Page 48 of Roses, Pearls, and Hot Summer Nights
Barrett squeezed my waist, his fingers dragging me closer in the same motion. “Completely get it.”
Then, I kissed him. I wouldn’t call myself experienced—not when all three of my previous kisses had been quick and initiated by his brothers. My attempt felt clumsy, and I nearly pulled away after the first awkward brush of skin. But then … I didn’t.
The smooth jazz helped, giving me something steady to hold onto as I let myself enjoy the slow tease of his mouth against mine. The music wrapped around us like a cocoon, a safe place where I could explore what I liked, what I wanted.
Barret met me half way, his lips firm but soft, patient. I closed my eyes and let myself feel—really feel—as he stirredsomething deeper. A hunger I hadn’t expected. One that wouldn’t be so easily satisfied.
I wasn’t sure when he took the reins of the kiss, but at some point I realized it was far easier to follow him than lead since he knew what he was doing. His breathy sighs and hungry little groans told me he liked it as much as I did. I squirmed against him, searching for something, and he held me still, his hand firm against my waist. We only kissed—and somehow, that felt sweeter than anything more could have. I would have been happy to kiss him forever. His tongue danced with my own, and another hungry jolt of excitement moved through my body.
Eventually, he stopped, peppering my forehead in kisses as he tried to steady his breath. “We should pause this.” He pressed our foreheads together. “Thank you for that. Best … ever.”
Really?I wondered if I was any good at kissing, how I compared to other girls he kissed, but I didn’t ask. Keeping quiet seemed prudent. After all, if I asked, would he think I was needy? Time passed, our breaths slowing evenly together, and I pressed my head against his chest to hear his heartbeat. He wrapped me up tighter against him, our legs twisting until we were connected. His breathing changed, slowing, and when I lifted my head again, his eyes were closed. Heat suffused my cheeks as I realized Barrett had fallen asleep in my bed.
I should kick him out. I bit my lip, reveling for another moment or two in the warmth of him against me and the easy steadiness of his heartbeat in my ear. The prudent thing would be to wake him gently and send him downstairs to his granny’s. But I didn’t want to move. He felt so lovely, warm and unthreatening, and I didn’t think he even meant to fall asleep.
I lifted an arm to hit the switch above the bed, cutting the light. As darkness settled over the room, he murmured something I didn’t catch and pulled me closer. My head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in my ears.I closed my eyes and sleep tugged me under—dreams blurring with reality between one breath and the next.
Suddenly, I was at my desk in Chicago, back in the biggest room I’d ever called my own. Not that it meant much—it was just a two bedroom apartment, still smaller than my aunt’s sprawling place. Music blared through my headphones—the latest pop song everyone at school danced to. I called it market research forPoor Relation. If the cool kids were doing it, she would know.
I glanced around. Everything was exactly as I remembered it—nothing had changed in the two months since I’d seen it last.
Dreams are strange like that.I knew I was dreaming, but I couldn’t control any of it. I tried to recall the word for people who could, but the thought slipped away as I looked around again. The gray walls felt darker now, like they were pressing in, shrinking the room until the open space felt like a hungry mouth about to close over me.
That couldn’t be good.
I tugged out my earbud, and memory struck like a slap.That’s right. I’d done the same thing that night. Otherwise, I never would have heard him enter.
My aunt’s boyfriend: Thaddeus Blackthorn.
Even his name was such a cliché of wealth and power—so absurd I wouldn’t have used it in my own work.
He told me to call him Ted, though, so that was what I did. Teddy Black, my aunt called him. I just said Ted, because I always did as I was told.
His tall, muscular physique proved how much time he spent in the gym. He might work at a desk, but he loved to work out. Then again, he drank enough martinis, it likely took a lot of work to keep off spare weight. His dark hair, meticulously styled, framed an intimidating face, one that sent chills down my spine in the ever shrinking room. I should’ve known to be wary of him, but he never hit any of my alarms, being kind to me, whichwas enough. Him being kind meant my aunt acted kind, and it worked for me.
My beautiful Aunt Amelia was blasé about life, had never wanted children, and wasn’t happy when I showed up on her doorstep. Still, when Ted had been so nice to me, she thawed a little bit.
Regardless, enough time passed that I never suspected him. I didn’t know I needed a lock on my door, or that the smiles he gave me weren’t because he was indulging a neglected, sad poor relation. Back then, I didn’t know he wanted something else from me.
I knew I wasn’t going to have sex with him. Not ever.
“What are you doing in my room?” I practically shrieked the question, the room still shrinking around me.
I jolted awake, jerking in the bed in New York City. Not Chicago, I realized as I managed to breathe again. I felt my body pressed against Barrett, my heart racing. I tried to calm it, reminding myself Chicago was over.He didn’t rape me.
He tried but I stopped him. I rubbed at my eyes, wishing I could so easily scrub away the memories or the taint they seemed to leave on my soul.
What time is it?Darkness shrouded everything in night still, and Barrett slept soundly, his breathing even.
I let out the breath I held, and it came out more like a broken sob. I didn’t mean to make a noise, hoping to keep my midnight terrors to myself. Barrett’s eyes cracked open, the glitter of them catching me despite the dimness of the room.
“You okay?” His voice was low, barely a whisper, a drowsy mumble of noise. If I left him alone, he probably would just fall asleep. Instead of dozing off again, though, he stroked my hair away from my forehead in a slow, even rhythm.
I swallowed, blinking fast, resisting tears that threatened at his kindness. “I’m so sorry. Bad dream. Or memory, whichever.”Why am I telling him this?I shook my head, annoyed with myself for the midnight confession.
The jazz music didn’t play anymore in the earbud, so his phone had probably died. Still, it felt as if he lay with me in some kind of bubble of privacy, so I wanted to admit something I never said aloud before. Probably, I should tell him to go home or tell him to go back to sleep, but the temptation ate at me and a tear escaped the corner of one eye.
He kissed it away, and my breath trembled out of me. He said, “Tell me, Sweetheart. Tell me what happened. You’ll keep my secrets, and I’ll keep yours, okay?”
