I laugh once, surprised. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he says, nodding, and then his expression turns serious. “Before you go, I’ve got something important to tell you, but I wanted to tell you this in person.”
I laugh timidly, biting my bottom lip. “Okay …”
He stares at me, his eyes surveying my face as his expression turns serious, his voice dropping low. “Through our letters and phone calls, I feel we’ve created an amazing connection, one I’ve never felt before. I wanted to wait until we were face to face and after we kissed to make sure I was one-hundred percent correct about my feelings. You’re the woman of my dreams, and I’ve fallen head over heels in love with you.”
My breath hitches. “You have?”
“Yeah, I have,” he says, watching me tentatively. “I don’t want you to feel any pressure to have to say it back to me. I want you to mean it when you say it. This is just something that I couldn’t keep inside anymore.”
Joshua is watching me curiously and I don’t know what to say. My face flushes. I don’t know if I’m mad at him for waiting until the end of the visit to tell me this, or happy about it.
Maybe both.
I’m really not sure.
He stands up then, pulling me up with him, tugging me back into his arms. I stumble, catching myself on his chest, my arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.
Cupping the back of my neck with the perfect amount of pressure, he tilts my head so I have no choice but to look up at him. His thumb sweeps across my bottom lip, and I let out a shuddering breath as he tilts his head, and his lips hit mine.
He seizes me then, pulling me in tight, one of his hands digging into the small of my back, while the other puts more pressure on the back of my head. There’s no gentleness to the kiss, no sign of the tenderness he typically shows me.
The man kisses me like he means it, like he needs it, like he’s never going to let me go.
I don’t want him to let me go.
When he pulls away, I let out a sound that I’ve never heard come from my lips before. It’s a whimper or a moan or perhaps it’s a mix of both, and a hint of a smile takes over his face when he hears it.
“Love you, beautiful,” he says, his thumb taking one more quick pass across my bottom lip. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
12
L Word Awkwardness
I’m a mess, nervous and tired, only half-dressed, wearing leggings and a hot pink bra and trying to put on my makeup.
It’s not going well.
My hands are shaky, causing my eyeliner to jiggle across my lids. Groaning, I set the pencil down and reach for the makeup remover, glancing at the clock.
It’s just after one o’clock in the afternoon.
That means I have an hour and a half to torture myself and try to convince myself that this is real, that Joshua meant what he said and he isn’t just playing me—using me.
And torture myself, I do. I try to figure out what to do, what to think, replaying every word Joshua said at the end of the visit yesterday.
When I finally manage to get my eyeliner on straight, I finish getting ready, straightening my hair, and then stressing over my clothes, before settling on a pair of dark wash skinny jeans and a black empire-style top, finishing off my look with a pair of black knee-high boots.
And then I pace around my hotel room, continually glancing at the clock, not wanting to arrive at the prison too early, but also not wanting to be late. By the time two o’clock arrives, I’m a frazzled bundle of nerves, convinced that the man is just messing with me.
Swallowing down a wave of unease, I make sure to grab my room key, stuffing it in my purse as I head out the door.
My heart races as I drive to the prison, nearly missing each and every turn. I have to remove my bra again to get through the metal detector, along with my boots, but it’s not nearly as scary this time.
I’m sitting at our table with my head down, Joshua’s drink and Swedish Fish waiting for him, when he appears beside me, taking off his coat and placing it over the back of his chair.
I blink a few times, too lost in my own head to notice his approach. “Uh, hey.”
“Hey, beautiful,” he says, grinning as he takes a step toward me. “Come here.”
Standing up, I take a small, hesitant step toward him. I guess I’m not moving fast enough because suddenly, he’s on me. His arms wrapping around my waist, his fingers digging into my lower back.
And then those beautiful, kissable lips hit mine.
My insides warm and my knees shake. His lips push mine open, hungry. He tastes like cinnamon again, and although I don’t really care for cinnamon, on him, I love it. Can’t get enough of it.
My own hunger unleashes as his tongue rubs against mine, causing my pulse to jump in excitement and my nipples to peak. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, completely forgetting about the guards and inmates close by.
I forget everything.
Forget my anger.
Forget my anxiety and conflict.
For those ten seconds, I forget everything but him.
Joshua pulls away, laughing softly against my lips. “Missed you, gorgeous.”
The words and the unmistakable arousal in his voice send my heart crashing into my rib cage. I whisper, “I missed you, too.”
His arms drop from my waist then, and reluctantly, I let my arms fall from his neck, both of us taking a seat. We sit in silence for a moment, my anxiety ramping back up as Joshua rips into his candy, popping one into his mouth, grinning as he chews it. “How was the hotel? Did you sleep alright?”
“Sure,” I say, shrugging. “The hotel was great.”
He looks at me, and then his mouth opens for a moment before anything actually comes out. “You look tired.”
That’s because I am tired.
And confused.
And annoyed.
Joshua reaches across, taking my hand and rubbing it, his eyes hot, but yet, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.
