What If I Never

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “You didn’t say that like it was a good thing,” I whisper.

  “I’m not letting you leave, not when we both want you to stay.”

  And when I would tell him that’s not an answer, he’s kissing me, drinking me in, and I’m confused, trying to resist, but he’s Dash, and he has this way of touching me and unraveling all the common sense I might own.

  He turns with me, pulling me onto his lap, almost as if he’s telling me I have control now, but we both know I don’t even come close to one inkling of control. Certainly not when he’s already kissing me again, molding my breasts to his chest, the scent of him like a drug, the taste of him, addiction defined. And the more he kisses me, the more I spiral with my need for him.

  “I need to be inside you, Allie,” he says, his voice a near growl of urgency.

  My body spasms with his words, with exaggerated need, anticipating what I’ve wanted for what feels like a lifetime. “Yes,” I whisper or maybe I don’t. Maybe I think my response. We are frenzied in the shift of our bodies. He anchors me, holds me steady and it’s my hand on his shaft that guides him inside me.

  He enters me, stretching me, sensations spiraling through me as I slide down the length of him, and when I have all of him, he murmurs, “About damn time, baby.”

  Yes, I think. About damn time.

  I must actually say it because he smiles and nips my lips. “Allie,” he says softly, almost tenderly, I think, maybe. I don’t know. His hands are all over me, touching me, and everything melds together as one big sensory overload. And then he thrusts his hips, and I catch his shoulders, holding onto him, pressing into him. He’s watching me, watching every reaction, every pant, and moan, as if he’s trying to learn me. I touch his face, and he catches my hand, kissing it, pressing his lips to my palm.

  The air pulses alive with our passion, and every shared look that seems to speak words we never say. Passion that lives and breathes, and drives us further and further into our little world that cannot last forever, I know. He knows, too, but it’s now. It’s right now. And we’re a collision of him and me, an explosion on the edge. I ride him, his eyes all over my body, his hands with them, but it’s not hard and fast. It’s slow and sultry. And when our mouths collide, we’re suddenly wild, almost furious, and I’ve never been out of my own skin, trying to climb under someone else’s, but I am now. But this can’t last, it won’t last, and I know that ending comes so soon, too soon, and it does. My body quakes on top of his, and I bury my face in his neck. His arms close around me, holding me to him close, his hips pumping—once, twice, three times and then he’s right there with me, a low guttural groan escaping his lips.

  I don’t know where that explosion begins or ends, but I collapse against him and him me. For long moments, I’m just there, on top of him, against him. At some point, Dash shifts our bodies, and lays us down, grabbing napkins and cleaning us up. And then he’s on his back on the couch, and I’m lying there beside him, my head on his shoulder. Neither of us talks. I’m warm and comfortable, my body sated and heavy from vodka and sex. I don’t have it in me to move just yet. I’ll go home in a minute.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  I blink awake to the sound of the rain that is frequent in Nashville, pitter-pattering on the window, confused by the unfamiliar ceiling. I sit up only to have a sheet fall away and the realization that I’m naked. My eyes go wide and I grab the sheet again, yanking it to my chest. I suck in a breath to realize that Dash is not only standing at the window, but he’s fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, his feet in boots, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

  Awkwardness overwhelms me and I don’t know what to do. I scan for my clothes but my dress, I remember now, is in the closet. And since I can’t seem to locate a small blanket, or anything for that matter, to wrap around me, I pretty much have two options. I stay where I’m at or I hunt down my dress—naked.

  I’m staying here.

  As if he senses I’m awake, Dash turns to face me, his eyes heavy as they rake over me. “Morning, cupcake.” The greeting is pleasant and familiar, at least on the surface, but there’s a tick of tension beneath its surface, as if waking up to me in his bed was not expected. I glance at the clock that reads nine AM and cringe. He has a book to write. He needs me to not be here right now.

  “I obviously didn’t go home,” I say. “And now, the awkward morning after has officially arrived and I can’t make it go away.” And because I want him to know I plan on getting up and out, I rotate and throw my legs off the bed. Somehow, I actually keep the sheet in place. “I’m embarrassed to say, I don’t even remember how I got in your bed.”

