Forever With You

by Beverley Kendall

  No doubt they’ll do what they do when they’re at home.

  “Okay. Thanks for letting me know. See you tomorrow. Have fun!” I say brightly all too aware Graham hasn’t taken his eyes off me.

  “Wait,” April pushes back on me trying to hurry the call. “How did things go tonight? How are things with the Brit? Is it really water under the bridge? If he’s still giving you problems, I’ll volunteer Troy to go to your job and kick his British butt,” she says with a laugh.

  Now I don’t dare look at Graham. “Everything’s fine. Work was busy as usual.”

  After a few moments of silence, April’s voice drops to a stealthy whisper. “He’s right there, isn’t he?”

  “Yep.”

  “Wow. Okay.” She pauses again before asking, “Everything’s alright though, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay, then I’ll see you tomorrow. Troy says bye.”

  “Tell him I said goodnight.”

  Only after I shove my cell back in my pocket do I turn and look at him.

  “Your friend?” he asks.

  I nod. “My roommate.”

  “Did she ask about me? Is that why you started whispering?”

  Warmth suffuses my face. I clear my throat. “She asked if things were better.”

  His response is to laugh. A deep, sexy, rumbling laugh that starts my lady parts humming again.

  “It sounds like she’s not coming home tonight.”

  I guess my “see you in the morning” was the big tip off. “Her and Troy.”

  He quirks an eyebrow. “Troy?”

  “Her boyfriend. We all live together,” I elaborate.

  His eyebrow inches higher. “You’re sharing a flat with your best friend and her boyfriend?”

  “Well, they weren’t together when Troy and I moved in.”

  “So tonight you’re going home to an empty flat?”

  Coming from him, it sounds illicit. Or maybe that’s me and wishful thinking.

  “Yep.”

  He nods. “Now getting back to my question. Did your reasons for coming back have anything to do with me?”

  The tension in the room soars. I’m hot. I’m cold. Then I’m hot again. Everywhere. What’s happening between my legs has me clenching the corresponding muscles. The sound of his voice, the low hum, his accent has always been a crazy turn-on to me. Today, with the animosity gone, its appeal is ten times stronger.

  I reply when I’m fairly confident my voice won’t break, crack or fade away. “I did think my chances of seeing you again would be better if I came back. It wasn’t the reason but I considered it an added bonus.”

  He nods slowly as if contemplating my answer. “So you never thought of us getting back together?”

  Crap. Now I can’t breathe. How on earth am I supposed to answer that? How far does he want me to go back? I can’t tell him how I’d celebrated my eighteenth birthday. I’d gone out dancing with my friends but had gone home early and cried myself to sleep railing at the gods that I’d met him one year and two months too early.

  If only if only if only, had been the mantra on that day and in the months that followed.

  “Do you mean before or after I saw you at the mall with your girlfriend?” I ask lightly.

  His eyes darken and if possible, his gaze grows more intense. “Either.”

  I wonder if he’s asking to have the satisfaction of getting me to admit that I’m still hung up on him so he can turn me down? Is this payback cloaked in smoldering stares meant to inspire damp panties and lust-induced palpitations? That would be fiendishly cruel of him.

  “Well, since the only time you answered my call was to tell me to get lost, I can safely say, I never thought we’d ever get back together.”

  He shakes his head. You didn’t answer the question, his expression scolds. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

  My nipples perk up at the quiet rumble of his voice. I cross my arms over my chest to hide my body’s reaction.

  “I used to, you know, before I saw you again. I mean I didn’t stop lo—having feelings for you just because you hated me. It took time, and during that time, yes, I used to think about you. About us.”

  “How long? How long did it take you to get over me?”

  Dear God, this must be his new form of torture.

  “Why does any of that matter now? Would it make you happy to know what a mess I was for an entire year after you left? That my grades dropped and I stopped modeling? That my parents sent me to a shrink? That I’ve been eaten up with guilt for the last four years?”

  He takes a step, bringing us that much closer.

