Page 49 of The Twelve Days of Christian
He places a finger under my chin, tilts my head up, and brushes his large thumb across my tears. Then, lowering his head, his gentle lips settle on mine in a delicate kiss. As I give over my mouth to his he responds, one hand at my neck, pressing me closer, deepening the kiss. Warm reassurance floods my chest, pulling me back up from despair.
In Christian’s arms, I decide I’m going to give this a chance. For the next few days, inside our protected little bubble, we can explore without the eyes of the world upon us. It’s selfish, I know. Because I might not have much to lose, but he does. If I lead him along and then slam the door on this, I’m ending the possibility of somethinghe’s wanted for a long time. It’s not me that could get hurt the most here. It’s him.
“You going to be OK?” He pulls back, scanning my face.
I nod; brave a smile. “Yeah, I am. I will be.”
When his eyes meet mine, they’re troubled, as if an unspoken question lurks there, one he’s afraid to ask. And then I understand. He deserves to know the answer.
“I don’t love him, Christian,” I reassure. “He can’t hurt me that way anymore. But I am hurt. And angry. That he could just insert her into places we went and do things we did that I thought were special to us. It just makes me feel so replaceable.”
He cups a large hand behind my head, pressing his forehead to mine. “He’s an idiot,” he whispers. “He doesn’t know what he gave away.”
There’s a click of heels and an exaggerated sigh.
“Really? Wasn’t a whole night snogging on the couch enough?”
We jerk apart. Rachel leans a head around the corner. She’s joking in her usual flippant way, although there’s still a faint undercurrent of concern. But despite the theatrical eye roll, her lips curve up in quiet approval. Knowing my friend backs my decision reassures me. I need that. After the mess of my one serious relationship, I doubt my ability to be a good judge of men. Rachel is brutal in her criticism. If she’s eased up on Christian enough to smile at his arms wrapped around me, he’s passed her initial assessment, at least.
He releases me gently, and we head for the kitchen. I gulp down the waiting coffee. The caffeine works its magic, and I immediately feel better. As if with coffee, food and Christian, I can put all the bad stuff behind me and face the day.
“Come on. Get your things.” Rachel bustles around, wiping icing sugar from her fingers with a dainty swipe of a napkin. She slides on her black suit jacket, which immediately renders her even more formidable, and scoops up her hefty briefcase. “And grab your doughnut before the wolfman eats it,” she orders. She gives Christian a smirk, and he returns it with a lopsided grin. They’ve definitely made a truce. Perhaps even an alliance. “We’ve got work to do,” she says, scooping the keys to her Mercedes from the counter.
Christian reaches for my one hand that’s not currently grasped around a doughnut and squeezes it. “Thank you,” he says, searching my eyes.
As if seeing permission there, he leans in and kisses me again. After relishing the attention of his mouth more than even my first hurried mouthful of doughnut, I pull away, reluctant to leave, but knowing it’s necessary as we head into battle for him.
Chapter 24
Day Eight
With a whoop oftriumph, I find the one last doughnut waiting in the box has a small curve of bacon on top, smiling back at me. I pounce on it, sinking my teeth into the crispy outer, the sweet yet salty flavour, and the subtle smokiness of the doughy inside filling my mouth. I close my eyes in bliss and chew, slowly savouring the new experience. Haley and I have so much in common, and one bite is enough to tell me I now share her addiction to maple bacon doughnuts. It’s another little thing, more evidence of how easily she and I fit. And it’s the sum of all these ordinary little things that somehow matters a lot.
We got off to a rocky start when I appeared on her doorstep a week ago. Seeing the surprise in her eyes morph into dismay as her quickbrain put together all the pieces, knowing I’d let her and the rescue down, cut me deep. But I’ve worked my arse off to try and make it up to her; and I’m glad I did, because everything I’ve done since prepared her to accept the secrets Loreena shared.
Although, it’s more than my obvious commitment to put this whole disaster right that led Haley into my arms last night. Much as she says she never knew, I think some subconscious part of her did. It’s like my heart whispered to hers in secret, offering itself to her, a hidden promise to be kept when the time came. And yesterday Loreena’s words reminded Haley’s heart, and it came calling, asking me to keep that promise. I shake my head, a smile sliding across my doughnut-filled face, when I think of what I’m going to say when I can finally talk to Loreena. Give her a hard time for spilling my secrets.
