Page 83 of Guarded Love

I wait a beat before I continue. “I’ve read articles and books, watched videos, took notes like I was prepping for an exam. Being a nerd has its perks. Especially when I’m using what I’ve learned to ruin you. Now let’s get out of here.”

26

WILLOW

Who knew I could easily follow instructions when it’s required of me? Because he didn’t have to tell me twice.

My legs feel like they're made of jelly as Blaise and I hurry through the streets of San Juan. When we get back to the hotel, I swear we are stumbling toward his room, but neither one of us is drunk. However, it feels like the only reason why I’m standing upright is because my hand is still clasped in Blaise's. I pray we don’t come across anyone that we might know, including our professors, because having to explain this to anyone would literally make me want the Earth to open up and swallow me whole.

We reach his door and Blaise fumbles with his key card because his hands are shaking. Now whether he will admit that if I asked is an entirely different thing, but none of that matters. I completely understand how he feels. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing through both of us, and I can barely think straight. When the lock finally clicks open, he pulls me inside and immediately checks to make sure Tyler's bed is empty.

"He's still out," Blaise says, turning back to me. The relief in his voice is obvious and I feel the same way.

“Shouldn’t you put a sock on the doorknob? To make sure he knows…what’s going to be happening in here?”

The suggestion makes him pause, and for a second I think he might actually consider it. Then a small smile forms on his lips.

"I actually texted Tyler while we were walking back. I just wanted to make sure he actually didn’t come back," he says, but he still turns the deadbolt. The click echoes in the quiet room, and suddenly we're truly alone.

I’m not even shocked. This is Blaise and he’s always prepared. I watch as he puts his phone away and moves to sit on the edge of his bed. His eyes meet mine, and in that moment, the memory of our encounter in the alleyway rushes back, making me shiver.

“Come here,” he says and holds out his hand for me to grab.

I walk toward him slowly because my nerves are shot. When I reach him, he doesn't pull me down immediately. Instead, his hands settle on my hips, thumbs tracing gentle circles through the fabric of my dress.

"We don't have to—" he starts, but I cut him off.

"I want to. I want this. I want you."

His eyes search mine, looking for any hint of uncertainty. "You're sure?"

I nod, not trusting my voice. He stands slowly, his hands sliding up to frame my face. When he kisses me this time, it's different from the alleyway. Softer. More careful. Like he's handling something fragile.

My hands find the hem of his shirt, and I tug upward. He breaks the kiss to let me pull it over his head, and I have to bite back a gasp. I've never seen him shirtless before, and I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. His chest is broader than I imagined, defined but not overly muscular, but his sixpack is well defined. There's a thin scar above his left collarbone that I want to trace with my tongue. My fingers hover just inches from his skin, suddenly unsure.

"You can touch me," he says softly, reading my hesitation.

I place my palms flat against his chest and immediately feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath my hands. His skin is warm and smooth, and when I drag my fingers downward, I swear he stops breathing for a second.

"Your turn," he whispers, gesturing for me to turn around.

I do as he wants and he quickly reaches for the zipper on the back of my dress. He moves slowly, dragging it down inch by inch like he's unwrapping something sacred when I want him to act like he’s unwrapping a birthday present. When the dress finally pools at my feet, I step out of it carefully and find myself standing in front of him in just my black bra and matching thong. Suddenly, my confidence wavers. This is Blaise. Knox's best friend. The guy who rejected me once before.

What if he changes his mind again?

"You're beautiful," he says as his fingertips trace along my collarbone. His touch is so light I barely feel it. "So fucking beautiful."

The compliment makes me smile, and suddenly the vulnerability I was feeling transforms into something bolder. Something that feels more like me. I step closer to him and I say, "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

I look up at him and move my hands, so my fingers trace the edge of his waistband. For a second I remember the way his entire body reacted to two simple words on the dance floor. "Did you like it when I called you a good boy earlier?"

The effect is immediate. His hands tighten on my waist like he's trying to pull me closer to him. I watch his throat move as he swallows hard.

"Why would you ask me that?" His voice comes out deeper than before.

"Because of the way you reacted." I let my fingers dip just beneath his waistband, not going far, just enough to make him tense. "Your whole body changed when I said it."

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