by Ryan, Lexi
“You took off the ring.” He massages the back of his neck. “It’s over?”
“It needs to be. I don’t know how I’m supposed to move forward when what we have behind us hurts so much.”
He studies me, his eyes full of thoughts I can’t read and know he won’t share. “You can stay here as long as you want. Take some time. Think things through. Jamaal will be here. He’ll get you anything you need.”
I tuck my feet under me and sit next to him. He’s already dressed in dark jeans and a white button-up dress shirt. “Are you going somewhere?”
“I leave for Afghanistan this morning.”
A memory flickers. “You’re performing for the troops?”
“Yeah.”
“How long until you leave?”
He cuts his eyes to me and pushes off the bed. “My driver’s waiting out front.”
“Is this it? Is this…goodbye? For good?”
He closes his eyes. “It has to be. ”
I slide off the bed and touch my hand to his face. “How am I supposed to let you go?” I run my fingers along his jaw. “It’s the right thing to do, but—” My voice breaks.
He cups my jaw, his fingers sliding into my hair. “I know your memory isn’t the greatest right now,” he says. “So I’m going to tell you the things I need you to remember for me.”
“Okay.”
“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.” He swallows and braves a tentative smile. “You’re like the sun—completely blind to your own beauty because you are so busy making everyone around you shine. No matter how far we hide in the shadows, you share your light. That’s how you stole my heart when no one else could find it.”
It hurts to breathe. “Nate.”
Steps sound outside the heavy bedroom doors. “The plane’s waiting, Crane.” Jamaal’s voice. “Time to head out.”
Nate ignores him and keeps his dark eyes locked on mine.
“You have to go.”
He holds me tight. “One more thing.”
“What?” I don’t know if I can handle anything else.
“Thank you,” he whispers. “Thank you for giving something I never thought I deserved. And for giving it without expectation or condition. You made me believe I was worth it.”
I shake my head, unsure of this metaphor. “My light?”
“Your love.” He drops his hands and steps back.
I gulp in air and watch him back toward the door. Turn the knob. Walk away.
When he shuts the door behind him, I race to the bathroom, turning on the shower full blast because I can’t stand the idea of letting him hear me cry.
I bite my fist to block the sobs, but they come anyway—thick and angry, ugly sobs of grief and self-pity. Because I don’t have to know anything else about Nate Crane to know I love him. And he just said goodbye.
When the mirror is obscured by steam, I peel off my sleep clothes and step under the spray, letting it pound against me. I close my eyes and imagine the water can wash away all my heartache, all my fears and confusion. I lean my head against the glass enclosure and let the tears come.
My body rocks with my sobs. They tear out of me like my body rejecting poison. I let them come, and I let the water wash them away until my breathing evens and my tears are gone.
I don’t know I’m not alone until hot, rough hands are on my bare shoulders, and Nate is turning me around.
“Nate,” I breathe.
He’s fully clothed, the water streaming down his face as he looks at me. “Why’d you have to forget?” Then his mouth is on mine, lips and tongue and teeth, taking and demanding and punishing.
I want this kiss too much to do anything but return it in kind. I suck at his lower lip and explore his mouth with my tongue. His taste is new and familiar all at once.
My hands go into his hair and I hold him close. I’m afraid he might disappear—that this might prove to be a hallucination—but he’s solid under my hands. Water pours over us as we devour each other’s mouths, and my hands find their way from his hair to his shoulders, his chest, and finally down to the hem of his shirt.
His mouth leaves mine just long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head and throw it to the shower floor. Then he’s stepping into me again. One leg between my thighs, he presses me against the wall as his mouth returns to mine.
His kiss is softer this time. Slower, sweeter, and less desperate. If he was feasting on me before, now he’s savoring me, and I let him. I savor him in return. The last sips of a precious bottle of wine, the last moments of a fleeting dream.
I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what this means for tomorrow or next week. Right now, I don’t care. I just need his hands on me, his taste on my tongue. I blindly grope for the button on his jeans. Releasing it, I shove them down his hips, and he kicks them away.
His hands grip my hips and he slides my body up the glass until my feet are off the ground and I’m resting on his thigh. The pressure is so perfect and so sweet. He rips his mouth from mine and moves to my neck as a hand cups my breast. I’m a mess of sensation and I don’t want it to end—the press of his thigh between my legs, the tease of his thumb against my nipple, the scrape of his mouth against my neck.
“I’ve missed this,” he murmurs.
Leaning my head back, I give up and let my eyes float shut. “What have you missed?”
“No, Hanna,” he growls. “Look at me. I want you to remember who’s touching you.”
I force my eyes open and am treated to the sight of his head dipping to my breast. “Oh God.” I should stop him. I shouldn’t let it go this far. We both know what this is. A stolen moment. An extended goodbye. But his teeth scrape my nipple, and instead of protesting, I’m arching into his mouth, urging him on.
