Scorned (From the Inside Out #1) (10 page)

My tongue runs over my bottom lip—a lip that’s swollen from kissing—his wonderful and erotic kisses. “I should go,” I say, wanting to avoid any major awkwardness. “Thank you for dinner and dessert…” I wave my hand around, definitely making it more awkward. “… And everything else.” Oh God this is embarrassing. Hopefully I’m not blowing it after such a great night.

“You’re a beautiful woman, but I think you’re pretty damn cute when you get embarrassed, Jules.” He takes me gently by the arm, halting my retreating body. “By the way, you have no reason to be embarrassed.”

“It’s been a long time. I don’t know what came over me.” I talk to our feet, avoiding his eyes altogether.

He pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me, comforting me. “You were turned on. I was too,” he says, lifting my chin up against my will until I relax and look him in the eyes. “You can still see how much you turn me on.” He glances down between us then back up again. I don’t need to look. I can feel how turned on he is. “Do you want to talk about it? I don’t want you leaving here feeling bad about what we did or regretting it. I liked it too much for that. I like
you
too much for that.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, not tonight. I’m tired and that will take too long. I won’t regret it. It was amazing. You are amazing.”

“Then let’s talk about me and how inflated my ego is now that I gave you an orgasm from second base.” He chuckles, the sound is refreshing and when I start to laugh, I feel the weight of a long carried burden beginning to lift from my shoulders. He adds, “I haven’t made out like that since I was in college.”

I hit his chest in jest and reprimand lightly, “You are so bad.”

“I can’t have you taking things like tonight too seriously. We have enough problems in life. We don’t need to add embarrassed over having an amazing time with a handsome man to the list.”

“Stop it!” I playfully reply, squirming in his arms. “Next time I’ll resist just so I can deflate some of that ego of yours.”

Gripping me tighter, not wanting to let me escape, he takes me by the waist and swivels me. After kissing me lightly on the head, he says, “Never. I don’t want you to ever hold back. You don’t have to with me. Outside of our apartments you can be who you need to be to feel comfortable enough to face reality, but in here, I want the real you—the you I saw tonight. The you that laughs, and recites cheesy pick-up lines, and spontaneously orgasms when a guy grabs your boobs. That’s the you I want when it’s just the two of us.” He kisses me on the corner of the mouth. “Now please tell me that I get to spend more time with this you sometime soon.”

I nod, wanting this, wanting to spend more time with him because I like this me too. I like the me I am with him.

“Yes, I want that.” I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him slowly down to me. “I’d like that a lot.”
Kiss
. “Even the spontaneous orgasming part.”
Kiss
. “Especially the spontaneous orgasming part.”
Kiss
.

I step back from him, grabbing my purse and head for the elevator. “I hate to orgasm and go, but I have an early morning meeting.”

“I think your embarrassment is now called bragging. Ms. Braggy Braggerton, how’s Sunday night for you? Can you fit me in?”

I glance down at his erection that’s straining against his pants, then back up and reply, “That remains to be seen… or should I say felt, but I’m free that evening. My place. I’ll text you directions.” The elevator doors open and I step in.

“I’m too much of a gentleman to reply to that, but I want you to know that I think you’re pretty damn fantastic.” He leans his shoulder against the door that is trying to close on him.

“Also,” he says, stepping back, but I finish his sentence, “I owe you one.”

I see him fist-pump just as the doors close. I laugh aloud because I’m happy, because no one is around to judge me, or take away how perfect this night was.

“I’M SORRY,” AUSTIN
says, “I didn’t expect it would be this long until I saw you again. I’ve had some words with my corporate accountants over this last minute tax bullshit.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been busy anyway.” I fist his shirt in my hands and pull him closer. “I’ll forgive you on one condition.”

Our lips meet.

Not shy.

Possessive.

Reciprocal.

Smiles interrupt before we go too far. The newness of the relationship is exciting. “That was the condition,” I say, “so we’re all good here.”

His hands go to my sides and he whispers, “I missed you if that matters.”

“It matters a lot.”

More kisses from him. More giggles from me
.

“Show me around your place.” He walks away, letting his fingers linger on my hip as he passes. Studying the room, he turns. “You just have the one piece?”

I follow his gaze to the painting that hangs above my couch. “Yeah.”

“I thought you’d have an apartment full of art, putting mine to shame.”

Although I could have bought all the pieces he did, I don’t treat myself that way.
A touchy subject. A complicated one too.

“I apologize.” Worry graces his face, his forehead wrinkling as he approaches. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that this one isn’t enough—”

“I know. It’s okay, Austin. You didn’t offend me. This painting is the only one that struck me enough to hang it.”

He kisses the side of my head, his hand finding my waist again before he turns to stand in front of it. “It’s an extraordinary piece. The streaks making it unique. Was water used on it?”

“Something like that.”

“Oil, not acrylic?”

“Yes.”

“I can give you a tour, but it will consist of: here’s the living room, this way to the bedroom, and the bathroom right through there, and then we’d be back in the kitchen.”

He must have noticed the lack of furniture, the lack of décor, the lack of life because he asks, “I like it, Jules. Have you lived here long?”

