LIVVY FLOPPED on her bed, face-down, like a proper drama queen.
Dramatic.
Well, fuck you too, Nicholas.
She’d refused to speak with Nicholas in the car ride back to town. She’d held her emotions in admirable check on the drive home. She’d showered quickly and then smiled throughout the delicious steak and potatoes dinner her aunt had saved for her and ate every bite, though she wasn’t hungry. She’d gamely tried to engage her mom in conversation about the sitcom they watched after dinner, only to be rebuffed. She’d cleaned up the kitchen, thrown a load of laundry in the washing machine, and whistled while she did it, every ounce of energy being poured into appearing calm.
Dramatic. Moody. Emotional. Temperamental. Artistic. There were so many adjectives she’d been tagged with from people who couldn’t and wouldn’t understand her.
I can give you everything.
She pressed her hand over her heart, the spike of hope and excitement coursing through her again. She hated him so much for giving her that high, because the truth was simple and stark.
He couldn’t.
She wasn’t a fool. She believed Nicholas when he said his father had made him end things with her. Brendan was totally capable of something so ruthless—hadn’t he cheated her mother out of her half of the company?
Livvy believed he’d been reluctant to leave her and loved her then, and that did bring a measure of peace to her heart. But the second he’d started to talk about ifs, she’d reached her limit.
He might still have feelings for her, but that didn’t mean he’d ever want or be able to give her more. She deserved more. She did.
Keep saying that, squeaked the tiny defenseless part of herself that sometimes wondered if she deserved anything.
Lethargy tugged at her body, the desire to crawl under the covers and not get up. Resolutely, she rolled to her feet instead. A few more things. She could manage a few simple tasks first. Opposite action.
Livvy placed her phone on the nightstand. After she got under those covers, she knew she’d stare obsessively at the coordinates he’d sent her for the first time in forever, tracing every familiar number, but she’d put that off as long as humanly possible.
She took off her clothes and popped them in the hamper in the corner. She grabbed a button-down flannel sleep shirt from a drawer and drew it on, pressing the fabric to her nose to inhale the comforting scent of laundry detergent and softener. It only marginally calmed the emotions twisting her insides into a knot.
As she buttoned it up, she glanced around, wishing she’d left the place a mess so she could tidy it up and feel accomplished about something. She opened the closet door, but all her clothes had been neatly unpacked from her duffel and hung on hangers. Cursing past-her for her diligence, she started to pace, stopping when she realized how frenetic her motions were getting.
She wrapped her arms around her waist and inhaled and exhaled deeply. Okay. Okay. She needed a breather. Boxes. Her feelings were too big and overwhelming, and they were leaking right out of her. Time to contain them.
Livvy skirted the bed and plopped down on the floor, resting against the wall.
She ran her hand against her leg and slowly, using her index finger, traced a box around the head of the dragon inked into her flesh.
Look at you. You’re a disaster.
Put the negative thoughts into the box. Find a counter thought. “I deserve compassion,” she whispered and moved to the pot of gold at her hip. A tiny box around that, her very first tattoo.
You shouldn’t have come home. You’re not tough enough for this.
“I’ve been through a lot of shit, and I survived. Life is worth living, even with the shit in it.” The vine now.
He doesn’t love you.
“I can love myself.” Another flower. “I’m a good person.” Her finger pressed deeper into her flesh. “I can keep figuring it out. I’m doing the best I can.”
She arched her back and reached behind her, though the twist was awkward. She bled her feelings into every design but the compass was her favorite tattoo, with its watercolor splash and blurred pigment, like a drawing left out in the rain.
She couldn’t quite contort enough to draw a box here, so she stroked it. “I deserve compassion,” she repeated, and then kept repeating it until she could feel the knot inside her unravel.
It was a tiny easing, but it was enough to stave off her panic spiral. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall, not releasing contact with her compass.
She wasn’t sure if she fully believed the words her therapist had given her to keep in her arsenal, but they helped. And one day, if she said them enough times, maybe she could absolutely believe them.
Her phone beeped, shattering the silence of the room. She wanted to ignore it, but it was late enough that it could be an emergency. Her movements were sluggish as she got her feet.
Nicholas. A new message, right below those damn coordinates.
I was going to throw a rock against your window, but I’m not sure if it’s yours.
Her window?
She texted back. ???
His reply was immediate. Look outside.
No. He couldn’t possibly be . . .
She walked over to the window, brushed the curtain aside, and peered into the darkness. She was situated on the side of the house, a large lawn right below.