He squeezes my breast and groans as he lifts his head and returns his eyes to mine. He flicks my earlobe with his tongue. “I’ve missed your taste.” He pinches my nipple between his fingers. “The way you cry out when I touch you.” He repositions me between himself and the wall until my thighs cradle the bulge of his erection. “I missed the heat of your pussy when you’re turned on.”
Then his mouth is on mine again, his hands tangling in my wet hair as he devours me.
“The plane?”
“It’s mine. It can wait.”
Eventually, we make our way out of the shower and dry each other with fluffy white towels. Then he takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom. He slides under the covers with me. The frantic pace of the shower is gone and in its place is the steady beat of a grief-filled love song. He traces every line of my body with his fingers then his tongue. Love and need fill me so completely they hold together the pieces of my broken heart.
When Nate settles his head by mine on the pillow, his eyes are as tender as they are hot. “I have to let you go,” he whispers. “This has to be goodbye.”
My throat grows tight. “I know.”
I FELL asleep in his arms.
When I wake up again, the room is quiet. Nate is gone, his absence nearly tangible.
The covers smell like him. I can still feel the scrape of his beard against my skin. And despite this grief that makes my limbs feel heavy and my eyes gritty, I feel a sense of peace I haven’t in weeks.
I climb out of bed and pull on a robe before padding down the stairs and out to the patio. The sun is high in the sky, warming the air and reflecting off the surface of the pool. Crystal sun catchers hang from the awning and spin in the breeze, casting dapples of light into the shadows by the door.
I close my eyes and step into the sun, letting the light warm my cheeks.
Inhale. Exhale. Let go.
I’m going to be okay.
My head is clear, the fog of the last two days lifted. And with my clarity comes the understanding. I wish I could’ve had more time with Nate, yet I’m glad he had to go. He needed me to let him go. We needed to let go of each other. Holding on to him was hurting him as much as it was hurting me.<
br />
And Max…
I open my eyes and tilt my face to the sky. Fluffy white clouds roll across the endless sea of blue.
I can forgive Max. I love him too much to hold on to my anger. I can forgive him. But I can’t marry him. Maybe that will change with time, but I’m not going to ask him to live in limbo for me again. I have to let Max go too.
Canceling the wedding will break my mom’s heart, but I need to make this decision for myself, not her. And regardless of what I may have been thinking when I put on Max’s ring before my accident, regardless of what emotions or revelations I can’t remember, I’m not ready to get married. Not to Max. Not to anyone. I’m still figuring out who I am and where I fit into my world.
I’m giving myself the gift of time and no attachments. Maybe my memories will return or maybe they won’t. But whatever secrets are lost in my damaged brain, I’ve let the person I am—the person I want to become—get lost there too. Or maybe she was lost before my memories were. Maybe I lost myself three months ago when my world spiraled out of control.
I need to call Liz and make arrangements for a flight home. I need to call Max and my mom. Suddenly, calls that terrified me twenty-four hours ago are simply steps on a new path.
I climb the stairs back to Janelle’s room. My phone flashes wildly at me from the nightstand, and I pick it up and open the latest text message.
Nix: Call me. Now.
I straighten. What if something happened to Liz? I hit the button to call her, and as it rings, I imagine half a dozen different scenarios in which Liz or Cally or my mom could have gotten hurt.
Suddenly, my stomach clenches and the peace I was feeling moments ago flees. What if something happened to Max? What if he’s in the hospital and thinks I don’t care? I flinch as guilt punches me in the gut.
“Come on, Nix,” I whisper against the ring.
I’m expecting her voicemail when she finally picks up. “Hanna!”
“Is everything okay?”
“Your blood work is back.”
My shoulders sag in relief. No one is hurt. Nothing horrible has happened. Nix is just being doctor-ish. “Okay? Are my electrolytes still screwed up?”
“Your electrolytes are fine, but your hCG levels are elevated.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re pregnant.”
Thank you for reading the first book in the Here and Now series. Hanna’s journey continues in book two, Fall to You, coming in June 2014. If you’d like to receive an email when it and my other new titles are available, please sign up for my newsletter.
Read Other Books by Lexi Ryan
Anna Nalick—Breathe (2am)
Barenaked Ladies—Odds Are
Dave Matthews Band—The Space Between
Matchbox Twenty—If You’re Gone
Shakira, Rihanna—Can’t Remember to Forget You
Sarah Bareilles—I Choose You
Jason Mraz—I Won’t Give Up
Nine Inch Nails—Something I Can Never Have
A Great Big World—Say Something
P.M. Dawn—I’d Die Without You
Jason Walker—Down
Macy Gray—I Try
James Blunt—You’re Beautiful
Excerpts from Lauren Blakely and Rhonda Helms
I’m excited to share my release day with two talented writers and friends. I’ve included snippets of their new releases for you below.
About First Night
An erotic novella from the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author Lauren Blakely...