Beyond breakfast, the hours drag. I wish I could be like the dogs, curl into a ball and blissfully sleep away the day, but I’m too wired about the outcome of the meeting for that. I can’t face reading, even though the book—this romantasy thing—is really good. Although, I’ll never reveal how much I’m enjoying it to anyone but Haley.
She’s told me girls are attracted to a guy who reads those sorts of books. The last thing I need is news of my latest reading preferences to get out. It would be like wearing a billboard around my neck, advertising another reason for crazed female fans to make me the object of their attention. I wonder about the subtext in Haley’s comment. When she says girls, does that include her? When she says ‘a guy’, does she mean this guy? And what exactly is attractive about a guy reading romance, anyway?
Perhaps there’s some shared intimacy in knowing he’s reading the sex scenes—far more graphic than anyone would suspect beneaththe plain cover—the book equivalent of watching a sensual movie together. Or maybe it’s the unexpected masterclass in romance offered by the men in these books. Currently, I’m getting one courtesy of a fairy lord. The anticipation that a mere mortal man like me might find inspiration in his romantic gestures could definitely be a turn-on.
But I’m not in the mood for the pointy-eared guy’s lessons today. Instead of diving back into the fictional world, where his ethereal city sparkles with starlight, I set to work on restoring Haley’s own magical fairy lights. The ones in the dining room sputtered and failed partway through dinner last night. Seeing the disappointment in her eyes, I promised I’d fix them.
It takes half an hour just to unwind the endless strings she’s woven through a wooden lattice that covers the entire dining-room window. I search You-Tube—which seems to have a tutorial for everything—and find it’s a matter of methodically working through them to find the single bad bulb. Only there must be a couple of hundred bulbs, and the laws of the universe say it will most likely be the very last one. What else have I got to do?
I sit at the table, untangling the bird’s nest of wires and begin. It’s tedious, but somehow the repetitive actions are soothing. Twist the bulb out. Click the power switch. Do the other lights go? No. Put the bulb back. Move to the next. Repeat. The mundane task allows my brain to meander towards more pleasant thoughts.
Last night still feels surreal. A couple of times, I woke up sure I was still dreaming. But no, I checked and there was a very real woman tucked into a small s-shape beside me on the couch, allowing me to spoon her, my body moulded to hers. Lying there, simply listening to the soft rise and fall of her breathunder the protection of my arm, was so much better than anything I could have imagined. Her murmur of thanks when I pulled the covers tighter, capturing the two of us in a cosy nest as we eased back into sleep, was another of those ordinary little moments that, when pieced together, become extraordinary. All of these things happened.
The kisses happened too. Again, my brain could have never conjured up the taste of her, deliciously sweet, or imagined what it would be like to experience her raw hunger for my mouth. And that’s not all she was hungry for. Her less than subtle invitation was a bit of a shock. I suppose while I’ve often let my mind wander to what lies beneath Haley’s colourful wardrobe—more often since I’ve been confined in her house this week—I hadn’t even dared to give it permission to expect she would want me like that in return.
Don’t get me wrong—Ilikethat she wants me. That in itself is an indication she’s different. I’m so over the girls who flaunt themselves in front of celebrities, offering themselves up on a plate. I don’t wantthemto want me. Like fast food, it might be cheap and readily available, but afterwards, you’re always left unsatisfied. Or one of those all you can eat buffets, where you stuff yourself beyond full just because you can, and then regret it later.
I want someone who wants all of me. Not only the rockstar image the record company and their PR machine grinds out into the world. To do that, the person needs to know all of me. The unexpected silver lining to this crazy situation is Haley has a chance to really get to know me. As long as I don’t fall back into my ‘man of few words’ persona. I know I adopt it to protect myself, but I don’t need protection from her. It’s time to take a risk. It’s big.
Getting her to take a risk with me may be bigger. After that prick, Jack, hurt her so badly, why would she trustany guy? I’m not any guy, not him, but she needs me to convince her of that. God, just thinking of the bastard makes me want to punch him.
