Page 46 of The Photo
“I’ve missed you so much,” he admits in a murmur. His head shakes from side to side. Alcohol drifts from his breath. “How the hell can I miss you when it’s clear I have no fucking clue who you are, or what you’re capable of?”
And there it is. The flare that ignites and snaps awake reality. His distrust unearths a hand grenade. The change in his speech pulls out the pin. Doubt demolishes our future together.
“Don’t,” I say firmly. “Back up, Noah.” Balling my palms, I shove fists into his rock-hard chest. “I need space.” Tears pool in my tired eyes. “We’ll talk tomorrow when you’re sober.”
Losing his touch chills my jaw. I duck beneath his arm, shivering with disappointment that both burns and freezes me. Our attraction is beyond anything I’ve ever experienced, but I can’t reason with him tonight.
“Hey,” he calls out.
I ignore him and gambol to the bedroom. I stop by the bed and glance back over my shoulder. My palm glides to my belly when I find him standing in the doorway. “You came all the way across the world to see me again?” he questions, seductively so. “And now you’re going to bed?”
“Noah,” I sigh out his name. “Where have you been the past few weeks?” I bend over and drag my overnight bag out from under the bed, tossing it on the mattress.
I sense his approach, even though I’m forcing myself not to look at him. He stops beside me with his pelvis to my ass. Designer boots nudge my heels. He hasn’t noticed the bandage strapping my foot or felt the scar on my head.
“What are you doing?” he asks. That question hints at vulnerability.
I stuff a hand into my bag and feel around. “Looking for my pajamas. It’s cold.” I’m totally lying. My skin is on fire.
“I can turn up the heat. If you want me to?” Is that a double entendre? Should we really have drunken break up sex? “There’s a reason you came back, isn’t there?” He hooks his finger under my jaw and controls my head until I shift into him. Slow strokes catapult a rush over my skin.
Those eyes a shade of darkness fixate on my parted lips. “You came here for this.” His face descends until his lips cover mine. The pressure starts off slow and delicate. I succumb with a groan. Palms cup my jaw and he takes delicate sweeps to fierce and demanding. I follow his lead, clutching his tee, both of us hungry and consumed.
He breaks away and inches back. “I’m not in the mood to talk tonight,” he murmurs, as the cotton drags over his head. “I’ve wanted your body under me for too long. And here you are.”
The tee flops to the floor. I stare at him with the same fascination as I’ve always had, only this time, there’s a difference—I can’t let him go. The intensity between us is tenfold, and the reality of admitting its over is harder than I gave myself credit for.
When he stares at me with those thick lashes and intense eyes, I can’t stay mad at him. Large hands rest on his narrow hips like he’s waiting for my next move. He falls quiet. His chin lowers, and his eyes cut away. With his head bowed, strands of hair cover his brow, and the moonlight flooding in from the window brightens and shades glorious muscle. Every inch of him is exquisite.
My heart lurches. “You can trust me. I promise.” By the way he sweeps his lower lip, I can’t tell if he wants break up sex or make up sex. “Youknowyou cantrust me? In here.” I tap my fingertips over his heart, and he takes a sharp step back.
“Get on your knees and make that promise to me, Rowan.” He has a look on his face I can’t decipher. A cross of vulnerability and compulsion. Noah leisurely pops open the button on his jeans.
I stoop over, hook his belt loops and drag the denim to his feet. When I rise, I pinch the stretchy bright white tight cotton boxer briefs. My fingers slide beneath the elastic waistband and his back stiffens.
“Make the promise, Rowan,” he grits out. The cotton rolls down, and his erection bounces to life before me. I sink to my shins.
“I promise you, Noah. You can trust me.”
He drops his chin, gathers my hair into a one-handed ponytail, licks his lips. “The question is, canyoutrust me?”
Twenty
I’m fucking with her. I don’t know why. Everything is cloudy, except the fact that she’s actually here.
The five glasses of whiskey seemed like a good idea. My sister, Willow, told me to let off steam and ‘get lit’, as she so eloquently put it. Apparently, it’s the best way to forget someone. Willow is younger than me, so why did I listen? I’ve been lost over the weeks and would do anything to stop the constant dull ache in my chest. Acetaminophen doesn’t help. Nor did skulking in my old bedroom at my parent's house. Multiple whiskeys couldn’t even distract me.
I’ve waited so long for this moment, and to be honest, I never expected to see my girl again. But now that I can touch her, I’m freaking the fuck out. My heart is slamming. She has all the control while she sits back on her shins, on my bedroom floor with wide innocent eyes and a selection of condoms in her open hand. I won’t lose her again.
“What do you mean?” she asks, tucking hair behind her ears.
“Do you trust me?” I repeat with a casual shrug. “If you do, you won’t need to ask where I’ve been.”
I watch her blink rapidly, uncertain how to respond. “I—I trust you, Noah, but if you’ve been with other women, I should know. I can’t compete with those sorts of women.”
This girl is killing me. Whatever women she’s referring to haven’t a hope in hell of competing withher. No. Fucking. Chance.
“You trust me. Implicitly. Like you’re asking me to trust you. Which means you don’t need to know, right?” I’m a dickhead. A drunken asshole who wants her to understand my misery.
