Enemies to Lovers, page 9
“You wouldn’t be a side slice.” His lids lowered, looking heavy, and his lips softened. “You’d be the full meal.”
Dang him! She shivered. “Your girlfriend is waiting outside this room. You plan to screw me and return to her. You’ll sleep with her tonight.”
“Monica isn’t yet my girlfriend.”
Jessie Kay had begun to melt—the brunette isn’t his girlfriend; there’s a chance I can win him—only to stiffen. Isn’t yet, he’d said. Yet. He intended to move forward with the girl. More than that, he hadn’t disputed the rest of Jessie Kay’s claims. He would return to Monica. He would sleep with her tonight.
Scratch an itch with me now, return to regular programming later. Maybe, like Jase and Beck, he’d even decide to marry the girl who came after Jessie Kay.
Dark emotion flooded her, choking her until she almost couldn’t breathe past the gloom. “The next man I’m with will value me. I will mean something to him.”
A flare of his nostrils. “You mean something to me.”
“Don’t kid yourself. If I meant anything at all, you never would have put me in this position.”
He ran his hand down his face and backed away another step.
“Do you have any idea how bad it hurt when your friends discarded me, as if I’d dared to overstay my welcome? No,” she said with a shake of her head. “You don’t, because you don’t know me. You can’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t be trying to do the same thing.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, glaring down at his feet. “You’re wrong,” he said, and for once, there was no emotion in his voice. “I do know what it’s like to be discarded. But it doesn’t stop the ache I have for you, the constant hunger nothing else has been able to satisfy.”
She couldn’t allow herself to focus on those words. Doesn’t stop the ache I have for you… She’d cave—could already feel her resistance melting again. “You’re telling me a woman actually cut you loose?”
“Many women, but not the way you think.” He met her gaze dead-on, his features more ravaged by the second. “Not romantically.”
“Then how—” Ohhh. Emotionally. His foster moms, probably. Used for a monthly check, only to be given up when the money stopped flowing? Dang it, the ache returned and she would have sold her soul for a chance to comfort the boy he’d been…the man he was. “You know being with me right now would be wrong. You said so.”
“More and more, I don’t care what’s right. I just care about having you in my arms.”
The raggedness of his tone was a hot caress that left fire in its wake, burning her from the inside out. “Pretty words don’t mean squat. Actions do.”
Want to enjoy your future? Momma once asked. Then treat your present with respect. Soon it will be your past.
West reached out, traced a finger over the seam of her lips before cupping the back of her neck. “What if I offered you two months rather than a single night?”
Her mouth went dry. “Have you ever dated a woman longer?”
“Yes. Tessa.”
“How long were you with her?”
“Three years.”
“You remained faithful?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“And since her, you’ve never dated a woman for more than two months?”
“That’s right.”
She latched on to his wrist with every intention of pushing him away, but she ended up clinging to him, desperate for an anchor as she drifted away in an endless sea of temptation. “You would still be with Tessa if she’d lived?”
A slight hesitation before he gave a clipped nod.
The hesitation intrigued her. “Why the time limit now?”
He closed his eyes as he drew in a long, drawn-out breath. “Others have asked the same thing, but I don’t talk about it. Not with anyone.”
“Too bad. Sharing your past and your secrets is something you do with friends—and the woman you claim to desire.”
He stared at her, silent. Despite the overhead light illuminating him, darkness still managed to cling to him. It was there in his eyes, ravaged and ravaging, shredding everything her desire for him had managed to revive, leaving her a hollowed-out, empty shell. The same feeling her parent’s death had elicited. The same feeling she’d tried for years to fill and mask with parties and men, and oh, how easy it would be to slip back into old habits, to find solace in the familiar, if only for a little while.
“If you ever want to reconsider your answer,” she whispered, “we can revisit the terms of our friendship. Right now, if you ask me for two months, I’ll say no. I deserve more. I deserve better.”
He nodded without hesitation. “You’re right. You do.” With lightning speed, he threw a hammer-like fist into the row of cans beside her, sending several flying into the wall behind the shelf, leaving cracks and holes in the plaster.
Despite the action, she knew he hadn’t lost control of his temper. Control radiated from his every pore, pulled at the angle of his jaw and shoulders and held him in a rigid clasp, granting no quarter. He’d known what he was doing and had hoped…to what? Scare her? Send her fleeing?
Please. She’d angered this man time and time again, dishing as many insults as she’d received. Heck, she’d probably dished more. But he’d never threatened her physically. Not in word, and not in deed. He had his faults—a whole lot of faults—but violence against women wasn’t one of them. If anything, he treated women with deference, opening car doors, pulling out chairs, even for his enemies.
“Feel better?” she asked.
“No.” He pushed out a weighted breath. “But I do owe you yet another apology, kitten.”
Shivers, tingles. Heat. “Stop calling me by that ridiculous nickname.”
“You have claws. You’re soft. And for just a second, I made you purr. You’re a kitten, plain and simple. Now be a good kitty and allow me to offer that apology. I acted quixotically today—”
“Ugh. Big fancy words are stupid. They are not a turn-on.” They were. They so were. “Talk to me like I’m five and failing your class.”
