“Yes,” he dully responded, turning the car on. “To your parents’?”
I gave that some thought. It was closer, but I didn’t want to risk waking everyone up. “No. To Gwen’s house.”
We crept down the road. The streets that had once seemed so comforting to me now felt barren and cruel. They’d turned into the same creatures New York’s streets had. Their sidewalks were traitors, their trees conniving. They’d promised me joy and opportunity, but they’d given me nothing but heartbreak.
So where in the world could I go? Where could I escape the agony?
I couldn’t. What Owen had suggested was true. I needed to accept the pain, needed to make peace with it.
Owen turned the headlights off right before turning into the driveway.
“Let me help you with her,” he said, speaking for the first time since leaving his house.
“Okay. I’ll go unlock the door, and we can carry her upstairs.”
Fumbling, I hurried to the front door. My throat burned. My eyes burned. My heart burned.
I’d cry once he was gone. For the next two minutes, though, I needed to somehow keep it together.
Leaving the door open, I crept back down to the driveway. Owen was pulling Gwen from the car, and I stepped over to help, wrapping my arm around her waist.
She stirred and made some noise as we shuffled up the walkway.
“We can just put her on the couch,” I said, eyeing the steps that suddenly looked as tall as Mount Everest.
“Are you sure? I can carry her upstairs.”
“Oh, wait. Put her in the downstairs bedroom.”
“Okay.”
I led the way, carving a path for the room that I crashed in on the nights I stayed over.
There was enough moonlight coming through the window to see the furniture, so we tiptoed over to the bed and laid Gwen down. Still moving gingerly, I pulled her shoes off and crept out of the room, closing the door behind me.
Owen waited in the hall. I walked past him, not wanting to risk having another conversation that might wake Gwen up.
He followed me to the front door. “Should we let Jason know she’s down there?”
“He’s not coming home tonight. He’s staying at a friend’s. The whole luck and everything… you know, how he’s not supposed to see her on their wedding day?”
“Ah.”
I held onto the doorknob but didn’t pull it shut. Owen hovered nearby, not willing to go, and I did the same, not willing to tell him to get out. The night pressed in thick around us, thanks to the many things that had happened and been said.
Everything would be different now. Yet again. And that seemed to be life’s way. It was always turning and showing a new face, a new side to itself I could have never predicted it possessed.
I tried to open my mouth, but my tongue felt so thick. And it didn’t want to talk to Owen anyway. It wanted to kiss him, to find its way around his mouth and body and forget everything that had happened.
He said he loved me… and I didn’t have a real response to that.
My body did though. It craved him more than it ever had before. It cried with the need to feel Owen’s skin, hot and sweaty and pressed against it. To fill him inside me. His lips around my nipples. His cock deep in my throat as I brought him pleasure. I craved it all. Needed him.
“Owen,” I began. “I…”
I looked into his eyes, barely visible in the darkness of the stoop. He took one slow step forward. His hand raised halfway up. Hesitant. Questioning.
“I just want you to touch me,” I gasped. “And I hate it. I hate it so much.”
He shook his head, reached his hand up to trail it across my shoulder and down my arm. “Oh, Claire.”
I closed my eyes, trying to block out the assaulting thoughts. The fears. The worries. The memories. I wanted no more of them.
I just needed to feel Owen’s touch, to forget that anything existed but the one moment we were suspended in.
His fingers dipped lower, into my palm, and I grabbed them with my own and pulled him closer. His mouth fell against mine, hungry and ready. His tongue snaked in between my lips, exploring my teeth. I opened my mouth wider, allowing him to take whatever he wanted.
His chest pressed against mine, bumping me back against the doorway. I grabbed at his waist, reached my hands behind and under his light jacket, trailing my fingers across his warm skin.
I just want to forget. I just want to forget.
Was I saying the words? Or were they only just playing on repeat in my head? I couldn’t tell. All of reality seemed to be blurring. Owen picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around him. My dress hem slid up, and the brisk air tickled my thighs.
Owen moved slightly forward, and my back hit the door frame again. With a groan, he let me slide to the floor, then he was on his knees.
I cried out as he pulled my panties aside and his mouth covered me instead. My fingers were in his hair, pulling him closer as his tongue sank between my folds. Pure pleasure wound its way through me when he took my clitoris between his teeth. One finger, then two pressed inside me, his knuckles skimming my walls, finding the place that drove me crazy.
My back arched, a cry coming from my throat as his tongue ran over my sensitive, burning flesh. My eyelids fluttered as he scissored me open, giving him more room for his tongue. He didn’t stop when I came, my hand over my mouth, keeping his name inside my lips. When I climaxed again, I was crying, the sensations tearing through me, wave after wave of it.
When he stood, his lips were on my mouth and I tasted myself as our tongues stroked and danced. I wanted him, needed him so badly. My fingers clawed at his pants, tearing them open, wrapping my fingers around his cock.
“Taste you,” I said, sinking to my knees, taking steel and silk between my lips.
He growled as I took him deeper, working my tongue around the tip.