  “Okay, I’ll ask it a different way. Are you over me now?”

  Wrenching my gaze from his is impossible, our connection as strong as a powerful force field.

  No. A hundred times no! But admitting that would leave me more vulnerable than I already feel. “I don’t know,” I whisper, my voice breathy and uncertain.

  With him this close, his eyes twin dark-blue flames burning into mine, I sense he wants to kiss me—that he’s going to kiss me. But his inner struggle is plain as day, written all over his face.

  Going up on the balls of my feet, I take the decision out of his hands by brushing my mouth lightly over his, testing the waters. My hands find his shoulders, wide and solid under my fingers.

  A sharp intake of breath accompanies the stiffening of his body. Unmindful and oblivious, I press my mouth harder against his, emitting a sound that is all need and want.

  I feel his hands, large and capable, lightly clasp the sides of my waist, and then firmly push me away. He breaks the kiss and gently removes my hands from his shoulders.

  “Don’t,” he says gruffly. Just one word that says so much.

  Rejected.

  I want to die. Right there on the spot. Pain and humiliation heats my face hotter than a furnace. There’s nothing left for me to do but bow my head and retreat into myself. I take several steps back.

  I’d read him wrong. He doesn’t want me.

  “I’m sorry.” I mutter the apology into my chest, unable to look at him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Emily, I’m not getting involved with you again.” His tone is hard, and acts as a warning to me—maybe to himself as well.

  I don’t know what to say except to repeat, “I’m sorry. It won’t ever happen again.” And before he can say anything else that will add insult to injury, completing my humiliation—as if that were possible—I scoop up my purse from where it’d fallen on the floor and make a dash for the door. “I have to go,” I toss over my shoulder on my way out.

  Graham doesn’t do a thing to stop me, as I practically sprint out of the bar.

  I don’t stop running until I get to my car, and by the time I’m inside, my breathing has reached asthmatic levels of breathlessness.

  Getting the key into the ignition takes a steadiness of hand I must not have because it doesn’t happen until my fourth try.

  Don’t.

  Graham’s word. His feelings about any sexual contact with me.

  And it’s that word that follows me home.

  Chapter 22

  On a scale of one to ten, my humiliation level ticked down two notches and is holding steady at eight by the time I get home. I can only thank god I have the apartment to myself. No need for me to tiptoe around, terrified of rousing April and Troy from their sleep. And I don’t have to deal with the prospect of April coming out to say hello like she sometimes does. Honestly, company is the last thing I want right now. I prefer to lick my wounds in private.

  After dropping my purse on the kitchen counter, I make my way to the living room and collapse onto the couch. Since I haven’t turned on any lights, I’m sitting in the dark. The ambience suits my mood. The only reason the place isn’t pitch black is due to the light from the full moon and street lights filtering through the slats of the horizontal blinds covering the sliding glass door.

  Shit. What was I think
ing kissing him? I’d lost my ever-loving mind, that much is obvious.

  Embarrassment, mortification and the sharp sting of rejection; those feelings all roll into one guttural groan of despair when it emerges from my mouth.

  I had been sure he wanted me. That look in his eyes. And silly deluded me, I took his breakup with his girlfriend as a sign of encouragement. Maybe fate lending a helping hand.

  Oh God. I close my eyes and bury my head in my palms. How am I ever going to be able to face him again? The future is too hard to envision right now.

  I sit up straight. That’s it. I’m going to have to quit. There’s no two ways around it. I’m not over him and working with him after what just happened is going to be a hundred different kinds of hell. It won’t be good for him either. For the last four years, I’ve been stuck, just kinda getting by. Not really living life the way someone my age should.

  There’s nothing standing in my way. Graham has forgiven me and now it’s time to move on. Quitting my job will be a huge step forward. There’s nothing I can do about school but at least he’s not in any of my classes.

  If you quit, you’ll probably never talk to him again. Is that what you really want?