And on that lawn stood Nicholas, looking up at her. The moon was full, gilding his dark hair and the sharp angles of his face. He’d changed out of his suit into a pair of worn jeans and a light-colored, long-sleeved sweater.
What the hell?
She tried to yank open the window. The damn thing was stuck, dried paint sealing the jambs.
“What are you—?” she started to say loudly, but then realized she might wake up her mom and aunt by screaming through the glass. She typed into her phone instead. What are you doing??
He glanced down at the phone in his hands and responded. I wanted to see you.
So you’re lurking? I thought we established you’re shitty at that.
His half-smile made her want to smile back. Instead, she scowled.
I think I’m doing a pretty good job.
No lurker wears white. You wear black.
You want to meld into the shadows.
He ran his hand over his chest. Ugh, why did he have such a hot chest? The moon is full tonight. I wouldn’t be able to meld even if I wore black.
Her fingers flew. Then you should leave lurking to the professionals. There’s no value in it for amateurs.
I don’t know. It gets your attention.
The phone rang, and she hesitated for a beat. He raised his device to his ear and mimed picking up.
She pressed her lips tight, unable to resist him. “What?” she snapped. “I’m busy.”
“You don’t look busy.” His voice was low, designed not to carry. His gaze dropped over her body. The flannel shirt covered her arms and up to the tops of her thighs. It wasn’t sexy.
He looked at her like she was wearing the tiniest of negligees.
“You look beautiful,” he finished.
Call her vain, but she absorbed his compliment like a sponge soaking up tiny droplets of water. Livvy was suddenly glad she’d left the top button undone, the upper curves of her breasts visible. “Thanks.”
“Unbutton that shirt a little more.”
She regularly wore corsets and miniskirts, but she clutched the lapels of her shirt together like an outraged aunt and glared down at him. “I will not.”
“Come on. If I’m such a creeper, give me something to creep on.”
She was tempted to smile, but she controlled her face. “Creepers don’t get rewarded.”
“Probably a good policy.” Nicholas moved closer, into a brighter patch of moonlight. His lips moved, his husky voice caressing her ear. “I’m sorry I called you dramatic. I want to see you again.”
She swallowed, hating that leap of happiness. I can give you everything.
He couldn’t. “You’re seeing me.”
“I mean see you properly. Not because I’m escorting you to my grandfather or because you’re driving my sister home, but because we want to be in each other’s company.”
She twisted the button on her shirt. “I don’t see the point in that.”
“I thought I showed you the point of it in the woods.” He screwed up his face. “Ah, that was not supposed to be a euphemism.”
Her lips trembled, but she controlled her smile at the unexpectedly silly joke. “Like you said, I’m not good for you.” She wouldn’t be able to forget his words anytime soon. I know you’re not good for me, but I can’t seem to stop wanting you.
“I did think you were bad for me.”
She managed to stop herself from showing pain. “Yeah, well, I’m trying to be healthy too, Nicholas.”
He ran his hand over his face. When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. “I said I did think you were bad for me. Now, though . . . Didn’t you feel better today? After we talked?”
“Yes.” Until I felt myself latching on to the crumb of a possibility for a future for us. She couldn’t allow herself to do that.
“I think I need that.”
“You’ve never liked chatting before.”
“When we were young, I did. Remember how we’d lay on the ground and talk for hours?”
“I talked.”
“You talked more than me. But I talked.”
She conceded that with a reluctant nod. He’d always been reserved, from the time he was a young boy, but he’d shared a lot with her, even before they started dating.
He pressed his fist over his heart. “We’ve tried staying away from each other. We tried just fucking each other. It hasn’t gotten me anywhere, and I don’t think it’s helped you either. Maybe we could . . . I don’t know. Try spending time with each other. Talking.”
She could feel herself weakening, responding to the pleading in his voice. She should hang up, right now. She knew she was too weak where he was concerned.
She worried that button. “We can’t talk without boning. I think that’s pretty apparent.”
“So we’ll bone.” He put his hand up when she would have talked. “The sex isn’t the problem. Yeah, what we were doing, our arrangement all those years, that was bad for both of us. We could make things healthier between us. No binging. Guilt-free, rules-free, two consenting adults who respect each other.”
She pressed her fingertips against the window, so tempted it hurt. Livvy could see the sense in what he was saying. That burden on her shoulders had eased a tiny bit every time they’d honestly engaged with each other.
“No one will know. This won’t hurt anyone,” he said quietly. “But it might help us.”
The second part of their long-standing agreement. One night. No one will know.
