by Aimee Carson
“For two years I attended Osten College. Every day I left my rundown neighborhood, taking several buses to reach the beautiful campus filled with beautiful people.” Her gaze was unfocused, her voice distant, as if lost in the memories. “I tried to upgrade my wardrobe, just enough so I wouldn’t stick out so much. It was hopeless, of course. But all I really wanted was to pretend my past didn’t matter.”
“That’s understandable.”
“Perhaps. But my mom kept telling me Osten was a mistake.” With a rueful twist of her mouth, she went on. “That most people didn’t believe in second chances. But I didn’t want to listen.” Threading her fingers through her hair, she dropped her voice a notch. “I was so sure she was wrong.”
With a forced exhalation, Alyssa leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her drink clutched in her hands. “Except while I was desperately trying to get my degree, to forget about my record and move on, when my classmates found out they made sure I never forgot.”
Paulo would have endured a thousand meetings with his brother just to wipe away her unhappy memories. “Life is rarely fair.”
“And I knew that. But I was too pigheaded to accept it.” She frowned, massaging her temple. “I had to push.”
“How?” Paulo asked softly.
Her hand dropped to her knee. “Every year Osten arranges a parent-student luncheon. A horribly pompous affair, where the main topic of conversation is who has more money.” With a pause, she stared down at her bourbon. “My sophomore year I volunteered to organize it.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he said.
“My first official event.” She let out an endearingly unladylike snort, but kept her attention on her drink, as if avoiding his gaze. “I spent hours putting it together because I wanted…” Her drawl died out as her fingertips went white against her glass. “I wanted to show them what I could do. To prove that I was more than a hick accent and a criminal past. That I had what it took to produce a glamorous social affair.” And then she lifted her gaze to his, the gray eyes haunted, and his chest hitched again. “Ridiculous, right?”
Hit with the need to kiss those eyes closed, to heal her, Paulo gripped his glass instead. Touching her would be dangerous. “Not ridiculous. I busted my ass working for my dad for a similar reason.” He laid his arm on the back of the couch. “Everyone wants their work appreciated.”
“True,” she said with a thoughtful nod. And then, after a sheepish glance, she looked back at her bourbon. “But I was tired of always wearing a waitress uniform to parties. And this was my event. So I wanted once, just this once, to wear something special.” Her voice turned brittle. “And that’s where my motivation runs amok.”
She swiped a palm across her eyes, as if to collect herself, and then dropped her hand back to her drink. “I saved for months to buy a designer outfit. And I finally found the perfect one.” This time the wan smile was filled with guilt. “Pretty, but not too pretentious. I know it’s stupid…” She dropped her gaze to her drink, swirling the amber liquid in her glass. “But when I tried it on in the dressing room it made me feel like one of those guests I was always serving. You know—” she lifted her glass “—classy. Chic. But still me.” She tossed back the rest of her bourbon with a grimace. “Of course reality is always the kicker.”
“I can see where this is going.”
Her mouth turned grim. “Not so hard to figure it out.”
“You didn’t have enough.”
“I was fifty dollars short.”
She plunked her tumbler on the coffee table, her words escaping in a defeated rush. “God,” she said. “I can’t begin to describe how disappointed I was. The party was one day away, and while I sat in the dressing room, trying to figure out what to do…” Pressing her fingers to her mouth, she dropped her voice, the drawl growing thick. “I kept thinkin’, ‘What’s one more time? If I never do it again after today, what difference will it make?’ And so I—”
Her voice broke, and she closed her eyes as if unable to go on. Another piece of Paulo’s heart melted, and he ignored the alarms clanging in his head as he reached out, lacing his fingers with hers. He could feel the years of remorse in her grip on his hand.
When she turned to look at him, she’d recovered a bit. “I would have succeeded except the owner of the shop was at the party and recognized me.” She let out a humorless laugh. “How’s that for being served your just deserts?” Pausing, she fixed her gaze on Paulo, the smudge of purple beneath her eyes stark against her pale face. “And two years at Osten was nothing compared to the disgrace of being arrested at an event I’d organized.”