  I’m still in…something with him. Whether it’s love, infatuation or just good old lust, I can’t really say, so no, this isn’t what I want. But it’s what I have to do because he doesn’t feel the same way about me and never will again.

  Now shut up and stop harassing me. I have enough problems without having to deal with you stating the obvious. I know what I’m doing and why.

  Satisfied that I’ve quieted my inner voice, I drag myself off the couch and to my bedroom, where I change into my pajamas. Despite my fatigue and the dull pain in my chest, I force myself to brush my teeth and wash the makeup off my face.

  In bed, under my olive and yellow comforter, I can’t stop thinking about the kiss and his rejection, and what I have to do when I go to work tomorrow.

  I need to give notice. Standard is two weeks but maybe John will let me get away with less. I’m sure he won’t have any problems filling my position. The tips are good, the people are great and they’re pretty flexible with the schedule.

  The sound of the doorbell startles me into stillness as my heart slams against my breastbone. I bolt upright and reach for my cell in search of the time.

  No one I know would be at my door at 2:37 in the morning. No one.

  Alert, eyes wide, my fingers gripping my iPhone, I wait to see if the person rings the bell again. I live in an apartment building full of college students. A drunk student ringing the wrong doorbell isn’t out of the question.

  Or maybe it’s Kelse. Something might have happened. She may need something.

  The doorbell rings again and this time it’s followed by a knock. That spurs me into action and I scramble out of bed and hurry to answer it, flicking on the lights along the way. Heart thundering loud in my ears, I look through the peephole and standing there is the last person I expect to see.

  My heart beats louder and my pulse races at the sight of Graham standing in the hall. What is he doing here?

  With not a little amount of trepidation, I open the door wide enough to stick my head out, the rest of my pajama-clad self hidden from view.

  “Graham, what are you doing here?”

  Both his hands are thrust in the front pockets of his dark-blue khakis and his shoulders are slightly hunched. His expression is serious and I can’t for the life of me figure out what he wants.

  “Can I come in?”

  No sorry to get you out of bed at almost three in the morning.

  Without saying a word, I step back, opening the door wide enough for him to enter. It’s funny that after everything I’d been telling myself, the thought of refusing him never once occurred to me.

  I close and lock the door, acutely aware that he’s watching my every move.

  I turn back to face him. “How do you know where I live?”

  “I have access to your personnel files, remember?” His voice is gruff and low.

  Right. Work.

  “How did you get in?” Someone would’ve had to buzz him in.

  “I was lucky. I helped Dave on the fourth floor get his friend to their flat. He had a few too many screwdrivers, I was told.”

  Well that explains that.

  “Okay then, what are you doing here?” I make no move to take our conversation from beyond the entrance. Having him in my apartment is disconcerting enough, especially since I just vowed to get out of his life.

  “You kissed me.” There’s a hint of accusation in his voice.

  My cheeks flare up like a lit match. Averting my gaze, I look everywhere but into his eyes. As if I needed a reminder. “And I apologized,” I reply, painfully aware of the hoarseness of my voice. I take an even breath and steel myself for his response.

  Suddenly the feet separating us vanishes in a blur of movement. A soft gasp of surprise echoes throughout the hall as our bodies make contact, flush from breast to thigh. Somewhere in the back of my mind I realize I’d been the source of that sound. But forefront in my thoughts is the solid feel of Graham’s chest against mine, the weight of his arms around my waist.

  Peering down at me, his eyes blaze with passion. “I don’t want you to be sorry, I just want you,” he whispers before my mouth is crushed beneath his.

  My lips immediately part for his kiss. He then takes it deeper, his tongue exploring my mouth as he fists his hand in my hair and tilts my head so it’s at just the right angle. I can’t get enough. My breath, all but gone, is swallowed by his. Pleasure races through me at breakneck speeds, the feeling familiar and new at the same time.

  God, the taste of him. I suck on his bottom lip. He lets out a husky groan, the sound hitting me right between the legs. My body responds with a rush of moisture, taking my freshly laundered panties from dry to damp.