His eyes narrowed. “Your nipples just hardened.”
Lord save me. “First, you wouldn’t talk to a five-year-old like that. Second, why the heck are you looking at my nipples? Stop.”
“I’m a man, and they just sat up and said hello. What was I supposed to do? Ignore them?”
“Yes!”
“Why are big words such a turn-on to you?”
“Why is the sky blue?”
“Molecules in the air scatter blue light from the sun.”
Aaand her nipples hardened further. Apparently, smart, smart-ass answers were also a turn-on.
“And now I need a drink,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’m not going to live through the day.”
The way he’d said those words—I need a drink—pricked a land mine inside her head, the different emotions in his voice like shrapnel. Longing. Regret. Shame. Hatred.
“I know the score. You’re a recovering drug addict, and alcohol is your gateway.” He’d once stated her past so plainly; she saw nothing wrong with stating his in the same manner. Besides, she’d seen him drink once before, at a party he’d thrown in Tessa’s honor. He’d not been a happy drunk. “You don’t need a drink,” she said, “you need a good, firm spanking.”
Wary now, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “How did you know about the drugs?”
“I overheard Brook Lynn and Jase talking—when I pressed my ear to their door.”
“Is that why you won’t be with me? I’m a bad bet?”
“I won’t be with you because you’re an asshole with a mysterious time limit. And a girlfriend! I’ve decided to be angry on her behalf.”
“She’s not my—”
“But I don’t believe for one second you’re a man who will one day succumb to the dark allure of drugs. The strength you needed to get clean…sugar bear, that is a major turn-on.”
He snorted, some of the tension leaving him. “You said friends share their pasts. I’ll think about sharing mine with you, which is more than I’ve ever done for another.”
Her heart skipped a beat. More than he’d done for another…more than she’d ever expected him to do for her.
“Just remember. Your past isn’t as tragic as mine,” she said, “so I can’t possibly feel sorry for you.”
“Mine is far worse than yours. You should bawl like a baby.”
His hands settled on her hips and squeezed as if the foundation at his feet was crumbling and she was the only lifeline. A hold of possession, one that made her body liquefy even as her breasts swelled with a need she could no longer fight. Her spine softened and tilted forward, putting the most needy parts of her in contact with the most needy parts of him.
“Tell me…would you be the executor of the spanking?” He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, his warm breath fanning over her lips.
“If you were my man, trust me, I’d see to your discipline on a daily basis. I’m sweet like that.” She ran her hands up the lapels of his jacket, hoping to mask her trembling. “And now, I’m leaving. This conversation can’t go anywhere but the danger zone.” She straightened his tie before heading for the door.
“Kitten,” he called as she placed her hand on the knob.
She paused, part of her hoping he would close the distance, yank her against him and claim her lips, steal her breath, put his big, beautiful hands on her, all over her…finally ending the torment she’d lived with since the moment they’d met. The other part of her, the part that hoped he’d want her today, tomorrow and every day after refused to budge.
“What?” she asked with a tremor.
“You still owe me a sandwich.”
* * *
THE WEDDING KICKED off forty-seven minutes late, screwing up more of West’s schedule. The lack of order bothered him, a thorn in his side, but he kept his mouth shut. His friends were more important than anything else. And he had a distraction, his mind continually returning to the cleaning closet.
He’d offered Jessie Kay a one-night stand, and she’d responded with bitterness. Now he cursed the men who’d come before him. Yeah, even his friends. He then cursed himself. He hadn’t slept with her, but he’d hurt her just the same when he’d suggested a hit-and-run. A one-and-done. A bang-and-bail. No wonder she’d rebuffed him so fervently.
Jase had been leaning against a wall when West emerged, had looked him up and down and arched a brow. “Is that for me? Dude, I’m flattered. I had no idea you felt that way. All right, you caught me. I had an inkling. You know I’m engaged to Brook Lynn, right?”
West had punched him in the shoulder. “You wish this was for you.”
“Only in your dreams. Listen. Your date is causing a scene, asking everyone where you are, searching the entire building for you. You’re lucky I’m such a good friend or she would have burst in on you. Calm her down before I’m forced to kick her out. I don’t want Beck or Harlow upset.”
He’d nodded his thanks and gone in search of Monica. She’d attempted to draw him into a conversation—We have so much in common. A love of schedules, caramels and Mercedes—but his taciturn demeanor had upset her. And how did she know about the schedules and candies? Google?
When he’d merely grunted one-word responses, she’d snapped, “Who’s the blonde you dragged away?”
As if she had a right to be jealous. Angry, yes. She was his date, and he’d paid more attention to someone else. But not jealous. Not yet.
“She’s the bride’s best friend.” He’d offered no more.
Monica had taken it upon herself to approach Jessie Kay.
He’d almost called her back to his side, not wanting the woman he found cloying conversing with the woman he found fascinating—the woman he still wanted—but he’d pressed his lips together in a mulish line.