The question in her eyes pulled him in as silent seconds passed into a full minute.
Paulo stared at her. He knew she was waiting for him to speak. Waiting for his reaction to her news. But he couldn’t put it all together. Her soft skin, her delicate scent, and—far worse—the emotion in the squeeze of her fingers distracted him. The words wouldn’t come.
And while he groped for a response Alyssa shot from the couch and crossed the room. “Don’t you dare feel sorry for me,” she said as turned to face him, folding her arms across her stomach. “Don’t you get it? The real tragedy of this story?”
There were so many tragic parts he didn’t know where to begin. But he knew what came next was important, and, as painful as it was to watch her suffer, he remained silent. Because he needed to know the answer. Her answer.
“It’s not the poverty, or the way I was treated, or any of that.” She tapped her chest with her fist, enunciating every word. “I wasn’t strong enough to rise above it.”
She began to pace with a frenetic energy. “I let a few superficial phonies matter. And I forgot the employer who took a risk on me. Forgot the pact I made with my mom. I let them both down. Let myself down.” She clapped her hand to her forehead and came to a stop. “All over somethin’ as dumb as an outfit,” she said, as if after all these years she still couldn’t quite believe what she’d done. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall, her voice sounding weary. “Some epitaph that would make. ‘Brought down by vanity and the lust for a designer dress.’”
Gutted by the look on her face, he felt the truth hit him like a lightning strike, blinding in its clarity. Slowly, he set down his drink. “I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out why you work so hard,” he said, watching her from across the room. “Why you push yourself.” He stood and went to stand in front of her. He reached out to squeeze her fingers again. “It isn’t going to be enough.”
Confusion filled her face. “What?”
“Take it from someone who knows. Whatever you think you’re trying to prove with your business, it won’t be enough.”
She drew in a wobbly breath, her hand clamped around his. “Without my business, I’m nothing more than a—”
With a press of his lips to hers, he cut off the sentence before she could complete it.
He had no idea what words she would have used to finish the statement. But, whatever was about to spill from her mouth, it wasn’t true. Whatever she believed about herself, she was wrong. And, though he’d only meant to stop her, he allowed himself a moment to gather her lips deeper, to linger in the softness and the woodsy-sweet taste of bourbon.
After releasing her lips, he lifted his hand and gently cupped her jaw, but his tone was firm. “Everything you’ve been through has made you strong. Your business wouldn’t be the success it is today without that trait.”
He could see the rebuttal forming on her lips, and he cut her off, trying again. “The most respected people on this planet are those who can admit where they went wrong and go on to be better people. Just like you.” The uncertainly in her face triggered a powerful protective urge, and his voice went low, insistent. “Everyone makes mistakes. No one is perfect. And while you’re hell-bent on this life sentence you’ve appointed yourself—” hating the doubt in her eyes, he pulled her into his arms “—you’re missing out on a future.”
With a sigh, she leaned her forehead against his chest. “I’m not missing out. I’m just…” Her hands clutched his shirt, as if holding on for dear life. And with a sniff she went on, her voice fragile. “Just puttin’ it on hold.”
His heart slipped as he gathered her closer, like tires spinning out from beneath him. The momentum was frightening. And if he wasn’t careful he’d crash for sure.
“Concentrate on who you are now, Alyssa,” he said softly. “Let the past go.”
As the minutes passed, he struggled to regain his equilibrium. But then he felt her fingers fumbling at his shirt, opening his buttons, and her lips landed on his skin. A kick of desire shot from his chest and landed with precision in his groin. Adding more weight to the unbalanced feeling.
His body demanded satisfaction, but he eased his hips away. “Alyssa,” he said in warning. He couldn’t do this now. No matter how much he wanted her. But she just popped the last button and looked up at him, her lids rimmed red. With a look of trust in her eyes that flattened him.
What had he done?
