by James, Clare
Holden’s fingers snake through my hair and my back arches, pushing into him even deeper. I don’t mean to do it. I don’t want to be this needy, but I can’t help myself. A moan echoes in his chest and I close my eyes, letting my body enjoy what he’s doing to me without allowing my pesky brain to interfere.
Suddenly, Holden pulls back. His hands rest on my hips, holding me at an arm’s length. Then they travel up the sides of my body and stop dangerously close to my breasts. I am on high alert, feeling every sensation. I pray my tank top covers up what he’s doing to me. But when Holden’s eyes skim down the length of my body, there’s no hope as my nipples tighten against my cotton shirt.
God, no. Don’t look there.
He pauses a beat too long on my chest and he pulls me in again. “Are you ready to leave?”
The understatement of the millennium.
“I am,” I say, willing my body to calm down. Something I’ve never had to do before with a guy. Usually, I had to talk myself into feeling something—begging my body to react. Even with Thomas. I wanted to want to be with him, and I really tried. He was perfect, at least I thought so at the time. But I think it was the idea of him I liked, not the real person.
This, what I’m feeling now, is new and unsettling.
Holden grabs my hand and links his fingers through mine, a movement even more intimate than the dance.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I answer.
Hand in hand, we walk out the door.
Chapter 3
Holden walks me to my apartment door, but doesn’t move when I open it. Oh no. He’s going to make me ask him in. Well, that’s mortifying.
He puts his hand on my shoulder and turns me to face him.
“Hey, Scout,” he says, tipping his head down. “What is your real name, anyway?”
“Tabitha,” I tell him. “Why?”
He smiles and takes hold of my hands. “Because I’d like to know the name of the girl I’m going to kiss.”
Then, without waiting for a response, he brushes his lips against mine. It’s slow and sweet at first. His lips are soft and smell like mint. And just as I’m getting used to the sensation, he brings my lower lip into his mouth and takes a little bite.
My entire body tenses and my head goes light. I grip his arms for balance—his hard, taut arms cut in lean muscle. It’s ridiculous what he’s doing to me. He continues to explore my mouth and jaw and neck. It does nothing for my equilibrium, so I have to hang on.
Holden clears his throat and looks down at me, shifting the weight on his feet. “It’s late. I better let you get inside.”
He takes a step back.
I take a step forward.
“I like you, Tabitha,” he says, reaching out to rub my arms. “I don’t want to overstep here, we just met and—”
This time, I leap forward to silence him. My lips crash into his and he welcomes it. I inhale his musky scent and want more. I rise up to my tiptoes and link my hands around his neck. I want to hold him here and stop time.
It’s unexpected, this draw I have to this guy I just met.
Holden pulls me up to him, his arms snug around my back to hold me in place. He stays in that moment with me, our tongues exploring while our bodies cling to each other.
The moment doesn’t last. Soon the mood becomes urgent, desperate. Holden’s hands tangle in my hair, turning my head so he can deepen the kiss. His movements are frantic and I love knowing it’s me doing this to him. I also know that I can stop it at any time—and knowing that gives me the courage to keep going.
Holden drops his hands to my waist. They quickly make their way under my shirt. He runs his fingers down the length of my back and then before I can process what’s going on, he skillfully unclasps my bra. We’re still in the hallway where anyone could see us, but I don’t care. It almost heightens the experience. He exhales, his breath hot on my neck, and I melt into him.
There’s this amazing push-pull thing going on with us. It’s a dance, really. I take the lead—just the way I like it. Then, he steals it back, knowing exactly what to do to make my body surrender. Something I can’t let happen. I need that spotlight tonight.
It’s time to make the big move.
I pull away from him and look into his eyes. I smile as I lift his t-shirt from his jeans and slide my hands up to his chest. He’s ripped and his skin is smooth and incredibly warm. He’s vulnerable in my hands, exposed. Power surges through me and I rest a protective hand on his heart so I can feel each erratic beat. Then I begin my descent. His breathing now matches his heartbeat. I bring my hand to his stomach, trailing the light path of hair down to his waist, before dipping my fingers under his jeans.
Holden’s grip tightens around my ribs and he kisses me with so much force he almost knocks the wind out of me. This incredibly erotic dance continues as he takes over. His hands release their death grip on my body and travel upward. But just before they reach his intended destination, I yank him inside my apartment.
This time, he doesn’t argue. He follows willingly, kicking the door shut behind him.
We fall onto my couch and his head smacks into mine.
“Ouch.” I laugh.
“Sorry, Tabitha.” He kisses my forehead, my nose, my lips. “Sorry,” he says again, brushing his lips on my chin, my neck, my chest.
He lifts me onto his lap and we sit face to face with my thighs straddling his. He gently tugs on my tank top, gathering the bottom as he slides it up over my head. Even though the clasp is open, my bra still covers me. But I’m not sure for how long. Holden kisses me over the silk. Still, the kisses are warm and wet, almost as if on my bare skin. When he does it a second time, I feel like I’m going to explode.
Time to get this situation back under my control.