When he’d first gotten Jessie Kay inside that closet, he’d almost gone up in flames, and it hadn’t been long before the last of his restraint had burned away. He’d pressed her against those shelves, kissing her more than a want—it had been a need. But he’d resisted. For the rest of her life, she would have regretted the timing, and he would have regretted her regret.
Might have been worth it.
The soft curves of her body had conformed to the hard planes of his, and now he only ached worse. For release. For her.
No one else would do.
Having her was an obsession. A sickness no drugs or therapy could cure.
She was already an addiction, wasn’t she.
He couldn’t walk away, not this time; he needed more of a specific woman, would do almost anything for a single taste.
His hands curled into fists. He hated feeling helpless, of free-falling into the unknown. With no parachute, he would crash.
Sometimes, you couldn’t walk away from a crash. You could only crawl.
Panic hit him, but he fought it, counting the seconds on his watch. One, two…ten…twenty…forty… He almost had himself under control when Beck and Harlow emerged from the choir room, both smiling jaw-cracking smiles. It was clear they’d done more than talk. A lot more. Once pristine, they now sported flushed skin, mussed hair and wrinkled clothes.
Harlow noticed the stares and knowing grins and lost a little of her glow. “Oh…uh.”
“Harlow Adrienne Glass, Hag for short,” Jessie Kay exclaimed. “You sly little hussy. Seducing your groom while the pastor was waiting? Your lady balls are obviously bigger than mine. But let’s compare just to be safe.”
The flush returned to Harlow’s skin, and she sputtered, but hardly anyone else noticed her reaction. They were too busy wagging fingers at Jessie Kay.
West marveled, suddenly seeing Jessie Kay in a new light. She’d taken center stage to cut through tension and draw attention away from her friend, hadn’t she?
This girl…she definitely had a gooey marshmallow center.
And West definitely had a sweet tooth.
Harlow focused on the pastor, who was doing his best not to laugh. “We didn’t…we wouldn’t… I mean, we came close, but…” She buried her face in the hollow of Beck’s neck. “Help me.”
Beck rushed to the rescue, saying, “She attacked me, and I almost couldn’t stop her from having her wicked way with me. We need to make an honest woman out of her as soon as possible, Pastor Washington. To preserve her tattered soul.”
Harlow gasped and slapped his chest. “You wretch!”
Beck caught her hand, winked and kissed the center of her palm. “You wouldn’t have me any other way, dumpling.”
“I would. I so would.”
Everyone took their proper place, Beck and Harlow moving under the arch, the pastor stepping in front of them. Jessie Kay and Brook Lynn lined up at Harlow’s left while Jase and West lined up at Beck’s right. Dane, Kenna, Daphne, Brad and Hope claimed the front pew, with Monica sitting on the second, her gaze resting on West adoringly. Too adoringly for such a short acquaintance. He wished he’d resisted the urge to bring her.
Beck vowed to love, honor and cherish his woman, adding teasingly, “But I expect you to always obey me. I can’t be budged on that. It’s tradition.”
Harlow laughed gaily, now utterly unburdened by the weight of worry. “I’ll obey you in…never.”
“Challenge accepted.” Beck kissed her as if he couldn’t go without her taste a second longer.
“Not yet, young man.” Pastor Washington released a sigh of amusement and exasperation.
Beck didn’t stop, and Harlow didn’t try to make him. The joy the two projected thrilled West, even as it taunted him. What would he feel when he actually kissed Jessie Kay?
When. Not if. A mistake—or a truth?
He watched Jessie Kay as she watched the ceremony. Tears gleamed in her eyes, a few even streaking her cheeks. Not only did she have the marshmallow heart, she had romantic delusions. She was the kind of woman he usually avoided. But staying away was no longer an option.
Pastor Washington shook his head and muttered, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Jessie Kay must have sensed West’s scrutiny. She glanced over at him. A moment of pure, electric heat arced between them, and the urge to stalk to her, grab her and carry her out vibrated in his bones. His mind flashed to a fantasy he hadn’t known he had. Jessie Kay sitting beside him on a couch, his arm draped over her shoulders while they chatted, her hands moving with dramatic flair, making him laugh. Peace and happiness surrounded them. So much happiness.
Whatever expression he wore here and now affected her. She stepped toward him. He stepped toward her. They would meet in the middle and—
Beck and Harlow broke away at long last. Jase cheered, and Jessie Kay jolted. She returned to her spot in the bridesmaid’s line. West cursed. Monica jumped to her feet and clapped, smiling at him as if he’d done something remarkable. Dane, Kenna, Daphne, Hope and Brad whooped.
Jessie Kay continued to stare at West and he continued to stare at her.
For a moment, one precious slice of life, West remembered what it was like to be whole again. To be a man with a future and a hope for something better. To want and to dream and to expect something better.
That. That was the true danger of being with Jessie Kay. He would have better, but he would be unable to keep better.
Two months. No more, no less.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ON MONDAY, Jessie Kay finished her lunchtime deliveries for You’ve Got It Coming and drove home with a lead foot. A nap awaited. If someone interrupted her snooze, well, they’d soon wish they were dead. Unless they offered her a box of chocolates and ten million dollars. Her forgiveness could be bought.
