by K. L. Jessop
I did it because I had to, not because I wanted to, and no matter how many times I am there for Asher and Nora, the woman beside me has no idea that this time, while I’d been there keeping her upright, she’d been the one preventing me from falling, too.
I look over at Nora, her eyes focus on nothing in particular as she stares out of the windscreen, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her top. She’s not spoken since we left the hospital only breaking down as she’d headed outside. News like this is massive, but with Nora and the relationship she’s always had with her father, it’s become too much for her.
“I saw the change in him,” she whispers, still looking ahead. “When I came home earlier today, he didn’t look right. Maybe if I’d had stayed with him. Maybe if I’d have not gone out today, I could have stopped it.”
“Nora, you wouldn’t have been able to stop something like that. No one could have predicted today’s events.”
“Maybe I’ve pushed him too much with all these stupid ‘old times’ I’ve been believing he needs.”
I need her to stop blaming herself. I can’t have her thinking this has anything to do with her and the fun she’s been having with Pete.
Leaning over, I cup her face, turning her so she has to look at me. Her eyes are big and glassy in the moonlight that shines through the windscreen, highlighting her face. “Listen to me. This was not your fault. You’ve said yourself that your dad wants to do these things with you and that in return you like seeing the look on his face.”
“I do.”
“So then stop blaming yourself for something that is beyond your control. This was not you. Okay?”
She studies me for a second before her eyes close briefly and she nods, exhaling her hesitation. “Okay. I’m sorry.”
“Never apologize for being sad. Now, are you ready to go inside?”
“Will you stay with me for a while?”
I smile. “I was planning on it.”
Once out of the truck and inside the house, anxiety becomes too much, and I’m heading for the whiskey that’s calling to me from the minibar. The house is as we left it: beer bottles on the table and puzzle pieces scattered around the floor from all the commotion while the smell of cold pizza lingers, making my stomach rumble in hunger.
“You hungry? You need to try and eat something,” I say.
“Maybe in a bit. I’m gonna take a shower first. Need to get myself together. Then I’ll clear up.” She stands in the doorway of the kitchen as though she’s too afraid to step any further. She looks tired, vulnerable, and I want nothing more than to take away whatever anxiety she is consumed with. Going to her, I take her face in my hands to make her look up at me.
“You go take a shower. I will clean up here for you.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Very.”
“Okay,” she smiles flatly, lifting her hands so they cover mine. “And thank you for being with us today. With me.”
“Stop thanking me. It’s fine.” Kissing her on the forehead, I hold my lips there for a moment, needing this form of comfort from her that I believe she needs, too. “Go freshen up. Take your time. I’ll be right here.”
She nods before heading upstairs.
Where she now has control of her tears and is putting on a brave face, I’m losing her in another way and she’s slowly becoming subdued. I don’t want her to feel she has to be like that with me. I don’t want her to hold back what she’s feeling around me. In normal circumstances, I know she wouldn’t, but this is different. Things like this can change a person, no matter the reasons for it, and with Nora, she’s suddenly got no control over anything. She makes everyone’s problems her own and carries them on her shoulders to support them, but when it comes to things like this, she withdraws. And I hate seeing her this way.
After clearing up in the kitchen and packing up Pete’s jigsaw, I pour myself another whiskey, this time pouring one for Nora. Leaning against the kitchen island, I take a moment to absorb the silence, surprised at how much I have missed it, even though I get fucking loads of it at my place due to the fact it’s only me and my two cats. But I’ve missed this. The form of silence that somehow makes you feel at home. It’s hard to describe, but this place compared to my own feels warmer. I feel at home here. My place is just full of ghosts, be it Mom’s or Dad’s.
“What’s on your mind?”
Looking up, I find Nora leaning against the doorframe, and a spark of electricity races through my veins at the sight of her. Now in her yellow bed shorts and a white tank top, her long damp hair hangs in waves over her shoulders while her face seems a little brighter than it had been earlier. I have to force my eyes to stay latched on hers because they are itching to fall to her nipples that are playing games with me under the fabric.
“I was just thinking how silence can make you feel so many different things depending on where you are.”
“How do you mean?” She comes to stand in front of me, and I hand her the drink that is waiting on the counter.
“Like when I’m here in this house, even if no one else is here, I feel at home. When I’m in my own place, it just feels… cold. Empty. Like I don’t belong there anymore.”
“It’s bound to feel strange. It’s only you there now,” she says in a soft tone before taking a sip of her drink.
“And the cats. They dart around the house like I’ve got kids.”
“I’m not going to lie, I thought you’d get rid of those.”
“Absolutely not. They are my girls.”
“And here I was thinking that the only girl in your life was me. Do I have to compete with fur-babies?” She grins now, coming to stand at the side of me.
“Oh, of course. You need to up your game, Shortcake. Those cats don’t fuck about. And they’re bald.”
