Alyssa took advantage of his silence and hurried to the kitchen, placing the counter island between them. Did she really think that would protect her? After what had happened the last time? If anything, it should be a clear reminder of his last visit here. He watched her, waiting for the reaction on her face when she remembered. But her expression never changed. Her brows were still lowered, her full mouth pursed in impatience. The expression did little to inspire confidence in Randy, but he had to know.
"Why did you tell Val I used you?" The words were harsh, his voice too loud for the small space. Alyssa jumped, either in surprise at the question, or at the tone of his voice. She looked over at him, not meeting his eyes, then just as quickly looked away and folded her arms across her chest.
"I didn't."
"Really?" Randy moved the few steps across the small room, stopping when he reached the island. He placed his hands against the counter and leaned forward. "Then would you care to explain why she accused me of fucking and chucking you?"
Alyssa jumped again, no doubt at his use of foul language, but he didn't care. Let the crudeness of his words burn her ears. It was no harsher than her own accusation.
"I didn't tell her! That's just what she thought." Alyssa's words were hoarse, almost strangled, reflecting the discomfort on her face. Randy didn't want to believe them, had no reason to believe them.
And he had no reason to disbelieve them, either. Could Val have just misinterpreted something Alyssa had said? Depending on what that something was, yes. He knew his sister, knew she sometimes heard what she wanted to hear.
Which still meant that Alyssa must have said something, given her some reason to think the worst. Randy leaned forward even more, taking grim satisfaction when Alyssa stepped back, despite the counter between them. The kitchen was small and she didn't have anywhere to go, couldn't avoid him or his questions.
"So why did she think that, Alyssa? What did you say? Or is that just what you wanted her to think? Maybe you were the one who wanted nothing more than a one-night stand. Is that it?"
"What? No! I'm not like that."
"Hey, if that's all you wanted, I have no problem with it. I'll even oblige you again. But just make sure you let me know next time." The words were harsher than he intended, revealing too much: to her, to himself. He saw her flinch and wished he could take the words back, but it was too late.
Color drained from her face, then quickly reversed and stained her cheeks bright red. Her back stiffened and she pulled the collar of the robe more tightly around her, like it was a shield against him. She refused to look at him, her eyes focused somewhere over his shoulder as her mouth tightened into a pale line.
"I think you should leave now."
He ignored her as his temper flared just a little more. Figuring he had nothing left to lose, he let his mouth race ahead, ignoring the warning whistling in his mind. "Just tell me one thing, Alyssa. If all you wanted was a quick fuck, why not just tell me the truth?"
"Do you want the truth? The truth is that I was too embarrassed to talk to you because I couldn't remember what happened! And now I know why I can't remember—it must not have been very good, because there is no way I would have enjoyed myself with an arrogant ass like you!" She screamed the words at him, the volume and pitch ringing in his ears and lodging like a pick at the base of his skull. Her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, her face red from anger.
Then her words sank in, hitting him with the same force as a body check against the boards. He leaned back, as quickly as if he had been slapped, and stared at her.
All this time, he had wondered what he had done wrong, wondered if he had said something wrong. He had been obsessing over her for almost two months, had even argued with his sister. For nearly two months. And it was because she couldn't remember.
She. Couldn't. Remember.
Emotions whirled through him, mixing hot and cold, and he was furious when he realized part of him wanted to laugh. Laughter was the last thing he wanted to do, the last thing he should do.
She couldn't remember.
His first instinct was purely Neanderthal: he wanted to pull her into his arms and remind her of what had happened. Christ, what man wouldn't? Randy swallowed and clenched his fists, forcing himself not to move, not to give in to that inner caveman he didn't realize lived within him.
His second instinct was to just give in to the insane urge to laugh. Laugh at the absurdity, laugh at the complete ridiculousness of it. She had enjoyed it, whether she remembered it or not. Either that, or she was one hell of an actress. He had been with enough women to know the difference, and there was no doubt in his mind that she wasn't an actress.
His third, and last, instinct was the one he least expected. Curiosity, plain and simple. He knew what had happened that night. He remembered every single detail, from her soft sighs to her throaty moans. Hell, he had been reliving them damn near every night for the last two months. Not just reliving. Obsessing.
"Why don't you remember?" The question obviously surprised her nearly as much as it did him. Maybe not the question, but rather his tone. He wasn't defensive, wasn't affronted. In fact, he sounded damn near understanding.
He didn't want to be understanding. Couldn't be understanding. But he did want to know why.
Alyssa finally met his gaze, just a brief glance before her eyes slid away and looked down at the floor. Color still fanned her cheeks, but it was more pink now instead of a furious red. She chewed on her bottom lip, then blew her breath out in frustration as she ran a hand through her damp hair.
"I'm not a big wine drinker."
He remembered that night, remembered her answering the door with an empty wine bottle held over her shoulder. He hadn't thought anything of it that night, thinking she had just grabbed whatever was closest at hand before answering the door. And then he had poured her one glass. Just one.
