silence of the bedroom.
Where We Belong Page 19