You can’t ever think anything will come of this. No dreaming of weddings or walking hand-in-hand next to a duck pond. He didn’t know everything about her, all the dark and messy things. She’d kept those from him even when they were young. A not-so-tiny, insecure part of her had always feared he wouldn’t want her if he saw it all.
Plus, if she took her heart out of the equation totally, she could say she didn’t want a relationship with him, not when it meant he’d have to fight his family. She also didn’t want to fight hers, not when she was here to rebuild those ties.
She was so tired of fighting. “Okay,” she murmured, tracing a circle on the window.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
A smile split across his face, and her finger jerked. She’d forgotten how breathtakingly handsome Nicholas was when he smiled. “Now will you take off your shirt?”
Her lips twitched, and she acknowledged the dare in his eyes. He thought she wouldn’t? She wasn’t sure what she’d ever done to give him the idea she was inhibited when it came to her body.
She tucked the phone between her shoulder and her ear so she could flick open the buttons, appreciating both the flare of heat in his eyes and his increased breathing. When the shirt was open, she ran her hand down the center of her chest, over her belly, and cupped her naked pussy.
“Come downstairs,” he murmured.
“I shouldn’t.”
“You should. What we did in the woods wasn’t enough for you. Come out here and let me take care of that wetness between your thighs.” He hung up before she could reply or agree.
Because he knew she wouldn’t not come, the bastard. She tossed her phone on the bed and buttoned her shirt as she left the room, creeping through the dark house.
She went out through the back door and padded barefoot over the grass, barely conscious of the chilly air or the goosebumps it left on her exposed skin. She didn’t see Nicholas at first, jumping when he spoke from the shadows closest to the house. “Come here.”
She drifted closer to him, the sense of danger making her wetter. “I take it back. Not bad at skulking.”
“I’ve graduated from lurking to skulking?”
“It’s a definite upgrade.”
He hooked his arm around her waist, and in two seconds had her pressed against the vinyl siding of the house. Nicholas’s booted feet came between her bare ones as he crowded her. “Are you cold?”
“Yes.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and stood on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Warm me up.”
He hummed. “You smell so good.”
“That’s the flowers.” A trellis was right next to her, a few blooms of a fragrant flower from the last remnant of summer still clinging stubbornly to the vine.
He dipped his head and buried his face against her neck. “No, it’s you. Vanilla and sweetness.” His big fingers quickly manipulated the shirt, opening her to his touch. His hand went to her breasts, fondling the flesh, coaxing the nipples to tight, rigid points. When she reached for his belt buckle, he leaned back, grabbed her wrists, and brought both hands above her head. “Let me,” he whispered, and waited for her nod.
He kept her wrists up and away, and stroked his fingers down over her stomach, smiling when her muscles tensed. That teasing touch slipped between her legs. He hissed a curse when he found her slippery and wet.
He pressed his forehead against hers, his eyes trained on her face as she shivered and shook under his leisurely caresses. When she strained closer, he gave her a kiss, but his kisses were as shallow and teasing as the play of his fingers on her clit.
“Please,” she gasped into his mouth. She twisted her caught hands until they could grasp his, their fingers twining together.
He drew away, enough so he could speak, his breath puffing against her lips. “Please what?”
“Harder.”
He circled her clit and released her hands. “Hold yourself open for me.”
Trembling, she slid her hand down her body, until her fingers could slide over her pussy. She made a vee of her fingers and spread her lips.
His hand left her for a second, and then three fingers landed on her clit in a gentle slap. She tilted her head back, crying out, but his big palm was there to capture the sound.
Her breath came in shallow gasps, and she stared into his dark, merciless eyes. “Do you like this kind of spanking too?”
She nodded.
His lip curled up, and he delivered tap after tap, alternating with lazy fingering, speeding his motions up when she grew grasping and greedy.
He captured her cries with his lips when she came, making sure no one could hear them. When she was finished, he drew away and carefully buttoned her shirt. Then he dropped a chaste kiss on her cheek. “Come to my place tomorrow.”
He’d just spanked and finger-fucked her, but that innocent, careless kiss was what made her blush.
Intimate.
No. Talking was fine. Putting their past to rest was fine. Dreaming of more was not. She shook her head. “Not your place. Someone might see.”
His lips compressed, but he only said, “Right. I’ll text you a location then.”
His thumb stroked over her cheek, the caress making her feel temporarily cared for and protected.
She shivered. That was the key word. She couldn’t lose sight of that qualifier. Temporary.