I drop the bra straps off my shoulders and Holden’s eyes cloud. Slowly, I slip the bra off and let it drop to the floor. Holden appears to be frozen. He sits, staring at me, without a single movement. Taking advantage of the situation, I lift his shirt off. My eyes meet his and I hold his gaze while I undo the top button of his jeans. He closes his eyes and tips his head back.
I can’t believe how much I want him in this moment. I can’t wait any longer. Sliding off him, I take his hand and bring him to my bedroom.
I giggle to myself, knowing he doesn’t stand a chance.
Chapter 4
Holden sits patiently on my bed while I light a candle. Who knew when I would do this again, if ever, so I decide to make the most of it.
I look over my shoulder at this man on my bed, his naked chest a map of beautiful plains and valleys. He looks even better in candlelight, if that’s possible. I sigh at the sight of him, off in my dreamy world, until he crooks his finger in my direction.
“I can’t wait,” he says and I know I don’t want him to.
As I walk toward him, toward the bed, I am extremely aware I have no shirt or bra on. But I don’t mind. He’s the one I picked, the one I want.
Holden reaches out to me and laces his fingers in that intimate way and I swear I float up off the floor. I want to ask him his real name, but that will just make all of this more real, and more difficult. No, he will just be my perfect Holden tonight.
His lips find mine again as he pulls me down to the bed. Each touch is magnified on my skin. All I see, hear, and feel is him. He parts my lips, but I soon take control, brushing my tongue along his. Gentle and soft, I taste every bit of him, and then push my body against his. When his breathing becomes ragged, I move a little faster and push a little deeper. He has no trouble keeping up, nipping at my lips, down my neck, and up to my ear. The sting of it has me on fire.
“Is this okay?” he whispers.
His voice sends chills all the way down my body, settling between my legs. But I can’t exactly tell him that. Instead, I nod my reply and show him just what he’s doing to me.
I roll over so I’m on top and plant a trail of kisses along his neck.
Across his incredibly muscular stomach.
My fingers explore his skin, reveling in the heat of it until I reach the waistband of his jeans.
“Tabitha.” Holden’s voice is raspy, and the way he says my name does something to me. Something delicious.
I’m giddy at the thought of what’s going to happen next. I’m going to have sex with this beautiful man and put my ugly past behind me. I will finally be okay again. It’s really going to happen this time.
I sit up to help him slide off his pants and I see my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. My top gone, breasts exposed, and a guy in the background.
I lose my balance and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.
“Tabitha?” Holden sits up, reaching for me instantly. “What’s wrong?”
Before I can answer, the pictures flip in my head—just as it happened that morning when Thomas shoved all those terrible images in my face. Photos from his party.
That night started innocently enough. My friend Megan and I went to his house to put on a little dance for his birthday. He always asked me to dance for him, and I thought it’d be a fun way to celebrate. In private. But Megan talked me into doing a number as entertainment at the party. We won’t strip or anything, she said. Just put on a little show. It will be fun.
It was stupid and careless. Someone slipped something into my drink before we went out to surprise Thomas. I blacked out soon after, but there was plenty of documentation from the night.
The next morning I stood there with Thomas, unable to move, as all the pictures from the night fluttered to the floor.
Photos of me dancing.
Sitting on laps.
Posing with the guys from the party.
In most of them, I was topless, only wearing a pair of tiny panties.
“Tabitha?” Holden wraps an arm around me. “Are you okay there, little one?”
No, not even close.
He rubs my back and I want nothing more than to fall into him. “Ugh.” I search for an excuse to get out of this mess. This was another terrible idea. What was I thinking?
“It’s all those mojitos,” I tell him now. “They’re catching up to me.”
I grab a blanket and wrap it around me, no longer wanting to be on display. “I don’t feel well.” I drop my head. “I’m so sorry.”
Holden tips my chin to meet my eyes. His are warm, full of concern. “It’s okay.” He helps slide me back into bed and pulls the covers up over me. And I try to put the memories far away, to the back of my mind.
For the next twenty minutes, Holden plays nurse. He feeds me Advil, makes tea, and puts a bucket on the side of my bed. Then he crawls in next to me.
We fall asleep.
And it’s nice.
Until I wake up at four in the morning and discover he’s still in my bed.
“Alright.” I shake him awake.
Holden looks at me all sleepy and adorable. I want to kiss him senseless, but the sun will be up soon and I’ve missed my chance. The plan was a one-night stand, not a lingering affair that bleeds into daylight.
I have to steady my breathing when Holden’s lips turn up into a soft smile. I move to get up, but before I can, he gathers me in his arms and rolls over, putting all his weight on me. I can’t help but giggle. Out loud. When was the last time I did that? I slap his shoulder.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Better,” I tell him.
“That’s just what I wanted to hear.” He kisses me slow and deep, and I can’t help but get lost for a minute.
My body and brain battle it out while I fall into Holden.
Eventually, my brain wins.
“I loved the sexy male nurse routine,” I say, pushing him off me. “But it’s time for you to go, mister.”
“Are you sure I can’t stay the night?” he asks, nuzzling his face in the crook of my neck.
“I’m sure,” I mumble, breathing in his wintery scent one last time. “Thank you, though. It was fun.”
