Page 25 of Keeping Mr. Sweet

Maybe I’m wrong to second-guess myself. Perhaps that year and a half we shared was nothing more than a lull in her restlessness, and I’m just a sucker who can’t convince myself to let her go. It’s been five years since the last time I thought she was mine, and I still can’t look at her without seeing that future she wanted so badly.

But if I’m right... If there’s any chance...

“Why are you here, Ash?”

“I told you, I needed somewhere to hide after people saw the tape,” she says, the air cooler when she wriggles to put space between us.

“Look at me.” I grasp her chin and lift her face to mine. “Why don’t you try telling me that’s the only reason you’re here while looking me in the eye.”

She swallows and her gaze ducks to my shoulder.

I brush the pad of my thumb along her jaw. Does she even know what draws her here now? “You haven’t needed me in years, Ash.”

“How do you know?” she asks.

“I’ve checked up on you from time to time,” I admit. “You haven’t gotten into trouble like this since before you were with me. You’ve kept your feet under you. You’ve been fine without me. What happened? Why’d you come back?”

She squints, her forehead puckering like she’s in pain, before she exhales deeply. “I needed your help. Wanted you to make me feel good, fat lot of good that did for me.”

“Come on, Ash. That’s not why you’re here.” I need something more from her than the fact we were always great together when it came to sex.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She stares at me until her eyes become glassy from forcing it. She doesn’t even blink.

“You don’t want to tell me the real reason? That’s fine.” I rise, guiding her up beside me before dropping my fingers from her jaw and taking her hand. “Maybe it will come to you when we’re in bed.”

“Bed? I thought...” She glances behind her at the blanket folded neatly over the back of the couch.

“We both know this couch isn’t remotely comfortable to sleep on.” I lead her across the office and shut out the light. “I can tell it’s getting to you.”

“But bed?” She hurries to keep up with me.

“Just come upstairs.” Across the kitchen I turn off those lights too, and tug her up the stairs behind me. “It’ll be innocent. We’ll top and tail.”

“Like a sixty-nine?” she asks slyly.

“That isn’t what I meant,” I say.

“Then what? Like children? Like Summer and I used to do?”

“Exactly.” I nod sharply.

“I think maybe I’ll go back to the couch.” She glances over her shoulder into the darkness below. “That’s what I should do.”

“It’s not what you want to do though, is it?” I squeeze her hand and hold it to my chest, drawing her attention. “What you want to do is march up to my room and get in my bed.”

“Why would I want that?” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“Because you belong there.” Turning to face her, I pull her against my chest and wrap my palm around the nape of her neck before I recall how easily she leads me into thoughtless actions. Christ, I want to kiss her though. I want to push her up against the wall of the stairwell with my hand feeling every jerky rise of her tits and the booming of her heart while I bite into that juicy lower lip and show her that I still want her just as much as she wants me. “You know that, right? It’s where you’ve always belonged. Isn’t that what you always told me?”

“That was a long time ago.” Her lip trembles.

“Perhaps.” I shrug as I rub my thumb along the soft edge of her palm. It must be so hard for her to realize what I already know. “You can tell me differently if you want to.”

“I can’t,” she whimpers. “But you said it yourself, you don’t want me. I’m a train wreck. I’m not good for you.”

“I never said I didn’t want you.” I press my finger to her mouth and draw it down her chin. Her throat muscles tense against my touch and her nipples tighten into hard points until they pierce her shirt. Her bottom lip drifts open on a low moan as I continue my descent, dipping over her navel to where the waist of her sweats meets skin. “Couldn’t tell you that. I said we couldn’t do things the way we’ve always done them.”

“Please.” She’s gripping my forearms, her fingers digging into my muscle as she fights for balance. “Don’t touch me, unless you’re really going to touch me. Don’t suggest I sleep in your bed if you can’t stand to be close to me.”

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