  I’d forgotten how quickly he could make me come. Too soon sometimes. And then multiple times to make up for it.

  Oh, the feel of him. I run my hands along the broad width of his shoulders, up the cords of his neck before plunging my fingers into his hair. He palms my butt and squeezes as he grinds against me. And his erection—good god, he’s hard—hits me where I’m throbbing and wet. I wiggle my hips, pushing back against him. I missed this so much.

  I let out a ragged breath.

  “Fuck,” he groans and the sound of it hits every one of my erogenous zones. I want his hands on me everywhere all at once: my breasts, my ass, my pussy. I want him over me and inside me.

  Breaking the kiss, his mouth trails lightly, hotly down my cheek, to my chin and then my neck. “Damn, you feel good.”

  I make a helpless sound of desire in my throat, scoring my fingernails along his scalp.

  With a soft hiss of pleasure, he strings kisses down the length of my neck, sucking on the spot below my ear where I’m most sensitive. My legs get wobbly and I have to fight to stay upright. The pleasure is indescribable and unbearable, and I want it to continue as long as I live.

  Frantic, I tug the hair on the sides of his head to bring his mouth back to mine.

  He lets out a strained laugh and gives my ass a light swat. “Impatient.”

  Had his hand landed a little lower, I would have come on the spot.

  I lose all sense of everything when he begins kissing me again.

  “Where’s your room?” he asks against my lips.

  “Down the hall, first door on the right,” I manage to get out between pants.

  We can’t get there fast enough, kissing and touching the entire way. Once we reach my bedroom, Graham breaks away and immediately shrugs out of his jacket, before quickly unbuttoning his shirt. In record time, it joins his jacket on the carpet.

  “By the time I’m naked, you need to be too.” There’s a hunger and wildness in his eyes, as he looks me up and down. As if he’s already picturing me naked.

  What he doesn’t know—at least not yet—is that the sight
of his chest has me frozen in place. Beautiful light, golden skin, sleekly defined pecs and abs, dusted with dark blond hair. My panties pay the price, growing damper with each passing second.

  I want to touch him so bad it hurts.

  “Em,” he says sharply, bringing my gaze back up to his. “Clothes off.”

  The last time I stripped for a guy is never. Graham had never asked me to strip for him. I’d rather he takes the lead on this but he doesn’t seem to be having that.

  He impatiently pushes his pants down, carelessly adding it to the growing pile of clothes at his side.

  My mouth goes dry at the sight of Graham in black boxer briefs that hugs lean, muscled thighs and restrains a sizable erection.

  Unable to help myself, I reach up and run my hands over the balls of his shoulder and down his chest.

  “You still have your clothes on.”

  “You take them off.” I aim for teasing but my voice falls short, landing squarely in the pleading needy zone.

  An indecipherable emotion flickers in his eyes. “No, we’re going to do things my way. Take. Off. Your. Clothes.”

  I’m spurred into action by the seductive persuasion of his command. Seconds later my thigh-length night shirt is gone, and I’m naked save the red scrap of lace and cotton that is my thong. Cool air hits my nipples but it’s Graham’s hungry stare that turns them into pebble-hard, rosy peaks.

  His nostrils flare as his voice devolves to a growl. “Now your knickers.”

  My breathing shallows. Now I’m painfully aware of how wet I am. I stare pointedly at the boxers he has yet to take off.

  Correctly interpreting my look, he says, “You first.”

  I give an involuntary shiver. He’d always taken the lead when it came to sex, but this—Take of your clothes. Now your knickers—this is different. And something I could get used to.

  I use coyness to mask my nervousness. “If you insist.” Hooking my fingers through the elastic waistband, I pull them down and off without taking my eyes off him.

  Naked, I feel wholly exposed and emotionally vulnerable.

  Primal hunger turns Graham’s blue eyes the color of midnight. His gaze sweeps over me from head to toe, lingering on my breasts and the place where I’m throbbing and wet for him.