He chuckles—a deep throaty laugh that made me pick him in the first place. A laugh that has me reconsidering my answer. I think he knows what he does to me because his pause is the mother of all pauses. I know he’s waiting for me to change my mind, but I stay strong.
“Okay, Tabitha.” He shakes his head and his adorable mop of sandy hair falls in his eyes. “If you say so.”
“I do.” I stand my ground. “I’ll see—”
Crap, I so want to change my mind.
“I’ll see you around.” I recover before burying my head in the pillow.
The mattress springs up as he stands and I hear the zipper on his jeans—the way he looks in them is the other reason I picked him. Then, he leans in real close.
“Oh, and by the way,” he whispers. “The name is Noah. You know, in case you’re thinking about me later. Good to have a name with the face. Don’t you think?”
I grumble as he lets himself out.
Chapter 5
The morning sunlight feels like it’s burning a hole through the window in my room and forces me to get up. My head throbs and I swear I can feel acid swirling in my stomach. That’s what I get for faking sickness. Now I have a real hangover to contend with.
I shuffle to my bathroom, cursing the mojitos that sounded like such a good idea last night. I should be used to it by now; I’ve been waking up like this on a regular basis ever since I moved into my new place. Still, my body refuses to get used to the booze and late hours. In the bathroom, I notice my belly is adorned with imprints from the button and stitching of my jeans. Something that tends to happen when you sleep in your clothes. My tank top still smells like stale beer and there are three little marks—hickeys!—running across my chest. A parting gift from…
Noah.
I mean…what’s his name.
There, that’s better. Names just make everything messy.
Though I push his name out of my head, it’s not as easy to push away the images of last night. The way he linked our hands together, and touched my skin, and kissed me so desperately I thought we might both die if we parted.
I put my cheery, yellow teakettle on the stove and sit down in the kitchen when more practical matters pull me out of my schoolgirl daydream. A pile of papers on the kitchen table calls my name, so I get to work. I start school on Monday and need to go through my class schedule, buy books, and get a jump-start on some of the coursework.
My hands go clammy just thinking about starting classes at the university—where my father just happens to be a professor—but I will myself back to work. Dad thinks I’m getting better and I need to play along or it’s back to lockup for me. So I’ve made a deal with myself, complete with goals and objectives. My shrink would be so proud. D-Day is this Monday. No more depression, or drinking, or men. And absolutely no more acting like a total head case. It will be the first day of my new life, and I don’t think it can come soon enough for my dad or for Amy.
Amy has been my stepmom forever. We’ve spent summer vacations and holidays together since I was eight, but living in the same city has made things a little awkward between us. She doesn’t quite know what to do with a full-time stepdaughter hanging around all the time. It’s like she’s secretly waiting for me to pack up my things and go back home like I’ve always done after my visits. Still, I think she’s amazing and as juvenile as it sounds, I’ve always wanted to be just like her.
If I was more like Amy, I could take responsibility for my actions and not apologize for them. I could make my own decisions and not be haunted by my mistakes. If I was more like Amy, I would not let a bunch of ignorant assholes rule my life and surely wouldn’t have let them chase me out of my home in Chicago. But let’s face it, I’m not Amy. I’m Tabitha Kelly, my mother’s daughter, and both Amy and Dad are afraid to do anything that might put Tabitha over the edge. So, they remain on suicide watch: hourly calls, daily check-ins, and regular inquiries into my therapy. I moved here more
than six months ago and nothing’s changed.
It’s not all bad. I do have my own place now. The shrink gave me the okay two months ago. I was tired of putting Dad and Amy out. Plus, I need my own space for my…extracurriculars. Or so I thought. What was supposed to be my summer of sleepovers with random boys turned out to be a bunch of near misses—even with Holden.
Of course, Mom would’ve easily put me up in an apartment to keep me out of town, but I insisted on paying my own way. With the hush money from the settlement, finances are not a problem.
The kettle whistles and I move my achy body over to the stove to make some tea, hoping it will help soothe my stomach. Sitting at the distressed wood kitchen table I found at a flea market, I breathe in the earthy aroma wafting up from my mug. My new home is filled with similar treasures from junk shops and yard sales. It’s my absolute favorite place to be.
After the tea, I finally feel content enough to finish my work.
At Dad’s request, I’m taking two courses and an independent study this semester. It’s the bare minimum to be considered full time. After I was forced to leave school mid-semester last year, I’m already far behind and this will only make it worse. But Dad insists I take it slow. He also insisted that I take my independent study at the school newspaper—one of his responsibilities at the university. I can’t imagine the strings he pulled to make that happen.
Too soon, my work is finished and so, unfortunately, is my distraction.
All alone, I move into the living room and cuddle up on the squishy couch. I love this couch and the soft blanket that’s always draped across it. At my old house, there were no squishy couches, and you surely weren’t allowed to cuddle there in the living room. Heaven forbid. No, there was no cuddling. We had sofas, bureaus, and glass tables—ivory, polished, and cold—meant to be seen, not to be used. I don’t think Mom would be a fan of my eclectic little studio apartment on the Mississippi River.