“Claire.” My name was a gasp.
“Don’t talk,” I desperately said, licking down his shaft. I looked up at him, pleading for him to listen. “Just for a little bit. Let’s say nothing.”
And he didn’t. He just looked down at me as I took him back into my mouth. The fire inside me flared, then died as he stepped back and said, “I can’t.”
My throat constricted as I kneeled before him. There was nothing to say. What was I even doing? The man had just told me he loved me, and instead of responding, I attacked him with my mouth.
And not in the way you were supposed to after someone tells you they love you. No, my actions were a reflection of lust. Or maybe something truly vile. Maybe they’d been born out of the desire to forget he’d ever said those three meaningful words. Fuck them from existence.
He tucked himself back in, then reached out a hand, helping me to my feet.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, leaning back against the door again, my legs too shaky to stand.
He pushed my hair back from my face. “It’s not that I don’t want to.”
I looked away from him, choosing to stare at the dark floor instead. “Yeah, I get that. I was just…” I shook my head. After a few more seconds of that, I knew I had to say something. “I guess I should go check on Gwen.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, the words strained. “Are you staying here with her?”
“Yeah. It’s probably part of my duty as maid of honor… and as a sister.”
“Right.” He looked down. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Finally, I looked at him. Don’t go.
I bit my lip, biting back the words. Even if we did have sex again, the next morning I would want him to leave. I knew that. I wouldn’t be able to bear the thought of waking up and looking at him, of feeling like I was now trapped in something I wasn’t ready for.
I’d said as much to him more than once before. There was no point in repeating it all, so I said the simplest and most cordial thing my fevered mind could think of.
“See you tomorrow.”
He turned to g
o. When his foot hit the last step, I had to say something else, had to mention the one last thing that was on my mind. “Owen.”
He spun around. “Yeah?”
“When your mom came to visit… did you talk any more about the vineyard?”
He raised his hand up to run it along the back of his head. “Yeah, we did.”
“Do you… do you think you’ll go?”
I had no right to ask. I knew that. Especially since I’d just turned him down yet again. I couldn’t seem to keep the words back though.
Owen sighed. “I told them I don’t know, but I used to think it was more likely that I would stay here.”
Used to.
“And now?”
The longest breath stretched out between us, turning into a sad and painful sigh.
“Goodnight, Claire,” he murmured before going.
CHAPTER NINETEEEN
Owen
I finished with my tie and gazed into the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. The bathroom door Claire and I had knocked down, which was only a few feet away from the downstairs bedroom…
The room I couldn’t sleep in without thinking of her.
Actually, for the two weeks after she’d fled the house that night, I didn’t sleep in that room. Eventually, I’d gone back to it just for convenience sake, but being in there never felt quite right. It felt soiled, sad.
And now here I was, going to her sister’s wedding. Getting ready to be witness to a proclamation of love.
It was a hard thing to do when your own proclamation of love hadn’t gone so well.
I’d told her she didn’t have to say those words back. Really, I hadn’t expected her to.
But I wanted her to. Damn, I wanted her to so bad.
I just hadn’t been able to stop myself. I’d pushed it. I’d pushed her, all against my better judgment, and ended up in a hole so deep there was no way I’d ever climb out. Things would never be like they could have been. We wouldn’t be able to be friends, respecting and caring for each other but always keeping a careful distance. Too many lines had been crossed.
When she kissed me the night before, and I responded by taking her in my arms, I’d almost been able to convince myself things would be fine. She loved me too. She just couldn’t say it. So she showed me with her mouth, with her touch.
I’d only been able to fake myself out for a minute or two. No, I’d realized. That’s not the way it was. I was lying to myself. Claire didn’t love me because she wasn’t ready to love anyone.
I snorted at the thought. It was ironic that I’d had sex with people I didn’t love before with no problem, but faced with someone I’d truly fallen for, I couldn’t do it.
If I could have gone back in time, I would. I would have never let my feelings get the best of me, would have never told Claire the truth about what was going on inside of me.
Maybe I would never have talked to her at all. I would never have gone up to that house looking for that missing cat. I would never have stumbled into a situation too big and complex for me to handle.
My eyes fell shut. Try as hard as I could, there was nothing that could dull the pain. It was still there, pulsing behind my eyeballs, swimming in my veins, a living and breathing part of me.
When I woke up that morning, everything seemed different. I was different. My feelings for Claire hadn’t changed, nor had the tugging sensation that I needed to stay close to her.
But my trust had changed. During the night, it had waned. I woke up believing less in it than ever before. So what if I had gut feelings about something? What good were those feelings if they only led me to pain?
Moving to California suddenly looked better than it ever had before.
Nothing was set in stone, of course, but as I stood there thinking about the events of the last year, the appeal of leaving Crystal Brook behind got better and better. Yeah, I’d made friends there. I’d bought a house — one I was halfway done renovating and that, once finished, would be fit for a king.
But the real reason I’d stayed was Claire. I’d come there on a random week and ending up returning all because of her.