“Challenge accepted.” She chuckles. I’m glad her sparkle is back for the time being, even if we are just talking about nothing of importance. “Although, I’ve already won after giving you treats, so it’s a no brainer: I’m the best.”
I laugh. “I can’t argue with that.”
“You can’t argue with me anyway.” She nudges my arm with hers. “We all know short girls have an attitude the size of Mount Everest.”
“And yours is twice over.”
“Asshole.”
I grin, linking my arm over her shoulder and kissing her head. “I’ve got my Shortcake back. I lost you for a while today.”
“Yeah,” she exhales, looking up at me. “I know I’ve said it already, but I’m grateful you were with me.”
“I was with you because I care, Nora. I couldn’t let you go it alone, even though you had your family with you; even if it hurt like a bitch being back there. I knew you’d need me.”
She holds my gaze, and that flicker of fire between us ignites. But it’s her words that follow that have the fire roar through me, and I can’t work out why.
“She’d be proud of you, Grayson. Your mom. She’d be proud to have you just like I’m honored to have you as my friend.”
My jaw tightens as I struggle to fight the shame I feel inside. She shouldn’t be proud of a man who fed his mother’s habit. She should be turning her back and not want me to be a part of her life at all. Mom may have drunk the alcohol, but it had been me who handed her the bottle when she begged.
“What’s racing through your mind, Grayson. And don’t say nothing. I can see the change in your eyes.”
Looking down at the whiskey in my glass, I swallow the bitterness in my throat. “You shouldn’t be proud of me, Shortcake.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve done things I’m far from proud of, and I’ve hurt people who never deserved the pain. I’m not the man you believe I am.”
“You’re wrong,” she whispers. “You’re a man worth more than you give yourself credit for. A man of bravery and compassion. A man of strength and power. You’re a man who’s worth the world, Grayson, and…you’re the man I can’t stop thinking about
.”
I hold her gaze, her eyes now as blue as the ocean as she bites down on her bottom lip. Her little confession has her cheeks a shade of pink, and I know damn well it’s not from the alcohol. Heat runs my body and my need for her grows with every second as the pulse in the dip of her neck vibrates against her skin.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—"
“You think of me?” I murmur, stopping her as she goes to move away.
“Yes. More than I probably should,” she whispers, her eyes dropping to my lips. The air around us becomes thick, and the need to touch her is too great. Turning, I place my glass on the counter before I press my body against hers and without breaking our gaze, I take her glass and place it next to mine. She doesn’t move and my heart batters harder against my chest from our proximity.
Like it’s screaming to be touched, I circle the dip between her collarbones before slowly trailing my finger down between her breasts. Her breath catches and chills cover her golden skin, making her perked nipples press against the thin layer of fabric that is now the only barrier between us.
Fuck, I want her. That little voice in my head reminds me she’s off-limits, but it’s a voice that’s fading fast the more time I’m around her because being with her feels right.
“What are you thinking?” she breathes.
“I’m thinking of all the things I’d like to do to you. And all the things I know I can’t.”
“Because of my brother?”
“Yes. And everyone else who won’t approve.”
Her hands now slide up my chest and every nerve ending in my body comes to life with her touch. “But they aren’t here.”
"You're his kid sister, Nora."
"And I'm also a woman. A woman with my own mind. My own needs, and my own desires.”
“Which makes you more impossible to ignore,” I admit in a whisper.
“Then don’t.”
I couldn’t even if I tried.
I’ve fought too long and desired her more than she’ll ever know. I’ve wanted to have her in my bed, skin on skin while she comes undone beneath me.
Lowering my head, I cup the nape of her neck as I trail my nose along her cheekbone, her warm breath beating against my skin. Our lips are a breath apart, and I close my eyes, trying to gain some form of control because I know the very second her mouth is on mine, my body is going to roar from her touch.
So, I wait.
I wait because I have to.
I wait because I need to.
I wait because the longer I do, the more I can feel the hunger in her, the yearning, the heat that’s making me fucking high.
Pressing my hips into her, the tips of her fingers push into my chest when she feels just how much I want her and the whisper of my name that escapes the back of her throat is laced with beautiful desperation.
“Grayson…”
That’s all the encouragement I need to have my lips press against hers and the electric crackle between us.
I kiss her once, twice, before I tease the tip of her tongue with mine.
When a moan escapes her, I pull back, lifting her onto the kitchen island before I’m right back, kissing her with deep, slow passion, savoring every moment as her legs wrap around me and her fingers entwine in my hair, my own dancing over her skin. She tastes like whiskey and freshwater, she smells of strawberries and vanilla, and she feels so fucking good against me. I’m yet to be inside her and I can already tell she is going to ruin me when I am. This is better than my dreams.
Her taste.
Her touch.
Her.
How she has the ability to make me come alive with just a kiss.
