Page 28 of When Stars Collide
I rested my hand on his chest, where I noticed his heart was beating just as rampantly as my own. “Peter,” I answered him, “kiss me.”
He groaned, gripping me tightly. I searched his face, wishing like hell I could find something that would clue me in on what he was thinking, whether the connection I felt with him was also felt by him. And then the dam broke, and whatever internal struggle had been going on inside of his head dissipated, allowing him to feel again. Suddenly, I was able to catch a glimpse of the longing in his eyes, and I knew without a doubt he felt it, too.
“Oh, hell.” His hand cupped my face; his thumb traced my lips, and without giving me a moment to react first, his lips found mine. Peter’s moan met my own as his kiss moved from tender to more fervent.
My hands moved across his chest upward to his face, where one rested on his cheek and the other explored the unkempt, dark mop on top of his head. He followed my lead, his hand leaving my waist to trace the outline of my body with his fingers, bringing about goosebumps where his skin met mine. Our lips parted in unison, our tongues brushing against each other.
“I want you,” I moaned, my fingers leaving his cheek to make their way to the button of his blue jeans.
“Stop,” he groaned, and I wasn’t certain whether he was talking to me or to himself. Choosing to ignore it, I continued. “Mena.” Although his voice was still soft, there was more of a stern nature to it than there had been before. “You’re drunk.”
“And you’re observant.” Somehow, my fingers managed to undo the button, but right as they were about to make their way underneath his waistband, his hand gripped my wrist.
“I can’t let this happen.”
“Wh-Why not?” Doing my best to maintain my composure, I scrambled to extricate myself from his body, finding myself sliding from the beanbag chair down to the floor, humiliated. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No. God no. You were doing everything right, trust me.” His face flushed as he sat up on the beanbag chair and ran his hand through his hair. “I just don’t want you waking up tomorrow having done something you regret.Idon’t want to be your regret.”
“You wouldn’t be,” I assured him. “I’m telling you exactly what I want.”
He shook his head. “No, those shots of Jose Cuervo are telling you what you want right now. And it’s not me, Mena. A girl like you and a guy like me, that just doesn’t happen.”
“What do you mean? Am I not good enough for you?”
His eyes widened in genuine surprise. “No, that’s not it at all. I’m not good enough for you, Mena. You’re smart, beautiful, and absolutely terrifying; everything a man could want. I’m … well, I’m nothing.”
Peter Monroe was vulnerable, a side of himself he rarely showed. And it was killing him to show it to me now. If not for my level of intoxication, I was positive he would have kept it locked away.
“That’s silly. I mean, sure, you’re a sarcastic asshole with the driest sense of humor I have ever encountered, but Christ, look at you.”
He laughed. “As much as I’d like to take that glowing review as a sign that you are in fact in your right mind right now, my answer is still no.”I could sense his disappointment, just as surely as he could see mine written all over my face.“Look, if you remember any of this tomorrow morning, and you can honestly look me in the eye and tell me that you still feel the same way, then you’ll have me in whatever way you want me, Mena Straszewski. Because Lord knows it’s killing me not to let you have me right now.
“You have a deal, Peter Monroe.”
“You’re really something.” Although he shook his head when he made that statement, he was smiling.
“Something good or something bad?”
“I honestly haven’t figured that out yet.” He stood up and reached his hand out to me to help me up. Once I steadied myself on my feet, I followed him down the hallway. “Luke’s bedroom is at the end of the hall. The bathroom is next to it. And this is my stop.” He paused outside of his door to look back at me. “Goodnight, Mena.” Sighing, he hesitated briefly just before entering his room.
I lingered outside of his door for a moment, partly because I hoped he would reemerge in the hall, having decided to throw chivalry out the window, but also because the floor appeared to move with each step I took. He was right. I was far too drunk to even make a reliable choice between regular or decaf coffee, let alone to have sex with Luke’s incredibly good-looking counterpart.
Once I was finally able to make my way to Luke’s bedroom, I remained awake in his bed for a long time, partially weirded out because I was in Luke’s bed, but also because I couldn’t shut my mind off. Granted, I was three sheets to the wind and my mind always raced about haphazardly like a toddler in a candy store whenever I drank too much, but somehow it was different that night. Because no matter how many thoughts bounced around inside of my head, I always came back to one.
Peter Monroe.
Was he also wide awake in bed thinking about me?Was he mulling over what had transpired between us tonight just as much as I was? Or was he fast asleep, satisfied with himself after successfully fending off yet another female admirer’s affections?
No. Remember what he told you.
What did he tell me?
Shit. Help me out here, Sober Mena.
Go screw yourself.
As hard as I tried to commit the night to memory, it was slowly slipping away with each minute I inched back toward sobriety. Like sand in an hourglass, my memories from the night were disappearing rapidly. By morning, they may be gone forever, which meant for the rest of the night, I had to put up a valiant effort to retain every detail of my time with Peter Monroe. Every look, every touch, every kiss. Surely if I thought about him and how he made me feel, really concentrated hard, that would be enough, wouldn’t it?