I look at him, feeling slightly high and dizzy. He’s cute. No, scratch that. He’s sexy. He’s hot. He’s … perfect. Not just looks perfect, but inside, too. He’s sweet, thoughtful, caring. He’s just … perfect, and yet, I can’t rid myself of the anger that’s been simmering in my veins since yesterday’s visit.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I mutter, squeezing his hand, and hope to hell that I sound nonchalant enough. “Just bummed that it’s the last visit, I guess.”
I can’t miss his sudden amused smile. He shakes his head, chuckling softly. “Baby, I can tell something’s wrong. Just tell me what’s going on.”
Smiling in return, hoping to ease the blow, I pull my hands away, leaning back in my chair. “I think you’re an ass.”
“Baby, why would you say something like that?” he whispers sadly, his grin vanishing.
I lift an eyebrow. “Because you are. How could you tell me you love me just before the visit ended? Totally uncool.”
We stare at each other.
And then we stare some more.
Finally, he whispers, “Beautiful, I just couldn’t keep it in anymore. I’m madly in love with you and I needed to tell you.” He pauses for a moment, glancing around the packed visitation room. “I didn’t know what your reaction would be so I waited until the end of the visit so you wouldn’t give me a bad reaction. I didn’t want you to feel forced, like you had to say it back or have an awkward moment, so I just waited until the end.”
I stare at him again, tempted to just let it go and pretend everything’s good.
But I can’t.
I want to.
But I can’t.
“And this isn’t awkward now?” I ask.
“I think you’re kind of making it awkward, baby. I think you should be happy that I expressed how much I love you, how much I want to be with you.”
His voice has a hint of anger in it, bitterness that makes my stomach twist into knots
.
“You didn’t even call,” I accuse. “You didn’t give me the chance to talk to you about it.”
“Baby.” He reaches out to take my hand within his, his eyes never leaving mine as he begins to rub it. “I couldn’t get a chance to call you. The phones were packed. If I could have called you, I would have. You know that.”
“Stop calling me baby,” I whisper. “Please.”
God, I just need him to stop. Stop being so sweet and nice. I’m defenseless against the way he speaks to me and the words he uses. I’ve always wanted someone to talk to me like this. I’ve dreamed about it.
But now that I have it, I don’t know what to do with it, how to react.
Where’s the tough biker? The murderer?
He laughs, giving me a look that makes my heart melt a little. It’s hot, but yet sweet, his brown eyes staring right into my mind … my heart. “Come on, Victoria,” he says. “You know you love it when I call you baby and beautiful.”
My cheeks blaze red.
He’s right. I do.
I like it too much, I think, and I hate that he knows that. Knows it’s what I need.
“I’m married.” I blurt the words out like vomit, uncontrolled and unwanted. My cheeks flare with heat. What’s wrong with me?
He rolls his eyes at me. “Beautiful, I already know that, and I also know you’re going to leave your husband. You love me, you just have a hard time telling me this. I can see it in your eyes.”
Really? Am I really that obvious?
“You can?”
“Yes, baby girl, I can tell you love me.”
I sigh, looking down at our hands clasped together, loving the way it feels to have his big ones wrapped around my smaller ones. I love the contact, crave it, actually. It’s been so long since a man did something as simple as hold my hand and it feels … good.
Too good.
I look back up at him, meeting his eyes. “How?”
His eyes study me for a beat before he responds, an odd smile pulling at his lips. “By the way you kiss me and look at me. By the way you shake just when I hold you in my arms.”
Silence falls.
Long silence.
Awkward silence.
Joshua massages my hands, waiting patiently. I can’t tell him that every day of my life I’ve tried to picture someone like him in my life.
I sigh. “I think I do love you.”
“Aw, beautiful.” He smiles, a panty-melting smile. “I already know.”
“It scares me. It terrifies me.”
And it’s true. Fear pulses through me like a living organism. Every word that leaves his mouth gnaws away at my confidence, making me doubt everything.
“Why?” he asks. “Why be afraid of love?”
I shake my head. “You don’t fit into my life.”
“Baby, I realize that I’m in a bad place. I know I’m in prison, but you came into my life for a reason, you were drawn to me for a reason. This was meant to be. It was destiny, us crossing each other’s paths. Maybe this isn’t the picture perfect lifestyle you were looking for, but I promise we will have a good life together. Just give me a chance.”
I smile, and he looks at me, giving me a sexy almost smile, and just like that, I feel it—really feel it. The flutter of happiness. The glimpse of what I could have if I just took the leap.
“Can you picture yourself living in a cookie-cutter house, with a minivan and a kid, and a career? Not getting into trouble, not going back to the bikers.”
“Baby,” he says, drawing the word out as a smirk plays on his lips. “I’m always going to be a biker. It’s something you’re going to have to understand and accept, but could I see myself creating a family with you?” He smiles brightly. “Of course, baby. I really am in love with you. I’ve always wanted a family.”
My heart picks up speed and a flicker of alarm passes through me. I try to sit up straight, pulling my hands away, but his grip tightens, holding me fast.
“You mean you’re really considering going back to all of that?” I ask. “After spending eight years in prison because you were wearing your colors, you would go back to that … that life?”
