He backed me towards the kitchen and propped me against the counter. His fingers laced into the hair behind my ears. I lost myself in the smell, feel, and taste of him. He was kissing me silly. And man, oh man, was he good at it. My hands moved all over his firm chest and shoulders. Somewhere along the line, our goodnight kiss had turned into a kiss of need, desperation, and union.
I made an embarrassing whimpering sound. But I was too engrossed to care.
He abruptly pulled away, groaning, and set his forehead against mine. His thumbs glided along my bottom lip as he took a few shaky breaths. He swallowed hard. “Ihaveto go.”
“You don’t want—want to watch a movie or something?”
His fingers traced a line across my jaw, continuing down my neck. My breath hitched at his gentle touch. His gaze roamed over my face, and he chided me gently, “Jules, you know we wouldn’t be watching a movie.”
He fingered the lace on the neckline of my shirt. His hands were trembling with want. It was only then I realized the intensity of my own trembling and how my fingers were laced in a death grip through the back of his hair.
I was completely undone. And so was he.
One thing was crystal clear: I was hopelessly and irretrievably in love with Patrick Moore. He had thoroughly ravished my heart time and again. I couldn’t remember the last time I wanted something this badly. I wanted to beg him to stay. To be with me. To hold me tonight so I wouldn’t have to sleep alone. To wrap me in his arms and kiss me until morning.
I knew this wouldn’t last, but at the moment, all I could think about was him. The security of his embrace and the warmth of his heart.
I reluctantly released my grasp, letting my hands slip down to his chest. He shifted further away and whispered, “Walking out of this apartment is going to be one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”
I swallowed, still working to gain my composure. “You’ve done a lot of hard things.”
His face was pained as he placed another tender kiss on my lips. “Leaving you is rivaling prison right now.”
I laughed softly but there was no humor on his face. His furrowed brows and darkened eyes stirred something in the depths of my soul. He was a true man, devoted and committed to his convictions. I sure as heck didn’t deserve him. Maybe I was the last woman on earth to deserve him. One day, he’d wake up and smell the coffee. The thought stuffed my lungs, and I couldn’t exhale. What would I do when I lost him?
Pat leaned forward one last time, except he moved past my face and dropped his lips to the open part of the sleeve over my shoulder. He grabbed my hands, kissed them too, and whispered goodnight.
When the door shut behind him, I flopped onto the couch in a state of stupor. That kiss! Had I ever been kissed that way? What was it about Pat that overwhelmed me on the deepest level? Maybe it was his tender heart, his steady calm, or his courage. Just him as a whole. The fact he could flat-out kiss was only the icing on top.
I jumped up and paced my kitchen and living room, thinking, reliving the kiss over and over, and stress-eating a handful of chocolate chips. I couldn’t ignore the conflict raging in me.
His words knocked around my brain. “You deserve so much more than a hookup, Jules. You deserve love and commitment.”
But he didn’t understand. I’d never be worthy of those things.
Cameron’s face was fuzzy in my memory. The details of his features were growing faint with distance. Cameron’s eyes had this unique way of bunching at the corners when he smiled. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t picture it in my mind like I could before. The realization churned panic in me. How could I forget? How could Iletmyself forget?
It wasn’t that way with Pat. I’d spent every possible moment learning each and every detail about him. The dimple in his left cheek, the dark green flecks in his hazel eyes, and the peak of his lips. His laugh, his whisper, his desires, his dreams.
Cameron was slipping away.
I numbly followed my nighttime routine and got into my cold bed. The deep, black spot in my heart was wide open. Sleep was a million miles away, and an emotional breakdown was on my doorstep.
Cam, I’m in love. I’m so so sorry.
I squeezed my blanket until my fists hurt.
I don’t know what to do.
When sleep finally found me, my pillow was wet with tears.
FORTY-TWO
Sunny
I’d done my best not to keep eyeing the gift beside Pat’s chair. But I knew it had to be for me. It was almost Christmas, after all.
Pat and I talked in the visitation room again. He was even easier to talk to this time, and it was less awkward. He actually brought a variety box of Goldfish crackers. We opened a package of original, bold, and colorful ones. Taste-tested them all and both agreed original was the best, colorful was the worst.