“No.” He reached for her elbows. But she ignored him, pulling his shirt from his pants. Her hands slid down his chest as she brushed kisses along the open path. When her mouth landed on his abdomen, his muscles clenched in pleasure. “Alyssa, wait.”
And then she dropped to her knees and nipped his erection through his pants.
Flames flared, and Paulo hissed, pulling her chin up. “Don’t,” he said, staring down at her face. “You’re tired. Feeling vulnerable.” The frank passion in her luminous gray eyes was almost his undoing, but he felt wrung out. Too close to her. All the carefully constructed barriers he’d been fighting to keep in place had just received a potentially lethal hit. And being caught between the need to regain some distance and the maddening desire to consume her was pure hell. Ignoring the disappointment, he went on. “Now isn’t the time.”
“Yes....” Alyssa pushed his hips firmly against the wall and tugged open his zipper. “It is.” After tugging down his pants, she palmed his shaft and ran her tongue from the base to the tip. The visceral hit was brutal, and a second hiss escaped his lips. He should push her away. But all he managed was to feel the sweat beading at his temples.
“I want you like this.” Her words drawled against his skin. “And—” she licked his head “—don’t stop before you’re through.” She lowered her mouth.
With a groan, Paulo arched his hips, delving deep. Alyssa moaned her approval, the sound vibrating around his erection. And, with her mouth boldly pleasuring him, she reached up to rake her nails down his chest, catching a flat nipple on the way.
Paulo shuddered and snapped.
Alyssa heard Paulo swear. He grabbed her wrists and pulled her up, whirling to pin her hands high on the wall above her head. Stunned, she stared at him. His shirt open, their bodies were pressed together from his bared chest down to his hips. His tone was low, harsh. “Why are you doing this?”
The words burst from her mouth. “Because I want you to stop holding back.” She pressed her lips together, hating that she sounded so desperate.
Because now, after sharing her story, this man who knew all she’d done still looked at her the same way. Still had faith in her. A faith that scrubbed away the last traces of shame that clung to her like a tenacious stain.
And left her with a need that went beyond anything she’d felt before.
Yet every time he’d made love to her she’d known he was steering the event. Keeping his passion in check while she was reduced to a whimpering mess. And she wanted to drive him so crazy that he let out a shout. Like he did to her.
As she watched the internal battle in his eyes, tears pricked her lids. He’d had such a profound impact on her life. Touched her on so many levels. She was afraid that every time they’d made love it had been all about her.
And hadn’t left a dent in his memory.
“I need you to lose control,” she said.
Fury flared in his eyes as he thrust his erection against her belly, and the thrill had her body softening in response. His voice was rough, ragged. “You think I can control this?” He arched again, his shaft a band of steel. His eyes dropped to her breasts, mashed against him, and the tips puckered in response. “Your nipples beg when I walk in the room and it drives me insane.”
They stared at each other, chests heaving. The demand for release intensified. With every brush against hard muscle, her body grew tighter.
Paulo lowered his mouth to her ear, and the growl in his voice dropped an octave. “Do you know how much I crave the feel of you coming against my lips?” Her breath caught, drowning in fire. He lifted his head, his mouth hovering over hers as he held her against the wall, his face angry. “Hearing your spicy Southern words egging me on?”
Alyssa cried out and crushed her lips to his, and their mouths melded in desperation, frantic. She wanted to touch him. To stroke his skin. Anywhere. Everywhere. To fuse them together. To hold on to this moment so it would last forever.
Frustrated by the impossibility, she pulled her hands free and clutched his face, nipping hard at his lower lip. Paulo shoved the hem of her skirt to her waist and lifted her, pinning her with his hips. With her legs wrapped around him, their mouths still locked, he dragged his thumbs across her nipples. The stab of pleasure was followed by a desperate thrust of his hips, and she savored his power, his passion. It was heaven. Nirvana. Supreme bliss.
This savage need they shared.