  “I carried you,” he says. “I think the vodka got you. You were out like a light.”

  I blink in surprise that should probably be an embarrassment. He carried me to his bed? Because he wanted me in his bed, or because he felt obligated not to leave me elsewhere? And Lord help me, did I drink that much? I’m appalled at the idea of being a lush. “I’m sorry, Dash. I don’t drink much and now you know why. I don’t handle it well. To be honest, I’d get up right now and try to fix this, but I really don’t want to hunt down my dress while naked. Can you maybe bring it to me?”

  His reply is no reply. He just studies me, sunlight flinting through his eyes, now a striking blue with a matching T-shirt stretched over his perfect chest that I can’t help but remember touching. His jaw is set hard and shadowed with a sexy one-day stubble, his expression so damn unreadable, it’s killing me.

  “Dash?” I ask, not sure what to do right now.

  He crosses the room but instead of passing me by and locating my dress, he sits down next to me and offers me his coffee. “Lots of cream and way too much Splenda. Have some.”

  It’s an intimate gesture that doesn’t say, go home, Allie, and I’m confused. “I think I should leave.”

  He sets the mug on the nightstand and shifts in my direction. “Do you want to leave?”

  Do I want to leave? I repeat in my head. No. No, I don’t want to leave, but I should. He was pretty clear last night on where we stand. No relationship. Just sex. Or that was the point he got across and that felt safe. It felt like something I could do and not get hurt.

  “Do you want to leave, Allie?” Dash presses.

  “Why does that feel like a trick question?”

  “No games, Allie. I told you that.”

  “Don’t you want me to leave?” I counter.

  “I spent the last hour staring at you in my bed, and thinking about how much I should want you to leave.”

  That answer stabs at me way too much. Proof that one of my first impressions of Dash was correct. He has the power to hurt me. Badly. I need to go home. “My dress, please?”

  The doorbell rings and Dash curses. “Damn it. That will be my sister. I completely forgot she was coming over until now. She bought me this damn waffle maker she’s been wanting to try.”

  Panic and embarrassment rush over me. “Oh my God,” I murmur. “Oh my God. I am never drinking again.” I forget my nakedness and throw away the blanket, eager to escape and get dressed, but by the time I’m standing, Dash is in front of me, his hands on my shoulder. “I don’t want you to leave, Allie. Not even a little bit.”

  I can’t even digest what he’s saying or any of the implications of his words. This morning is no longer just me and him. “Your sister, Dash. I work with her. I’ll look bad. I’ll look like a—just bad.”

  “You’ll look like the only woman she’s ever seen at my house. The only woman, Allie. She won’t make this awkward. But if you want me to, I’ll tell her I’ll meet her somewhere in an hour. But that’s absolutely not what I want.” The doorbell rings again. “It’s your decision. Just tell me what I’m doing.”

  I press my hands to my face and then look at him. “I’m embarrassed.”

  His cellphone starts ringing. He grabs it from the nightstand and answers, “I need a few minutes, Bella. Let yourself in. We may go out to breakfast.”

/>   She says something and Dash smiles before he says, “I’ll tell her.” He disconnects.

  “Tell her?” I ask. “What was that? What was that?!”

  “She asked if you were here.”

  My eyes go wide. “How did she know?”

  “She said she knows me and she could read us, but not to worry, no one else could. Stay, Allie. And just in case I haven’t been clear enough, I’ll say it again. I want you to stay.”

  He wants me to stay, but he also spent the past hour trying to talk himself out of that idea. And he failed, I remind myself. He wants me to stay and beyond reason, I want to stay. “I have nothing but last night’s dress to put on. And high heels.”

  “Is that a yes to staying?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

  Relief washes over his face as if he actually thought I’d say no. “Wear my sweats. And my T-shirt looks good on you. But do it quickly because you’re sitting here naked, baby. I can’t take it. Find something in my closet or my drawers that works. Nothing is off-limits. And you can have that coffee. I’ll get another one. I also left some Advil on the nightstand for you.”