I couldn’t keep doing that. I couldn’t keep following a sense that things were meant to be some way. Especially when reality reflected something entirely different.
Gritting my teeth, I turned from the mirror to grab my wallet. Parking would likely be past capacity, and I needed to walk to clear my mind anyway. Plus, the October air was perfect for a stroll.
Leaves crunched under my feet in the front yard and skittered ahead of me on the sidewalk. The light had that beautiful crystal quality it seems to only possess in the fall. I took my time, trying not to think too much about what waited for me at the end of my walk.
As suspected, Gwen’s street was packed with cars. I skirted around the edge and into the back yard, following the sign welcoming guests.
The whole yard danced with white fabrics and shades of orange. Cocktail tables had been set up along one side, candles flickering in the late afternoon light. Dozens of strings of clear lights stretched across the yard and in the trees, barely glowing at the moment but promising a show once sunset came. The long dining tables rested in the very back of the yard, orange roses in their centers. Near them sat the wedding arch, a rustic looking one made from sticks and leaves. Orange, yellow, and red mums dotted the yard, pressing up against the makeshift bar and sitting at the end of each row of white folding chairs facing the arch.
A few dozen people milled about, some sitting in folding chairs and some chatting around cocktail tables or the house. I did a second sweep of the crowd, but Claire was nowhere in sight. Some of the curtains of the house’s first and second floors were spread open, but no one was visible through the glass. Most likely, Claire was inside somewhere helping Gwen get ready.
Not for the first time, I had second thoughts about attending the wedding after all. Just the thought of seeing Claire was painful.
I needed a drink. Badly.
Skirting around a group of people, I bee-lined for the bar. The young man there finished pouring a glass of red wine and handed it to a woman. When he saw me, he nodded in my direction.
“Just a beer,” I told him. “Thanks.”
“That sounds good,” a female voice said.
Out of nowhere, a brunette girl appeared next to me. She barely came up to my shoulder, but she wore a spunky grin and a golden cocktail dress that sparkled in the sun. “I’ll take one as well,” she told the bartender.
“Sure thing,” he replied, passing them to us.
“Cheers.” She raised her glass and looked my way. I mimicked her action, and she knocked our glasses together. “This is my first week being able to legally drink,” she announced.
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” She took a good sip. “Hey, this isn’t so bad.”
My eyebrows shot up. “You’ve never had beer?”
She shook her head. “No. I thought it would be sweeter, but it’s still all right.”
“Really, you’ve never once even tasted…” A mischievous sparkle entered her eyes, and I stopped. “Oh.”
She giggled. “Yeah, I was just kidding. Not about the turning twenty-one part, but about the never having drank before part.” She took another sip. “So whose side are you on? The bride or the groom’s?”
“Ah, the bride.”
“Oh.” She nodded. “Cool.”
I darted my eyes towards the house. I couldn’t help it. Claire might be coming out any minute.
Someone else came up to the bar, and the brunette girl and I scooted over to stand near a couple bales of hay.
“You?” I asked, only because I was already in the conversation and couldn’t get out of it. The girl was extremely cute, but I was in too dour of a mood to fully engage anyone. The most I felt like managing was short questions and answers.
“I came here with my cousin,” she explained. “He works at Gwen’s shop.” She made a face. “Is that lame? G
oing to a wedding with your cousin?”
Unexpectedly, I laughed. “No. It’s not. Don’t worry.”
“Okay. Good.” She cocked her head. “So how do you know Gwen?”
“Just from around. I bought a house here this summer.”
“Where are you from?”
“New York.”
That was the quick answer I gave people when I didn’t feel like explaining I’d basically grown up all over the place.
Out of the corner of my eye, more people arrived around the side of the house. So far I’d seen no one I knew other than Claire’s family, sans her mother — which was too bad because she was extremely friendly and easy to talk to.
But on second thought, so was the person in front of me.
“I’m Owen,” I said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t introduce myself before.”
“That’s all right. Georgie.”
“That’s adorable,” I said without thinking.
Her eyes rolled. “Thanks.”
I laughed. “You don’t like it?”
“It’s growing on me.”
“After twenty-one years?”
“Yep. It wasn’t the best name to have in elementary school. You ever heard of Georgie Porgie?”
“The nursery rhyme?”
“Exactly.”
“Ah. Got it. Well, luckily you’re twenty-one now, which means any time someone makes fun of your name you can just drink the pain away.”
“Thank God for that!”
She raised her glass again, and I knocked the side of it with my own.
“God, this house is beautiful,” she sighed. “I love the sun room.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “It’s nice. I’ve been thinking about adding one to my house.”
“Really? Cool.”
“Yeah, there’s enough room there. I just have to figure out a few things first. I want it to be all glass, I think.”
“You haven’t looked at, you know, models yet?”
“No, but I may just wing it.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’re going to build it yourself?”
I nodded. “I’ve been renovating the place all summer.”
“Wow,” she breathed. “That’s awesome.”
I studied her face, trying to gauge the authenticity in her words. Best I could tell, she was genuinely interested in hearing about my house.
Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) Page 23