“Yes,” he says simply. “I plan on going back to that after my four years of paper are done. It’s a lifestyle.”
I snort. “Yeah, I’ve seen how that lifestyle plays out for women. I watched Sons of Anarchy. I know how it ends for those women.”
“Baby,” he sighs, lips flattening into a thin line as he scrubs at his face as though he’s in for a headache. “You’re watching a TV show that glorifies certain aspects of the biker lifestyle, but half of that is for TV so people will watch it. You don’t even have a clue what any of it means or what it is.”
“Glorified? Both the main women die.”
“Well, Victoria,” he says, a flash of amusement passing across his eyes. “I’ve been in prison so I haven’t actually seen the last few seasons so I really don’t know that, but please don’t ruin the show for me.”
“Sorry,” I mutter, dropping my eyes.
“It’s okay.” Joshua reaches a hand out, placing a finger under my chin, forcing my eyes back up to his. When he continues, his voice is soft, reassuring. “It’ll be years before I can get back into the life. I’ve got four years of paper when I get out. I’m not going to do something stupid where it would bring me back to prison for another four years.”
“What does four years of paper mean?”
“I have four years of parole, my love. I can’t have anything to do with motorcycle clubs, can’t go to bars. So don’t worry your pretty little heart. It’ll be a long time before any of this matters, and who knows, maybe I’ll change my mind by then.”
I know he’s lying; know he’s just trying to reassure me. He wants me to think there’s a chance he won’t go back to the club life. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.
I want him to tell me the truth, that he’s set on going back. I don’t want to play games. Not with him.
Even so, I force myself to nod and smile, reminding myself that it’s seven and a half years away. Tons of time to change his mind.
I want to ask him about it, but by the smirk on his face, I know he already knows what I’m thinking. Instead, I glance toward the guards’ desk and say, “I think we should play some cards.”
He laughs. “Ooo, changing the subject, are we?”
I blink innocently and smile. “Maybe.”
“I think that’s a great idea and I think we should keep score because I bet I’ll win.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “You won’t win. I will kick your ass.”
“Oh, yeah, beautiful?” he says, that sexy smile returning to his face. “Why don’t you go get a deck of cards from the guards’ desk and show me?”
Pushing back my chair, I stand up, grinning down at him. “Oh, I will.” And as I walk toward the guards’ desk, I find myself feeling a little less confused.
13
Talk Dirty To Me
I feel … high.
I’m floating. With each breath I take, butterflies dance in my stomach. It’s a peaceful feeling, warm and relaxed.
Stalling my footsteps, I glance back at Joshua. He’s watching me, his lips curving with a smile as he waves goodbye to me. He mouths ‘I love you’, before turning away, following the guard to the glass room, ready to be pat down.
A genuine smile lights up my face as I turn back around and walk again. A kiss, a touch, a single smile from that man does more than any drug, any drink ever could do for me.
I take a deep breath as soon as I’m out on the pathway leading to the prison exit. The evening air is so cold my skin prickles with goosebumps. It’s not too late, only six-thirty, but it’s already dark.
I walk quickly, following the yellow painted pathway. It only takes me a few minutes to reach the gate. I stick my right hand through the opening just before the gate, allowing a guard to see my black light stamp, and then I wait for the gate to unlock.
>
The guards in the reception area eye me as I step toward my locker, retrieving my purse and keys. I quickly wish them goodnight as I reach into my purse to grab my cellphone and turn it on, and then I head out to the parking lot.
The drive back to the hotel flies by as I sing along with the radio. I’m just walking into my room, setting down my purse, thinking that I should probably start to pack up before grabbing some food since I have to drive back home first thing in the morning, when my phone starts ringing, Joshua’s number popping up on the screen. I answer it, grinning as I bring the phone to my ear, impatiently waiting for the long recording to end so I can accept the call.
“How’s my sexy little slut doing?”
The words echo over the line, catching me off guard and I frown. “Um, did you just call me a slut?”
Joshua chuckles. “I’m horny. Talk dirty to me.”
I hesitate for three solid heartbeats, the blood draining from my face, and the high feeling I’ve been riding on since I left him fizzles away. I start stammering. Oh God, ten seconds on the phone and I’ve turned into a tongue-tied fool because this man wants me to talk sexy.
He laughs, amused. “Come on, baby. You can do this. I know you want to be my dirty little slut.”
Sighing, I bury my face in my hand, saying nothing, not because I don’t want to but because I can’t. My throat is suddenly dry, my mouth glued shut, and for a second, I want to pretend I didn’t answer the phone.
“Are you there?”
Crap. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I wasn’t sitting here, staring at the wall in my hotel room. I only just got back from the visit minutes before the phone rang. I should have stopped for food or gas or something … anything.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
“You looked so fucking sexy in those jeans today, baby,” he rasps out. “And it turned me on so goddamn much hearing you say you love me.”
I open my mouth to speak, and then stall as a recording plays, reminding us that the call is being recorded and monitored.
Shit.
If I Could Do It Again Page 10