  God, he thinks I’m a lush. “Thank you. Are we really doing this?”

  “Yeah, baby,” he says, stroking my hair. “We are. Get dressed. I’ll see you downstairs.” He kisses me hard and fast on the mouth and heads for the door. A moment later, he’s gone, and the door is shut. I’m naked and alone in his room, about to rifle through his closet. With his sister downstairs.

  What is this man doing to me?

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  I pick up the coffee cup and drink. That’s where I’m at right now. I’m naked and drinking Dash’s coffee while he’s not even in the room. But somehow that feels more respectable than going downstairs in his clothes, with his sister present and preparing breakfast that is now for three, not two. Nope. I can’t do that. It’s just not an option. I have to wear my dress. I take another sip of the coffee, and hunt down my bra and panties, which I find in the sofa cushions, and put them on. My belt is under the coffee table but my thigh highs are missing and after a fairly detailed search, I abandon ship where they’re concerned.

  Time is ticking and Dash is expecting me downstairs, so I grab my purse and dart for the closet, where I discover my dress hanging on a hanger. I don’t give myself any time to think about Dash doing that or why or the flutter in my belly at my clothes hanging with his clothes. A night has become the day after. That is all. I will not let myself start thinking this is bigger than it is.

  Once my dress is back on my body, I feel a bit more in control. I mean, yes, I wore it last night, but it’s not like Dash’s oversized clothes hanging on me is more obvious than this. I fold the T-shirt and leave it on a shelf and drape my belt with it. The belt is so very last night. I have clothes on my body at least and I dart into the bathroom, opening drawers and hunting for toothpaste to finger brush my teeth. I hit the jackpot and discover an extra brush and I don’t even hesitate to rip open the package.

  In about five minutes, I have my teeth and hair brushed, and I’ve washed my face. I have a small amount of makeup with me and I put it to good use. I’m almost human. But now the conundrum. I stare down at my bare feet and pink-painted toes. Heels or no heels?

  “I liked you better in my shirt.”

  I whirl around to find Dash in the doorway. “Hi,” I say, reverting back to my impressive vocabulary.

  His lips curve. “Hi.”

  “I’m trying to be less obvious,” I explain.

  He catches my hand and walks me to him. “She knows you stayed the night. Just go with it. Let’s eat.” He starts walking, taking me with him.

  “I have no shoes, Dash,” I object, but it’s a weak objection. It’s this or heels and heels really feel like a weird choice for waffles with his sister, in his kitchen. But then again, so do my bare feet, but Dash ignores my protests and keeps moving. In other words, bare feet it is. And I’m officially living the most awkward morning after ever. Aren’t sisters protective of their brothers?

  I have a memory of me and Dash talking about everyone wanting his sister’s money. That means his money, too. I like Bella quite a lot, but she’s human, and I can all but read her thoughts already and they go something like this: Who does this barefooted brown-haired bitch think she is? She probably wants his money. In other words, I’m screwed, and without more than two sips of coffee.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Once Dash and I are in the hallway, outside the bedroom, he laces his fingers with mine. “She’s just my sister, Allie. Relax.”

  He’s just given me the exact reason I can’t relax as a reason to relax, but I nod anyway as kind of a vow to try and do as he wishes. We start walking again and the whole holding hands thing kind of feels like a relationship thing and we’re not in a relationship. Are we? I mean I am meeting his sister. No. No, I’ve already met his sister. And I was here when she came over so this encounter just kind of got forced on us all.

  A few more steps and we clear the hallway, the scent of fresh delicious waffles baking or cooking, I don’t know the proper waffle term, fills the air with the promise of happiness in my mouth. I adore waffles which is why my mother always makes them for me. To hell with my bare feet. If I’m offered a waffle, I’ll eat a waffle.

  Bringing the kitchen into view, Bella is behind the island, looking beautiful, relaxed, and casual in a T-shirt and leggings. Her gaze lifts and lights at our approach, no anger or judgment in sight.

