Page 48 of The Reality of Us
Her heart thumped; her mouth was dry. Could she really tell him what kept her up at night? What had worried her for as long as she could remember?
After all, it wasn’t so long ago he thought all she did was post silly pictures online and adopt a dog she had no idea how to care for. That she was someone who got married on a whim to be famous. Someone who would never be good enough for a guy like him.
“Alice?” His mouth wore a concerned frown, reminding her she hadn’t answered his question.
But this was Owen, she realised.
The guy who jumped in a dam to save a puppy she wasn’t ready to look after.
Who dropped what he was doing to come over when he thought she might need his help, even though he didn’t know why.
Who didn’t shove her inside her apartment and lock her up but instead asked her to go inside to keep herself safe.
She was so blinded by her preconceived opinion of Owen that she’d missed what was standing right in front of her.
He was her lawyer, but he was also her friend, really.
She liked him. A lot.
Her hand settled on his chest as she swallowed again, squeezed her eyes shut, gathered the shattered pieces of her courage. “What if no one likes me for me? What if I’m a disappointment? And they preferred the Alice everyone thinks they know?” Now she’d voiced her greatest fear, she wished she could snatch the words back and swallow them.
Owen’s hand stilled. Had he realised he’d been drawing circles on her back? She’d noticed the second he touched her. Her skin had warmed instantly from the contact. His chest rose as he exhaled slowly.
Oh God. Here it comes. The gentle letdown. Or worse, the ‘but you’re awesome in your own way’ speech. It had punctuated so many of the milestones throughout her life. It was always well intentioned … and painful to hear.
When Owen spoke, his voice was hoarse, dry. “I can’t imagine anyone not thinking you’re amazingly kind, clever and beautiful when they get to know the real you. Like I do.”
Shut. The. Front. Door.
“Really?” she squeaked. In an artist’s representation of this single, perfect moment, she’d be a cartoon mouse. Eyes the size of dinner plates, mouth agape.
She was caught, transfixed by the spell his words conjured. He shifted again, her hand slipping, a finger snagging in the unbuttoned neck of his Henley.
Alice was touching Owen’s chest.
And he thought she was amazing.
And clever.
And beautiful.
Someone call a skywriter, STAT.
“Alice,” he whispered, and all the sounds faded away. So many things—lust, need and wanting—were wrapped up in the way Owen said her name. Maybe they’d been there the whole time if she really thought about it. She curled her toes inside her sneakers, needing a tangible reminder this was really happening.
“Yes?” She inched closer, their faces almost touching. His breath moved across her cheeks like a caress, his big hand sliding into her hair.
“I don—”
She pressed herself up against him, her index finger on his lips, stopping him from saying “don’t”. Nothing good ever came after that word. For a split second, they stared at each other. When he didn’t respond, didn’t move, her stomach twisted. He reached for her glasses, carefully stowing them on the sandstone pavers they were sitting on.
“Please,” she whispered.
His fingers twisted in her hair, tipping her head slightly to the side; the first press of his lips was so soft and gentle. It was exactly the kind of kiss she’d expected from him. The sort you’d share with someone at the end of a first date.
But then he changed tack, surprising her again.
The first tug on her hair sent a delicious spiral of pleasure racing down her spine. The second made her open for him, his tongue a soft swipe against her lips.