“You kiss like a goddess,” I breathe, dragging my lips along her jaw before moving to her neck.
“And you kiss like a king.”
I smile against her skin, covering every inch of her neck in wet kisses as her back arches under my hold. I continue my way down the center of her throat and the whimpers that leave her are fucking divine. The pleas, the desire, my name on her lips. Each one turns me on more and more.
“Oh, God, Gray…”
“Talk to me.”
“I’ve never felt so high,” she breathes, trailing her fingers down my back.
This woman could quite possibly tip me over the edge, and the fact I’m making her this way is everything and more.
“Never?” I trail my tongue along her collarbone and cup her breast, causing her body to shudder the second I rotate my thumb over her nipple.
“Never,” she pants.
“Then you haven’t been touched by a man correctly.”
“Because I haven’t been touched at all.”
I halt, as does she, and I instantly feel the change in her breathing that’s now beating against my skin.
Because I haven’t been touched at all.
Shit.
When I pull back, she grabs my face in her hands, keeping me close. Her eyes are closed and the whisper that leaves her sounds as if she’s ashamed.
“Please don’t pull away.”
“Shortcake, open your eyes.” When she does, I study her for a second, wondering why and how this woman has never been caressed. “There’s been no one?”
“No one wants to stay when you have an overprotective brother around.”
I pull back slightly and look over her shoulder, frustration building slowly at the thought of her not being able to live this part of her life the way she wants.
“Grayson, this doesn’t have to change anything.”
She has no fucking idea, of course, this changes things.
“Nora, I could have easily fucked you in your kitchen. It changes everything.”
“You still can.”
I shake my head, trying to ignore the ache from my erection. “I cannot. I will not.”
When her head drops and her shoulders fall, I lift her chin, needing to have her eyes on me. Disappointment mixed with lust holds my gaze. A part of me wants to walk away, I should walk away—not because I don’t want her, because, fuck, I do—but because I believe she deserves someone better. But then the other part of me doesn’t like the thought of her being with another, and jealousy ripples in my chest.
No, I can’t have that. It needs to be me.
“I will not have your first time be on a hard surface where anyone could walk in and find us. It will not be some quick fumble to release a need before we go about our day like it never happened. I want you, Nora—I’ve wanted you for so fucking long—but not like this.
She kisses me with a hunger that matches what I feel for her, wrapping her arms around my neck before I lift her off the kitchen island and head upstairs to her room, questioning how the hell I’m going to control myself when I’m so desperate to be inside her. Because it won’t be happening tonight.
Tonight, I will hold her in my arms and kiss her until she knows what she is worth.
Chapter Sixteen
Nora
I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.
His words have rattled around in my head for the last half an hour as he has bruised my lips with his in searing kisses, leaving me breathless and unraveled.
How have we by-passed this? How have we danced around this: me wanting him, him wanting me…
“You’ve gone quiet on me, Shortcake. You are either sleeping or overthinking. Which is it?”
I’m lying against Grayson’s chest, our legs entwined, our fingers slow dancing with each other as we watch them. The red-hot air that had been between us just moments ago has been replaced with a tranquility that’s just as arousing as he holds me. And although every nerve ending within me is on fire and the pulse between my legs aches like never before, I respect the fact he’s being a gentleman—not that I would have objected to anything that was to have taken place between us. I still won’t.
“I was both thinking and overthinking about different things.”
“What are you overthinking?”
I smile. He never
likes it when I stress myself out over things, but I feel this is a reasonable thing to be anxious about: what’s to come of Dad and not knowing what to do.
“I was thinking about Pop, but that’s led to me panicking a little.”
“Tell me,” he whispers, now playing with my hair.
“How would I know what to do should it happen again? Will it be the same or worse? Will he be the same as he was, and if so, do we carry on as normal or does he need to rest more now? I don’t want to push him, Grayson, but at the same time, I don’t want him to feel I’ve cast him aside because I’m worried about making him sicker. What do I do?” It’s all things that seem so small but that could have an impact all the same.
He's silent a moment as I trail my fingers over the fabric of his T-shirt, wanting to remove it so I can feel his skin on mine.
“You change nothing. Be there for him like you have been. You do the things you came home to do. You treat him no differently to the way you already have, and you make sure the smile on his face is there just as much as it is on yours. You do all of that and you can’t go wrong. But treating him differently, making him aware that he’s got something else to contend with each day and just holding back from him because you think he needs it will only make things worse. For you and him. He’ll resent you for it, and eventually, you’ll hate yourself for not keeping things like they were.”
My heart feels heavy. Everything he’s just said makes sense, but I can’t help think he is talking of himself and his mom as much as me and Dad. I don’t know much, but I know from conversations at home that when Sandie drank more, Grayson had become more frustrated with her taking to hiding his troubles by spending more time at Hot Tuna.
“Promise me you’ll do that?” he murmurs, desperation in his voice.
“I promise.”