"You weren't drunk." He knew that, was willing to bet money on it. She hadn't slurred her speech, hadn't swayed or stumbled. There was no way she had been drunk.
"Not like you think, no. But anything more than one glass, and you might as well just prop me in a corner."
"But you only had the one glass." He thought again about the empty wine bottle that had been in her hands. "Didn't you?"
Alyssa looked over at him and shook her head, the splash of color on her cheeks deepening. "I was exhausted and couldn't sleep, hadn't really had any sleep for over a month. There was half a bottle left in the refrigerator. I finished it right before you got here."
Which was definitely more than two glasses.
Randy pushed himself away from the counter and paced the living room—which wasn't saying much, given how tiny the space was. He whirled back around, saw Alyssa standing alone in the kitchen, her head tilted forward, her arms crossed tightly in front of her. Part of him wanted to just turn away from her and walk out the door.
Part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and just hold her.
He wasn't exactly happy with either part of him right now.
"Why didn't you say something?"
"When? That night?"
"That night. The next day. Any of the times I tried calling."
"What was I supposed to say? I've never done anything like that before!"
"So it was better to just ignore me? Hell Alyssa, if you wanted to see me again, you could have lied. I would have never known. And if you didn't, all you had to say was that you weren't interested."
The sound that came from her was too indelicate to be a soft laugh, but not quite harsh enough to be a snort. She didn't bother looking at him when she replied. "And you would have been happy with that? With me saying I wasn't interested?"
Hell no, he wouldn't have been. But he would have accepted it, instead of beating himself up for the last two months. "Believe it or not, I have been turned down before. It hasn't killed me yet."
She made that sound again, but otherwise didn't move. Silence stretched around them for long s
econds, and Randy still didn't know what to do. Leave? Go to her? Stand in this same fucking spot all night?
He ran his hands over his face, feeling the rasp of stubble against his palms. It was almost two in the morning, and his car was parked several blocks away. If he left now, even counting the time it would take him to walk back, he could be home in forty minutes. Asleep. In his oversized bed.
But instead of walking to the door, his feet carried him back to the counter island, then around it, not stopping until he was a foot away from Alyssa. He blew out a breath, wondering why the hell he was so intent on punishing himself even more.
"Do you remember any of it?" He didn't know why he asked, didn't know why it mattered to him.
Alyssa peered up at him through thick lashes, her eyes filled with embarrassment. She shrugged, and the silky robe slid just the tiniest bit, revealing a creamy shoulder and part of her collarbone. Randy looked away, feeling like a lecher for enjoying just that small sight of her bare flesh.
"Some. A little."
He swallowed a hoarse groan, hoping that her choice of words wasn't intentional. Yeah, he could say he had a healthy ego all he wanted, but apparently he was lying to himself.
He stepped closer, close enough he could feel the heat from her body through the silky robe. Her warmth wrapped around him, drawing him in, and he wondered if he was making an even bigger mistake right now.
But she didn't move, and he took that as a good sign as he reached out and gently traced the swell of her lower lip with the tip of his finger. A tremble went through her but she didn't move, didn't even look up at him.
"Would you like me to help you remember?" The question was risky, but not as risky as asking if she wanted him to leave. Part of him didn't even know why he was still here. He should leave, that would be the smart thing to do. He had been obsessing over the woman in front of him for nearly two months, wanting another taste, another touch.
Only to find out that she didn't remember anything.
Maybe it was nothing more than having his ego bruised and needing to prove himself. Maybe it was some misplaced notion of making her burn as much as he had burned over the last weeks.
Or maybe it was just simple need, the need to taste and touch again, to see if it was as he remembered, or if he had simply built the experience to something bigger in his mind. But she finally looked up at him, her exotic eyes wide, hesitant. And then she nodded, just the slightest movement, so small he would have missed it had he not been looking for it.
Something dangerously close to relief filled him, immediately replaced by a burning fever so hot he was surprised he didn't combust right there. He might have smiled as he brushed by her, but probably not. He turned, his chest to her back, and reached out to finger the damp strands of her hair.
"I poured you a glass of wine, and you downed it."
"I...I remember that part."
"Good, because I don't plan on doing that again." He closed his hand around the back of her neck, gently, feeling her shoulders automatically bunch together. "You haven't had any wine tonight, have you?"
"N-no."
"Good." He stepped even closer, brought his second hand up to her shoulders and gently pushed in with his fingers. She sighed, a small rush of air as he found the knots and gently pressed his fingers into them. "You were tense, filled with knots, and I gave you a massage. Like this."
Her body slowly relaxed, her shoulders and back easing under his touch. He alternated, pressing deeply then barely skimming, his fingers working her muscles through the soft silk of her robe, then slowly easing just inside the collar. Her skin was soft, flush, warm. He dipped his head and gently kissed the back of her neck, under her ear, playfully nipped her earlobe. Her breathing turned into short gasps as her head dropped back against his chest.
