Page 26 of Release Me
The lift rises, along with my body temperature. The urge to touch her again consumes me. I clench my fists at the side of my body, flexing and releasing them in time to my slow inhales and exhales. Finally, the doors ding and slide open. I motion for her to step out in front of me, check the wide, high corridor, then follow her to her front door. She opens it, then turns her head, glancing over her shoulder at me. ‘So… this is me.’
‘I know.’ I nod, my jaw ticking. Every bone in my body screams at me not to leave her alone. Not to leave her here in Anthony’s soulless penthouse.
Our eyes meet.
She holds my stare, hovering in the doorway.
‘Thank you,’ she swallows, ‘for tonight. For everything.’
‘I wish…’ I shove my hands into my suit pocket for fear they’re going to grab her of their own accord. ‘Never mind.’ I shake my head. ‘Sleep well, Beks.’
Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip and, fuck, it does things in my stomach—and lower. I need to move. Get out of here. Walk away before I do something stupid like try to fucking kiss her again. But my feet aren’t getting the memo. They’re glued to the fucking spot.
‘You sleep well, too, Rian.’ She reaches up on her tiptoes then, without breaking eye contact. Her face inches closer to mine. I suck in a breath as she presses her lips to my cheek. The last cord of restraint inside me snaps spectacularly. Before I know it, I’m pushing her back inside the doorway, my hands are in her hair, cupping her cheeks. She reaches up to palm the nape of my neck; our mouths crash together—lips, tongues, teeth. She tastes like champagne and hunger, and I am fucking starving for her. White-hot lust lances every cell in my body.
This.
This is what I’ve been dreaming about.
Finally, I feel like I’ve come home.
I run my hands over the curve of her hips, and she slams her body against mine. Heat radiates from her every pore, and as our lips meet she moans needily into my mouth. My cock is rock solid in a fraction of a second, pressing into her stomach.
All too soon, she rips her mouth from mine, ripping my insides open in the process. My soul bleeds from my body.
‘Fuck.’ Her oval eyes widen to saucers as her hand clamps over her mouth.
‘Sorry,’ I raise my hands and leap back—but I’m not sorry. Not one fucking bit. Even though I should be.
Maybe I will be when I wake up tomorrow and there’s no alcohol coursing through my arteries, whispering in my earthat no one will ever know. Whispering that her husband is with someone else tonight—why shouldn’t she be? Two wrongs don’t make a right, yet everything about our kiss screams at me that actually—it might.
‘I’m so sorry.’ Her hand drops to her chest, resting over her heart. ‘We shouldn’t… We can’t. Fuck.’ Her face falls, genuine horror inching into her expression. Guilt floods my chest then, not because of him, but because of her. She’s already struggling. She doesn’t need me complicating an already brutally complicated situation.
‘That was selfish of me.’ I back away until I reach the door, fingers tightening around the circular handle. ‘I’m going. Before I do any more damage.’
Her throat bobs. She drags a hand through her hair. Her breath is coming in ragged gulps. Wild eyes dart over my body. My face. My chest. The bulge in my suit trousers. Then back to meet my eyes again.
‘I think it’s best we try to stay away from each other…’ she trails off. ‘For a while. Until this thing between us—’she gestures between us with her index finger‘—blows over.’
A long, low bitter laugh bursts from my lips. ‘Sweetheart, it’s been three years, two weeks and four days since we met. Tell me… do you think this thing between us is going to blow over? Or blow up in our faces?’
‘You… you… counted the days?’ Her pristinely shaped eyebrows knit together.
‘I can’t help it. Every fucking second has felt like an hour. Every minute you’ve been with him felt like a month. Your wedding was the worst day of my life.’ If I had any sense, I’d shut my fucking mouth. But I’m not known for being the shrewdest Beckett. I’m known for being the boldest. And I’m dangerously close to telling my best friend’s wife that I don’t just like her, no. I fucking love her. Because I do. There’s no other word for this agony. To the point it causes me physicalpain, and has done from the second I learned she could never be mine.
She exhales heavily. ‘If it’s any consolation, my wedding was the worst day of my life too.’ She twists her head to look at the wedding portrait blown up on a massive canvas hanging on the hall wall beside her. It’s her turn to laugh bitterly.
‘It’s no consolation.’ I murmur, low and steady. ‘I don’t want you to be miserable, sweetheart. You deserve every happiness this life has to offer. I’m just sorry I can’t be the one to give it to you.’
Her eyes brim with tears, but she blinks them back. ‘ You’re a good man, Rian Beckett.’
‘Shh.’ I press my index finger to my mouth. ‘Don’t tell the others—you’ll ruin my reputation.’
A strangled laugh leaves her lips.
‘I’ve knownhimmy entire life,’ I pause, unable to say his name right now, ‘but you’re my friend too. I’m only a phone call away if you need anything, okay.’
She nods, and I get the impression she’s holding it together with a single thread.
