He barely looks at me as he elbows me aside and opens the fridge wider, leaning down so he can see inside. “Hmm. Maybe I don’t have any milk.”
“Then why would you offer it to her?” I toss a hand in the air.
“I thought there might be some in here, okay?” He shuts the fridge and glares at me as he makes excuses. “My housekeeper does the shopping for me. I don’t even eat dairy, so I wasn’t sure if she’d bought milk this week or not.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, maybe you should put it on your housekeeper’s list, now that you are a responsible parent and all.” I use little air quotes around the words just to get deeper under his skin.
He looks like he wants to spit nails at me, but he goes over to the counter where a little pad of paper and pen sit next to two open boxes of pizza. Both pies are half-eaten and need to be put away.
Ian grabs the pen. “Milk,” he says, shooting me a dirty look as he writes it down. Then he looks over at Ruby and softens his tone. “What else would you like from the grocery store, sweetheart? I’ll run out right now.”
“I can go to the store,” I offer.
Another dirty look. “You’ve been drinking. You’re not going anywhere.” He turns back to Ruby. “You didn’t eat any pizza, honey. Would you like something else for dinner?”
Ruby shakes her head and starts to weep again, her little shoulders trembling.
Immediately I go embrace her, tucking her head beneath my chin, rocking her gently. “You know what? I have milk at my house, sweetie. I’ll go get it for you. I even have the chocolate syrup you like.”
“I’ll go get the milk from your house.” Ian practically vaults over the kitchen counter in an attempt to beat me to the back door, and I quicken my pace. We reach it at the same time and he stands with his back to it, blocking me from getting out. “You stay here with them.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snarl between clenched teeth, trying to push him aside. “And get out of my way, you big bully.”
“No.” He doesn’t budge an inch. In the hours since the service, he’s changed from his dark suit into jeans and a T-shirt so fitted I can see his six-pack rippling beneath it.
Show-off.
“This is something I can do, so I’m going to do it,” he declares, glancing at Ruby and lowering his voice. “She won’t even talk to me.”
“Maybe if she didn’t see you being such a jerk to me, she wouldn’t be scared of you,” I whisper fiercely. “You want her to trust you, you have to show her you’re not going to hurt her.”
He’s insulted. “These kids know I would never hurt them.”
“No, they don’t. Everything they thought they knew, every reason they had to feel safe, is gone. They’re lost and sad and scared, even if they don’t show it.” I look at Chris and Morgan on the couch. “Or show it in different ways. Now move.”
“No.” He turns around, putting his back to me and his hand on the door handle, keeping it shut.
I wrap my hands around his waist and try to move him, but it’s like trying to budge a Giant Sequoia. Next, I grab his muscular forearm, trying to pry his hand off the door handle. His skin is warm beneath my palms, and hell if it doesn’t turn me on to touch him. What is wrong with me? “Damn you, Ian,” I say quietly. “You came to me, remember?’
Our eyes meet over his shoulder, and the line between desire and contempt grows even thinner. He looks at my lips and then down at my hands on him. “I remember a lot of things. Now I’m going to your house to get the milk, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay here with the kids. Understand?”
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or his words that have my head spinning and my blood rushing to all manner of inappropriate places. What does he mean by a lot of things? Surprise makes me loosen my grip, and he takes advantage of it, shrugging me off, opening the door, and stomping into the yard. For a second, I just stand there watching him disappear into the dark, my heart pumping hard inside my chest. Let him go, I tell myself. He needs to cool off. You need to cool off. I slide the door closed.
But a split-second later, I find myself turning toward the kids. “Christopher, I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay.”
Because I’m too wound up—and wined up—to let this go. He can’t play with me like this. Not after what he did back then. And not after kissing me like that today.
He has a good enough head start that he’s already letting himself into my kitchen through the sliding door off my deck by the time I catch up. “Hey,” I say breathlessly, ramming the door shut behind me. “I didn’t say you could come into my house.”
“I didn’t ask your permission.” He marches over to the fridge and opens it, the interior light spilling onto him like a spotlight on a darkened stage. From where I stand, I see him in profile, and my stomach flips at the cut of his jaw, the stubborn set of his mouth, the tightness of the sleeve around his bicep. I’m sixteen again, watching him and wishing he would look at me differently. Then I’m seventeen, working up the courage to flirt with him, ecstatic when he steals a kiss at a party. Then I’m eighteen, all my dreams coming true in one perfect night, and I offer him the one gift I can never get back.
And he took it. He made promises. He made me believe we were going to be together. I was ready to give up everything I had worked so hard for to be with him. Turns out, I was just another notch on his bedpost.
So why did he kiss me today?
Why is there still this spark between us?
How is it possible to hate someone and still want his hands on you?
I need answers.
Frustrated and confused, I march over to where he stands and get between him and the refrigerator, pushing the door shut and leaning back against it. “Tell me why you really kissed me today.”
“I told you. To shut you up.”
“That’s the only reason?” I can feel the heat coming off him, and it’s not all anger.