“Yes, a while now and thank you, but you’re being too kind. I know it’s small, but it is what it is and about all I can manage to maintain with the amount of hours I put in at the gallery.”

“It’s great. Now,” he says, rubbing his hands together. “How can I help with dinner?”

I laugh because like him, I ordered food. “You can help me unpack the bag. Hope you like spicy. I ordered Thai.”

Thirty minutes later, he sets his plate down on the counter. “That was great. I haven’t had Thai in a few months, maybe a year. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” I clear the plates, putting them in a sink of soapy water, and offer him another beer.

We ate standing up in the kitchen. Austin makes himself more comfortable by moving to the couch. With a devious grin, he says, “You know I always crave something sweet after eating something spicy. Can I treat you to an ice cream?”

“Make it a froyo and you got yourself a deal.”

He stands and stretches. “Froyo it is.”

The night is warm, no sweater needed, but I stand close to him anyway. “Oh my God! This is unf!”

“Unf?”
he repeats.

I lick my spoon clean and see him smile at me. “Yes, unf! It’s orgasmic.”

He laughs and I blush, but I love saying what I want around him. He takes everything in stride and has a great sense of humor.

“Speaking of,” I start to say, but rise up on my toes and kiss him instead of finishing with words.

His lips are cold from the frozen yogurt and he tastes of berries. His free hand finds the back of my head, holding me to him, both of us wanting more. Our chilled tongues heat quickly once they touch, mingle, and slide. A moan escapes as I forget about my dessert and savor him instead.

Although I don’t, he must have remembered where we are because he stops with a gentle smile on his face and whispers. “You make me want to do things to you, Ms. Weston, but not on a New York street.”

I toss the rest of my frozen treat into the garbage and take his hand. “Yeah, I think we’re done here. Let’s go back.”

He tosses his own container and we start walking. We don’t talk on the way back, anticipation building with our pace. As soon as I lock the deadbolt, he’s on me, pinning me against the door with his body, his mouth on my neck, hands in my hair. My right leg lifts seemingly of its own accord balancing against his hip. His hand grips my thigh, holding it up while sliding down.

Breathless and with his eyes closed, he leans his forehead against mine. “You are driving me crazy, Jules. I feel out of control around you.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m not used to that.”

“You do the same to me,” I say with a breathy pant. “I haven’t felt like this in a long time.”

“And I thought I was special,” he teases.

Leaning my head back against the door with a thud, I laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” Looking me in the eyes, a more serious tone takes over. “You all right with this?”

“I am. Look, I find you attractive,
extremely
attractive and, well…” My body heats against his, wanting him. “You turn me on probably more than I should admit to. You have beautiful eyes,” I say because they are and the way they look at me makes me weak in the knees.

He bites down on his bottom lip, gazing down at me, then says, “You have beautiful everything, Jules.” He kisses me.

This is the moment. The moment I need to decide if I’m going to take this further. He’s made his feelings clear, but am I ready for more…

Further
.

Further emotionally.

Further physically.

Further into a relationship with this man who seems to be perfect—
a perfect man who is interested in me for some reason despite being broken.
Does he not see that? Is it not as obvious on the outside? Have I become that good of an actress?

He’ll find out and when he does I’ll lose him. But maybe…

Maybe he can heal me.

Maybe that’s why we seem to work right now.

Maybe he needs me just as much.

Maybe he’s broken on the inside too.

He sighs, touching my cheek. “Hey there, where’d you disappear to?”

I look down, ashamed that I got lost in the muss of thoughts clouding my brain instead of appreciating what’s right here, what’s tangible and real, loving and giving. I slide my hand up his neck to his cheek and look at him. His small smile shows his concern, despite trying to mask it. “I’m sorry,” I reply.

“Jules, we can slow down if that’s what worries you.”

I like the way his hands feel on me, gentle, patient, but firm. Strong. I lean forward tucking myself against him, resting my cheek on his chest and close my eyes.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“I like you, Austin. Definitely more than I should—”

“Why shouldn’t you? Tell me. Are we moving too fast?”

“We messed around on our first date, but it took us three years to have a drink. So it’s fast in some ways and not in others, but I like it. You make me feel and I haven’t felt anything in a long time. It’s nice.”

“You haven’t had feelings for anyone in a long time?”

“Yes… and no. I’ve not felt anything at all for years. I’ve been numb.”

“You were hurt.” He guesses right.

I drop back against the door, not ready to face him, staring at the space that has developed between us when all I want is his warmth again, his hands all over me. Instead, he tucks them into his pockets, the exact opposite of what I want. “I was, but I’ve been hurting myself ever since.” I take him by the arm and walk to the couch.

I deserve to be happy, I repeat, hoping one day I truly believe it. But for now, I convince myself that I’m good enough for this great guy. I swallow hard, then say, “It may sound strange, but I want this, you, what’s happening between us. I like it and I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to do this slow and careful. I just want to continue enjoying this.”

He laughs, the weight of the conversation lifting. “I do too. I like what we’re sharing. I’ve not been in a real relationship in a few years, not one that was good and honest. I think we may be good for each other because this, this is as honest as it gets. Our cards are down—”