He dipped his right hand down along her shoulder to her arm, then across to the belt that held the robe in place. He found the end and tugged, pulling until the robe parted. She stiffened in his arms, her hand grabbing his and holding it still.
"The lights. Only the stove light was on."
He ran his tongue along the side of her neck, then gently turned her to face him. "It doesn't have to be exact."
"No, I don't want the lights on. Please."
Randy thought about ignoring her, about kissing and teasing her until she forgot about the lights. But there was something in her voice, something almost pleading that he couldn't ignore. He stepped back and she darted away from him, quickly shutting off the living room light, then palming a switch that plunged the kitchen into near darkness. The light was on in her bedroom, casting a soft glow that barely reached them. For a minute, Randy thought she would race to turn that off as well. But she didn't. And she didn't turn on the stove light, either.
He almost said something, almost asked why she didn't want the light. Then she was in front of him once more, and he realized he didn't care.
She tried to turn around so her back was to him, but he gently grabbed her arm to stop her. Then he pulled her closer and lowered his mouth to hers, gently at first, calming, reassuring.
She uttered a small sigh and his gentle determination disappeared. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her more tightly against him, fitting her hips to his as his tongue plunged into her. Her mouth was warm, spicy, inviting. Better than he remembered.
And suddenly it wasn't enough. Lust, hot and powerful, surged through him, and he wanted, needed more. Two months he had waited, remembered. Two months of obsession, two months of torture.
He wanted Alyssa.
Now.
Chapter Eleven
Randy groaned, an agonizing sound of need that grew each time her hips pressed against his throbbing erection. He reached between them, fumbled with the snap and zipper of his jeans, his cock aching. It would be so easy to free himself, so easy to plunge deep inside her warmth and end the torture.
But not yet. Not just yet.
Her robe had slipped open, revealing a slice of creamy skin from her neck down to the juncture of her thighs. He pulled back, let his eyes wander, followed his gaze with the tip of one finger. Her skin pebbled under his touch and her head fell back, her chest rising and falling with short gasps.
She had thought to hide from him when she turned out the lights. But the reflection from the bedroom light bathed her, casting her soft skin in a pale glow. Beautiful.
Randy swallowed and pushed the robe open further, revealing the full swell of her breasts, the softness of her belly. His hand tightened around her waist, holding her in place when she would have moved. He traced the line of her collarbone, ran his finger down, down to the swell of her breast, to the dark rosiness of her nipple, tightened with arousal. He traced the pebbled tip, feeling it harden more under his touch. Her chest hitched with a sudden breath and he dragged his gaze back to her face, meeting her widened eyes.
"Beautiful." Her eyes widened even more and she moved her hand. To close the robe? To rob him of this pure pleasure? No. He caught her hand in his and held it out to the side, then lowered his head and ran his tongue around her hardened nipple before pulling it into his mouth. He nipped and sucked, using his mouth and tongue on her until her breathing came even faster.
He kissed his way across her chest and teased her other nipple, before treating it with the same care as the first. Her hands floated around him, coming to rest on his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscles. To push him away? God, no. Please.
But she didn't push him away. Instead, her hands ran across his shoulder, up through his hair until they rested on his head, holding him in place. He ran his hand down, his fingers snagging the silk sash of her robe and giving it a final tug.
He pulled back and stood up, her sigh of disappointment a soft sound between them. But he didn't step back, didn't move except to reach up and slide the robe from her shoulders. The material slithered down her skin, falling into a soft pool of crimson at her feet.
And he looked.
Her da
mp hair was drying, the soft tendrils curling around her face. Eyes wide, she watched him, her chest rising and falling with each breath, her full lips swollen and slightly parted.
"Beautiful."
She shook her head, opened her mouth to say something, but he reached out and pressed two fingers against her lips, silencing her. "Beautiful."
Then he stepped back, just barely, and reached down for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. He ran his hand down her arm and folded his fingers around hers. Slowly, never looking away, he guided her hand to the center of his chest and held it there, letting her feel the pounding of his heart beneath her palm.
Her tongue darted out and licked her lips. Heat coiled tighter inside him and his cock grew even harder, almost uncomfortable inside his jeans. He swallowed, barely restraining himself, wanting nothing more than to drive into her.
Not yet. Not until she felt some of the torture he had been feeling for the last two months.
He wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her tightly against him, claiming her mouth in a hard kiss. Her hands tightened on his shoulders and he pulled away, damn near growling as he lifted her and sat her on the island.
She gave a soft cry of surprise, her eyes widening even more as she watched him. His smile was wicked before he closed his mouth once more on her nipple, his hands roaming along her skin, warm and flush under his touch.
He dragged his hand down, not stopping until he reached the soft curls between her legs. He gently ran one finger between the moist folds, growled when she tried to close her legs against him.
He was relentless in his touch, demanding her surrender. Her legs eased open and he gently spread her thighs further apart, then continued rubbing her, stroking her clit. He slid one finger inside, feeling her wetness, feeling her heat close around him.
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