She jumped when she saw me, her hand clutching her purse like she was about to take a swing.
“What—what are you doing here?” she asked, closing her door but not yet locking it.
“I’ve been texting you, waiting out here like a—”
“Desperate weirdo?” she asked, her words toughening up her appearance.
“I can’t get you off my mind.”
“Says the guy who walked away and—”
“You wanted me to! You’re still making all kinds of excuses. Hypotheticals in worse-case scenarios. Tell me what that’s about.”
“No.”
I arched my head back and took in a deep breath.
“Am I taxing you? I have to go, I have a date.”
I slowly returned to her. “With whom?”
“None of your business.”
The thought made my stomach turn inside out and leak acid all over my guts. Some other guy was going to have her attention? Be on the receiving end of her smile? Touch her? Kiss her?
“Yes,” she stated.
“What?”
“That look on your face? You’re wondering if we’re going to have sex, and yes, we will.”
I mentally shoved down a lump of anger and jealousy. “So you really don’t want us to be together?”
“There is no ‘us,’” she declared.
“Why don’t you just tell me to my face that you don’t like me.”
Her glare turned hot, her cheeks flushed, her lips pressed, holding back a heap of icy words.
“I know that you assume the worst about me, Liya. That I—if I have my facts straight—am just after you for sex, I wouldn’t support you no matter what shady history came out, that aforementioned shadiness would make my poor, weak mother distraught—”
“Now wait a minute—”
I took a step toward her and interrupted her just as quickly as she’d interrupted me. “Because obviously my mother has to be weak if a few rumors can dismantle her. Which means I’m just as weak. I’m so consumed with what others think that the mere thought of displeasing strangers makes my balls shrink? I guess? I’m not man enough to stand up for you? Or would I be so thoroughly disgusted with your history that I wouldn’t be able to stand the sight of you?”
She tapped a foot and glared at her watch. “You’re making me late. Any more patronizing analysis that you want to throw at me?”
I released a harsh breath. “Your friends are convinced that you’re depressed, that I had something to do with it. And I am so sorry if I did.”
“Don’t give yourself that much credit.”
“Is this what you do? Have sex with whomever to make yourself feel better?”
She opened her mouth to bite into me, but her words deteriorated into nothing.
“No matter how much I like you, and Liya, I really like you, I have no right to tell you not to sleep with another guy. But don’t. Please.”
“Because it’s harmful behavior?” she gritted out. “You don’t get to tell me what’s right and wrong. My sex life is none of your business. We are not dating. We are not friends.”
In an instant, I had her soft body crushed against mine, one hand around her waist and the other on her jaw. Her breath hitched, and all the fight left her.
I tilted my head, my mouth close to hers, and said, “If you want therapeutic intimacy, then you can get it from me, not some random idiot who probably doesn’t want anything more or who doesn’t see anything more.”
“You think you see more?” she sneered.
“I see so deep into you, Liya, that you can’t hide yourself from me. Even things you don’t want me to see. I love every piece of beauty, every imperfection, and I can’t get enough.”
My lips crashed down over hers. I meant to be sensual and slow, but she was hungry and so was I. Our kiss was deep and passionate, my tongue sliding over her bottom lip and tangling with hers. A delicate moan escaped her and a deep one rumbled through my chest. Liya tasted every bit as sweet as I had expected.
Her fingers fisted in my hair as she pulled me into her, desperate and dominating. Searching through the dizziness and battling for control over myself, I managed to pull away and slow the kiss. Sensual. Sweet. Caring.
I nipped her bottom lip and sucked, her gasps slowing as she caught herself.
“What are we doing?” she whispered.
“I don’t know anymore.”
“Why are you here?”
“You’re not this quiet, lost person. Where did you go?” I cupped her cheek and searched her eyes for the vibrant, full-of-life fighter that was somewhere in there.
“Most people like me to shut up,” she said quietly.
I grunted, “Not me. Where’s the snarky, smart-mouthed, opinionated woman?”
“She’s still here.”
“I miss her,” I confessed.
She craned her head back. “You miss that woman?”
“The world feels incomplete without her.”
She momentarily glanced away, her lips quivering as if she were trying not to smile. “You talk like a man who has it bad.”
I caressed her cheek as I let go. “I am a man who has it bad.”
Chapter Twenty
Liya
I’d like to believe that the half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table was to blame for my light-headedness. But I’d be lying.
I’d never been kissed like that before, with urgency and passion, and something that stirred my entire being right down to the bones. Other guys had given me the roller-coaster feeling, the need to hurry up and release as soon as possible. But with Jay? I wanted this phenomenon to slow down and last for eternity. It was as if my entire life had been broken into obscure pieces and his touch brought everything together, clarified the whole, and made me stronger.
He watched me from the other end of the couch, patiently waiting for me to speak. When I couldn’t, he lifted my feet onto his lap and rubbed the soles. The massage on the arches was delightful and erotic, and I just about lost my mind.
I wanted him to go higher and send those wondrous fingers and lips to scour every last inch of my body. My chest ached. He made it hard to breathe, to concentrate.
“How’s your ankle?” he asked.
I gave him a sheepish smile. “Is that why you’re rubbing my feet? Concerned?”
“Why else?” he asked, his eyes never leaving mine as his hands slid up my calves, massaging as they went. So much of me wanted him to keep going, all the way up, unraveling me bit by maddening bit. Instead, he promptly returned to the arches and the once-injured ankle.
My skin burned. “Didn’t you say that if I wanted to get intimate with someone, it would be with you?”
“Intimacy doesn’t have to be physical.”
I almost face-palmed. How did he just say that to me? “Do you not see what I’m wearing?” I arched my back, displaying a tight, deep neckline, and crossed my legs over his lap so that the already short hem rode even farther up my thighs.
He closed his eyes and bit his lip, but then raised his hands. “Intimacy with me is not quick, meaningless sex.”