  “There she is,” she greets. “Morning, Allie. I have fresh coffee ready and waiting.” She walks to the thermal pot, pours the contents in a cup, and by the time Dash and I are on the opposite side of the island, she sets my new cup in front of me.

  “That’s my version of the cinnamon churro latte they have at the office,” she explains.

  “Thank you,” I say. “And good morning, Bella.” I lift the mug to my lips.

  She smiles a knowing smile and wiggles a brow. “Yes, it is.”

  I set the mug down before I drink. “Okay, let’s just get the elephant in the room dealt with. I feel really weird right now.”

  “Why?” she asks dramatically. “You two are grown adults. And if you want to roll around in the sheets together you have every right.”

  My cheeks heat and I press my hand to my face, peaking through my fingers at her. “Did you really just say that?”

  “Yep.” She points at the cup. “Now try the coffee.”

  I drop my hand and stop fighting the moment. I sip the warm beverage and approve. “It’s just like the one at the office.”

  Dash nudges my arm. “You’re supposed to say better.”

  “Better,” I say quickly. “It actually is. I’m not saying that because your brother just told me to.”

  She scowls at Dash. “Stay out of this. It’s just your kitchen. I’m in it now.” She refocuses on me. “You like waffles, right?”

  “Love them,” I promise. “Which is why my mother makes them every time we have Sunday brunch.”

  “Perfect. You two sit and get comfortable. I’m about ready to get the food on the plates.” She turns back to the stove.

  “Mom loved to cook,” Dash explains. “She taught Bella and it’s kind of her hobby.”

  “Did she teach you?” I ask, my nerves starting to fade.

  “She tried,” he admits. “I sucked.”

  “He really didn’t try,” Bella chides from over her shoulder.

  My lips curve. “I somehow think your sister is right.”

  “Hmmm,” he says. “Probably, but I try never to tell her she’s right. She starts thinking that’s always the case.”

  I love how they are together, teasing and having fun, with an obviously close bond, and I wonder about the brother I read about and that Dash lost. Was he Bella’s brother, too?

  She returns to the island with two plates, setting one in front of me and Dash, waffles covered in strawberries and whipped
cream. “This looks and smells amazing,” I declare.

  “They are amazing,” she says. “Because my mama taught me right.” She motions to Dash and then me. “This will be the first Saturday Dash isn’t on his computer, typing while I cook. I kind of love your influence though his publisher wants his book early.”

  “I’m not turning it in early,” Dash snaps, picking up his fork.

  I take a cue and pick up my fork as well, suddenly feeling I need to eat rather quickly. “I’ll go home after we eat so you can focus.”

  He scowls. “Better yet, you can stay and read the damn piece of shit.”

  Bella brings her plate to the end of the island and sits down next to me, her brows dipped. “Wait. You want her to read your work in progress?” She motions between us with her fork. “What insanity is this? You never let anyone read your work in progress.”

  “That’s what I said,” I agree readily.

  Dash has another opinion. “Yeah, well, she’s an ex-editor at my ex-publisher. She knows books and she’s read my books.”

  “He just needs to read it from the beginning,” I repeat yet again. “He’ll figure out what’s wrong if anything is wrong. I think he’s just letting the Hollywood thing get in his head.” I dig into my food. “Did I mention this looks marvelous?” I say again.

  “Thank you,” she says. “And I think you’re right on Dash. The pressure is getting to him.”

  Dash sips his coffee and says nothing while Bella turns the attention on me. “Any chance you might stay in Nashville, Allie?”

  “My mom and stepdad are here,” I say, leaving out my mother’s cancer, which she may or may not know about. “So it’s tempting, yes. But I have a dream job in New York that I’d be kind of crazy for leaving, and the other Allison is supposed to be coming back to work.”

  Her brows dip. “Allison is coming back? Really? She left so suddenly. But I didn’t really know her.” She eyes Dash. “But maybe, right? Because of Tyler?”