Then he shifted her higher, and Alyssa dragged his face to her breasts. She dropped her head back with a moan as Paulo feasted on her body through fabric, driving Alyssa to rock her hips. “Take me. Now,” she gasped.
His hands cupped her buttocks, and Paulo’s mouth hungrily sought out her lips as he carried her down the hall to his bedroom.
“You know I can’t resist you.” He deposited her on the bed, yanking off his shirt and her panties, not bothering with his pants or her clothes. Fingers gripping her thighs, he spread her legs. She was overcome with the need to give him everything. All that she had.
This man who wanted her so badly, who saw her for who she was.
And liked it.
With no time for her to catch her breath, or for her body to gently adjust to his, he drove his shaft deep.
Paulo heard Alyssa’s gasp and began a demanding rhythm, a mating that was pure possession. It was wild, unruly, bordering on too much, too soon. He knew he should slow down, let her body acclimatize to his, but he couldn’t. Because she hitched her knees higher, hot, wet, begging him for more, her skin damp. And with every reach of his hips he went a little deeper. Surged higher.
Straightening his arms, he arched his back to better angle his hips between her legs. “Alyssa,” he groaned.
The muscles in his chest and biceps tensed as he plunged deep, again and again. The feel of his body joined with hers drove him forward. This terrible, destructive desire to imprint himself on her. To leave a mark and brand her his forever.
The room filled with the slick sound of skin on skin, the smell of sweat. The erotic sensations worked their magic, softening her, until Paulo buried himself to the base of his erection. “Oh, God,” he breathed. But still…it wasn’t enough.
Damn it. Why wasn’t it enough?
Agitated, he clasped her shoulders to hold her in place as his movements grew rough, reckless. He felt feverish. Burning with the fire that was consuming him. Tearing him down and building him back up. Hating the loss of control.
And loving it.
He stared down at her, and their gazes locked. “Is this what you wanted?” he said hoarsely.
“Yes.” She should look frightened, as disturbed as he felt. Instead, there was only ecstasy. “Yes.”
With a guttural groan the last of his reserve splintered, and his hips bucked madly. Eager, throaty gasps escaped her with every thrust. Arching her neck in pleasure, Alyssa braced her hands on the headboard, inflaming him with her provocative words
. The bed thumped against the wall. He was desperate to end the agony. To satisfy this need that was devouring him bit by bit. Bite by bite. Taking pieces of him he knew he’d never get back.
And then she came undone.
With a final violent thrust, Paulo threw back his head with a shout. Alyssa clutched his body, holding him deep inside her as the powerful orgasm released its hold on him, the magnitude crushing in its painful pleasure.
Alyssa woke at midnight to the sound of distant thunder and the feel of Paulo’s body spooned against her back, his arms around her waist. A storm was approaching. She could hear the gusts of wind, the rustling of tree branches, and their occasional scrape against his bedroom window.
Between the grueling discussion about her past and their explosive lovemaking, she had been mentally and physically whipped. Paulo had fixed a simple meal and brought it to her in bed. Once they’d eaten, she’d been incapable of anything beyond the need for sleep. He had pulled her close, the tenderness in his touch like a healing salve, and she’d drifted off, at peace. And full of something she hadn’t felt in years…
Optimism. Hope for the future.
Ten years of being petrified she’d let her image slip—saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing—was a grinding wear and tear to her psyche that had slowly eroded her strength. She was exhausted from the sheer effort of keeping up her guard. But with Paulo she didn’t have to measure her every word, her every response.
In bed or out.
And the happiness was so new, so unexpected, she wanted to cling to it for as long as she could. She didn’t want to waste precious time with Paulo engaged in an internal debate about the choices she’d made since her arrest. That could come later.
Much, much later.
A streak of lightning lit the room, and Paulo shifted. “You’re still here.” His words hummed against her ear. “I thought I’d wake up alone again.”
Raindrops began to splatter against the window, and she snuggled closer to Paulo, his king-size bed warm and inviting. “I’m too comfortable.”