I think of Cat and her dating spree the past few months: the way she compared it to a job interview and the amount of work she puts into looking and behaving a certain way when she goes on a date. I guess he’s not wrong.
“But you—you’re just yourself and you don’t try to impress me. You’re so caring, so sweet. You see the good in the world, you’re optimistic and hopeful.” His eyes are tender, lit with affection. “I know those are the things you don’t like about yourself, but they’re the things that make you who you are.”
Warmth rushes along my skin, down my limbs, sinking into my bones. I think of Christmas Day in his kitchen, when he held me and made me feel understood, and I realize I feel the same way now. I always do around him.
“And I’m sorry I was such a jerk earlier,” he adds quietly. “After Christmas, I felt so connected to you. And then on New Year’s… I don’t know. You’ve been so hot and cold with me. It felt like you were playing games and I am so over that shit. I’m not going to do that.”
“Oh,” I murmur. “I’d never thought of it like that. Shit, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to play games.”
“I know.” He takes my hand, sliding his fingers between mine and squeezing. “It’s okay, I know. That’s not who you are.”
“It’s not. I could never do that to you, Michael. You’re such a good guy. When I’m with you I just feel like myself. You listen to me and I feel like… I don’t know. You understand me and accept me in a way that no one else does.” I pause, then add, “And you’re a great dad. I know you worry that you’re not, but you are.”
He gazes at me with a sad smile and I wonder when someone last said these things to him. He needs someone to tell him he’s a good guy and a good dad. I feel a sting in my heart at the thought that maybe he’s been a bit lonely. I don’t ever want him to feel that again.
Regret seeps into me as I think about the past couple of months, the time I’ve let slip away. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I shouldn’t have fought this so hard.”
He raises my hand to his lips and kisses the back of it. “It’s okay. I know you had your reasons.”
I look down at our hands with a sigh. “Yeah,” I mumble, wondering how to explain that after Travis dumped me, I was beginning to believe the problem wasn’t men—it wasme. I always find it too easy to imagine—or hope for—things that aren’t there. I still feel like I can’t quite trust my ability to distinguish between reality and fantasy.
But when I look at myself through Michael’s eyes, I see things differently. I see myself the way he sees me—and that’s why it feels like this time, it’s different. I really want to trust that feeling.
Still, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t another thought nagging at me. Because if I’m not careful, I could lose the writing career I’ve only just started to build—the thing I’ve dreamed of my whole life, the thing I gave up on back home, the thing my parents have told me over and over is not going to happen. Since I’ve been writing, I’ve rediscovered my passion and it’s helped me find a sense of inner strength I didn’t know I had. And I can’t lose that now.
That thought scares me more than anything.
35
Idon’t want to think about that now.
I push all thoughts of my writing from my head, tracing my fingertip through the patch of hair on Michael’s chest. The feel of his warm skin beside me, the smell of him filling my lungs… There’s a flutter between my legs as my eyes track up and down his body. Is it crazy that I want him again, so soon?
He shuffles up the bed slightly so he’s sitting back against the headboard, then reaches for me, and there’s a zing of anticipation down my center.
Maybe it’s not just me.
Feeling bold, I turn and swing one leg over him, straddling him. He slides his hands around my waist and onto my back, and I tilt my head down, pressing my mouth to his. His tongue is the most delicious thing I’ve ever had in my mouth. Well, so far.
We kiss leisurely, nibbling on each other, tasting each other, and it’s not long before I can feel his growing desire pressing against me. Inching back on his lap, I slip my hands inside his underwear, sighing in his ear when I feel how much he wants me again.
And this time, I’m going to do this my way. I climb off his lap, crawling down between his knees. His eyes darken as he watches me slide my hand around his hard length and moisten my lips. I’m aching to have him in my mouth, to taste him. Hell, I’ve imagined it enough times.
“Alex,” he says, his voice rough like sandpaper. “You don’t have to do that.”
I gaze up at him hungrily. “I know I don’t have to. Iwantto.” Then I lean forward and swipe my tongue over the tip of him, savoring his salty taste.
“Ohhh,” he growls, threading a hand into my hair. “Do you know how many times I’ve pictured you doing this?”
I giggle, heat blossoming low in my belly as I stroke my hand up and down, admiring the impressive shape and size of him.
“Especially after what you told me at New Year’s.”
“What?” I lift my hand off him and lean back. “What did I tell you at New Year’s?”
A low laugh rumbles from his chest. “That’s right, you don’t remember.” His eyes glitter as he reaches down and wraps a big hand around himself, stroking gently, his gaze still fixed on me. I let out a pant at the sight of it, feeling my thighs quiver.
“You told me you wanted to get down on your knees in front of me.” His mouth tips into a sexy grin. “You didn’t finish the sentence, but when you stared at my crotch and licked your lips, it was pretty obvious.”