Ian takes me by the shoulders, pinning me back against the cold stainless steel. “Now you listen to me. I’ve had about all I can take of your smug, sanctimonious behavior today. Stop it.”
“Or else what?” I challenge, full of heat and liquid courage.
He leans toward me menacingly. “Or else you’re not going to like the consequences.”
I lift my chin. “Try me.”
With a grunt of frustration, he crushes his lips to mine just like he did in the conference room today, only this time I kiss him back. His hand slides around the back of my neck and into my hair, his fingers curling into a fist. I gasp at the sharp sting on my scalp, and he takes advantage of my open mouth, his tongue stroking inside it.
I reach beneath his shirt and run my hands up his rippling abs and sculpted chest. His bare skin is hot and smooth under my palms. His mouth travels down one side of my throat, his tongue warm and wet. He pulls me away from the fridge, slips his hands beneath my thighs and lifts me up so that my legs are wrapped around his waist.
Inside my head is a dizzying refrain. He wants me, he wants me, he wants me.
The mental victory feels as good as his body against mine. I take his face in my hands, his scruffy jaw rough against my fingers, and our mouths coming together again. He turns and sets me on the kitchen counter and the kiss grows deeper and more feverish, until all of a sudden he grabs me by the wrists, forcing my hands off him.
“Enough,” he says, breathing hard. “Enough. You drive me fucking crazy, London. And I don’t know what kind of games you’re playing tonight, but I’m not interested.”
And just like that, my self-esteem is crushed by his callousness—again.
“You’re one to talk about games,” I snap, yanking my arms from his grip. “How about the way you played me in the past?”
He steps back, runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus, that was almost twenty fucking years ago. We were kids.”
“So what? I believed everything you said that night. I gave you my virginity. And it was all
just a lark for you!”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“What else was I supposed to think? One night you say you’re all mine, the next night you were with somebody else. I saw you, remember?”
He says nothing. Doesn't move a muscle.
“You never even said you were sorry,” I inform him.
He points at me. “You think you’re so smart. You think you know everything. Well, you don’t.”
“I know I should have stayed away from you.”
“That, sweetheart, is a lesson we’ve both learned.” Turning away from me, he opens the fridge and stares into it. The milk is right there in front of his face, but apparently he can’t see it.
Sliding off the counter, I shoulder him aside and grab the plastic half-gallon of skim myself. Then I shut the door and slam the milk onto the counter like a gavel. “Here. Take it.”
Expecting him to leave now that he has what he wants, I’m surprised when he keeps standing there.
“What?” I ask flatly. “Surely you don’t need my help pouring a glass of milk. You want to play the hero, Ian, go play him. I know how you love the role.”
He grasps the handle of the half-gallon, but he doesn’t pick it up. “She’s going to want you.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “And?”
“And . . .” He doesn’t look at me as he considers his words. “And I think you should come back to the house.”
God, he was so damn stubborn. Why couldn’t he just admit that he needed me as much as the kids did? Why couldn’t he be straight with me for once, and not give me that cocky asshole façade? Why couldn’t he see that all I wanted was a little fucking sincerity from him? I shake my head. “Not good enough.”
He glares at me. “Fuck you.” Then he swings the milk off the counter and storms out the back door, slamming it behind him.
Six
London
I must’ve lost my freaking mind.
That’s the only explanation I can come up with for what just happened. I might have some sort of disease that destroys common sense and logic. Nothing else makes sense as to why I kissed him like that, let him kiss me, and somehow expected something other than exactly what I got. I’m still standing alone in my kitchen trying to process everything that just happened when I hear three loud knuckle-raps on the glass.
I freeze, take a deep breath, and head to the door. It’s him, of course. “So you knock now?”
His jaw is tight. “Please come back to the house.”
“Why should I?”
Exhaling loudly, he tries again. “I need you. They need you.”
I need him to say it. It’s stupid and doesn’t change anything between us, but it has to be because I’m worth something more.
“Are you asking me for help because you need a babysitter while you’re out at the club?”
Please, say no. Please tell me it’s because you care, even just a little for me.
He shrugs. “Partly.”
I try to shut the door in his face but he stops it with the heel of his hand. Instead of Neanderthalling his way into the house, he just stands there.
“I can’t do this with you,” I admit. “I can’t. You want just one thing, and screw anyone else’s needs in the meantime.”
“You think I want this . . . that I’m enjoying myself having to ask you for help now?”
“I don’t know what you want, I don’t think you know what you want!”
He runs his hand over his face. “Well, excuse me! But I wasn’t the one pushing your restraint right there.” He points to the fridge. “That was all you, sweetheart. You’re just as guilty for what happened. I know you like me to be the bad guy, but fuck, London. You initiated it this time. So don’t play your ‘I’m so perfect and Ian is the devil’ shit on me.” His voice rises as he mimics me.
Asshole.
“Fuck off.”
He’s right, though. It was me this time. I wanted . . . no, I needed him. I needed to feel something—anything—to know that it was me he wanted and not some bullshit excuse about keeping me quiet. I need to know why I still feel something for him.
And if I’m honest, it’s the most alive I’ve felt in a long time. Ian is the gasoline and I’m the match—when we connect, we could start a forest fire.
“Right, fuck off,” Ian scoffs. “I kiss you and you slap me. You push me to do it again so you can what? Get answers to something that happened a million years ago?”
He doesn’t get it. I was doing just fine before he kissed me today. For decades, I’ve been able to go without a single touch from him and be just fine. Then the moment in the office happened and I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.
“You confused me with that kiss. I’m so tired of you using me, confusing me, and then brushing me off like I don’t matter!”
The air between us crackles. “I brush you off? Are you kidding me?”
I move closer toward him. “No, I’m not kidding you, Ian. I want to put this all behind us for once. So let’s have it out. Let’s get all the dirty laundry out in the open so I can move the hell on.”
“We’re not going down this road. Not today. Not ever. Fuck! How are you the only female on this planet that can make me this fucking crazy?” Ian yells the last part. “Why, when my entire life feels like it’s falling apart, am I standing here, wishing I could shut you up again with my mouth? Why, when I’m so far past the point of angry, all I want to do is . . .” He stops, and my breath hitches.
I wait for him to continue, both of us standing here, staring at each other. My heart races as I wait for the words to come from his lips. To tell me something real. Tell me I’m not alone.
But instead, Ian retreats, like always. He shakes his head with his eyes closed, and my heart breaks. “Don’t worry, this won’t happen again. We both know it was a mistake and I don’t need any more reasons for you to hate me. I think you’ve stockpiled enough already.”
“I don’t really hate you,” I admit.
His head jerks back and he closes his eyes. “What the hell is it about you? Why do we do this to each other?”
“I don’t know.” If he’s not going to admit his feelings, I damn sure won’t admit mine. “Whatever. You’ve already said it was a mistake.”
Or that I’m the mistake. Either one applies.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.
I release a heavy breath. “I’m tired of this.”
“Of what exactly?”
Caring about you so much but pretending to hate you more.
“Thinking things could ever change.”
I’m done with him and feeling this way. I’ll be there for those kids because I love them with my whole heart. No matter what lingering issues are between Ian and me, we’re not entering any kind of relationship different from what it’s been for years.
Hostility and resentment.
Because hate is easier than love. If I hate him and he lets me down, I’m not left disappointed.
Ian sighs. He looks up to the sky and then back to me. “I know, I’m an asshole. You’re better than me, and I’m never going to change and you’ll always hate me. Let’s chalk this up to grief and your inability to hold your liquor.”
My walls are back up and the door we opened just now is cemented shut. “Prick.”
“I got a big one of those, huh?”
Yeah, you do.
“I’ve had bigger,” I lie.
No need to inflate his already ridiculous ego.
“Whatever you say, London. Now will you please come back with me and help? I’m sorry I disturbed your very busy night with your new friends Pinot and Chardonnay.”
“Sure, only because you’ll pay for this later.” I smile, ignoring the jab.
He groans as I saunter past him and his voice is low, but I hear him clearly. “I don’t doubt that.”
The truth is, as pissed off as I was, I would’ve gone after him. Not just because of the kids, but because Ian is the we
ak link in my iron chain. Sabrina used to laugh because no matter how much I “hated” him, if he needed help, I would still help—with an attitude, of course. And I could never let Ruby suffer—she’s too sweet to deserve that. I just wanted to calm myself down before having to face him.
We walk back to his house and as we get to his pool deck, he grabs my arm.
“I need to say something.” He clears his throat. “Whatever you think that was back there on my part, you’re probably wrong. You have a long history of thinking the worst of me—”
“I’m not—”
His hand covers my mouth. “Shut up for once and listen,” Ian commands. “I’ve let you go on thinking whatever you want because if that’s what you believe, nothing I say will change your mind. But hear this.” His hand drops. “I’m sorry. This isn’t how I want things to be with us.”
I have no idea what he’s apologizing for. For what happened before? Walking out and breaking my eighteen-year-old heart? Being a jerk today?
“What exactly are you sorry for?” I ask, my voice shaky.
“Everything. I know you’re suffering the loss of your best friend, like I am, and we’re acting like idiots,” Ian admits. “I never should’ve said the things I did. Take your pick of the shit I’ve done and apply it.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I say, looking down at the ground. “We’ve both been acting—poorly. And I don’t hate you. I wish I hated you. It would make things easier, it would mean I don’t care.”
He looks to the sky and laughs. “She’d both love and hate this, you know?”
I don’t have to ask who he’s talking about. “She would. She’d say that what just happened was long overdue. She’d tell us we were being stupid, and then she’d tell me never to speak of it again—unlike any other time I’ve told her about a kiss,” I smile thinking of Sabrina. “Although, if she were alive, we never would’ve kissed.”
She had no problems telling me the reason I hated Ian so much was because I really loved him. The thing about love is that it’s irrational and stupid. I work with statistics and analyze hard data—I weigh probabilities and risks, and think in truths and facts.
Hold You Close Page 6