It was only supposed to be one night…
When the sinfully handsome man walks into her bar in San Francisco, Julia Bell simply wants a break from the troubles that keep chasing her. That escape comes in the form of sexy, confident and commanding Clay Nichols, who captivates her mind AND turns her inside out with pleasure. The attraction is electric and they share one scorchingly hot night together, but they also discover there is more than just off-the-charts chemistry; the connection between them runs deep. Clay never thought he’d return to New York with this woman still on his mind. But he can’t get her out of his system, and he needs more of her…He wants more than just the first night…
*This is a prequel novella to the erotic romance NIGHT AFTER NIGHT.*
Excerpt of First Night © Lauren Blakely
“WE HAVE an India Pale Ale tonight. Will that do?”
“That’ll do just fine,” he said, his muscular forearms resting on the sleek bar. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and Julia couldn’t help but notice how strong his arms were. She bet he worked out. A real man kind of workout. Something hard and heavy that made him sweat and grunt to mold that kind of physique. She poured the beer into the glass, and set it down in front of him. He reached for his wallet, peeled off some bills, and handed them to her.
“I take it you’re Julia?”
Uh oh. How did he know her name. Was he an undercover cop? Had she accidentally served someone under twenty-one? She was diligent and methodical in her ID checking and had never let an underage in. Or wait. Her spine stiffened. Was he onto her? Did he know what she did every Tuesday night at a dimly-lit apartment above a greasy restaurant in ChinaTown that smelled of fried pork? That would be over soon though. It had to be. She’d done her time, and was ready to cash in. Soon, she kept telling herself.
“Yeah,” she answered carefully, all her senses on alert. She wasn’t really doing anything wrong those nights, was she? No, she was just taking care of business as she knew how.
“I hear you’re the best bartender in San Francisco.”
The tightness in her shoulders relaxed. At least he wasn’t a boy in blue come to bust her. But forget his smoldering looks. He was like the rest of them, going for cheap lines, hitting on the woman behind the bar. “Yeah, where’d you hear that? Facebook?”
He smiled briefly, shook his head. Damn, he had a fabulous smile. Straight, white teeth and a knowing grin. But she knew better than to fall for a hot stranger simply because he was handsome. She’d done that before, and it had kicked her in the ass. That’s why she was a No-Strings-Attached kind of woman these days. Not that she’d had any attachments of any sort lately – she had too much trouble to untangle herself from before she could even think about getting tangled up in love, let alone the sheets.
“No. Your sister told me. McKenna, I believe.”
Oh.
Oh yes.
It all made sense now.
And far be it from Julia to ever doubt her big sister. Because McKenna’s assessment was one hundred and fifty percent correct. He was smoking hot. Un-be-lievable. And he was no longer a stranger. He was sister-approved, he wasn’t a copy, and he wasn’t a heavy, so she shucked off her worries. “Clay Nichols,” he said, offering a hand to shake. Nice firm grip. Before she knew it, she was thinking of other uses for those strong hands.
About One Broke Girl by Rhonda Helms
Anna Parker’s life disintegrates with one phone call. Her dad’s selling their ritzy New York City condo because her Wall Street banker mom emptied their bank account and ran off with another man. Which means Anna has to drop out of her elite college and move with Dad back to their small Ohio hometown. Anna’s determined to reclaim her life ASAP, so she’ll use the next few months to save money, help Dad get back on his feet, and find and confront her mom.
But Anna doesn’t anticipate things going so wrong. The only job she can get is working as a lunch lady in an elementary school. Their money-pit duplex is falling apart around their feet. And her dad is depressed without her mom, who’s proving hard to find.
One bright spot in the chaos is Gavin Metcalf, a kindergarten teacher she dated when they were young teens. With his easy wit and sexy smiles, he makes her forget her stresses—and the fact that her boyfriend Steven back in New York doesn’t know the truth yet about her dire circumstances. When past and present collide, Anna has to decide where her future lies…
Excerpt of O
ne Broke Girl © Rhonda Helms
THE SONG pouring through the speakers changed to a deep, throbbing bass, and the crowd’s mood shifted into a sensual vibe.
“Will you dance with me?” Gavin asked in a sexy tone that made my belly flutter.
I should say no, because I was beyond attracted to this guy, despite my efforts. But I found myself starting to sway. He didn’t touch me, just let the inches of space between us thicken with tension. We moved in silence, eyes locked in an intensity I’d never experienced before. It was like he could see inside me, knew the inappropriate thoughts I was having.
I was so turned on, even as I fought against it.
All too soon, the song ended. With heated eyes, Gavin brushed his fingers along my forearm, then turned and walked off the dance floor.
“Wow,” Bianca said as she joined me, tugging Natalie’s hand to draw her into our circle. “That was hot. I almost had an O just watching you two.”
I barked out a laugh as my face flamed. I said to them both in a casual tone, “Oh, he apologized for being a jerk earlier. It was nice of him to do so when he didn’t have to. And he asked me to be his friend, too, which I think is great. Everyone could use more friends, right?” My excuses were paper-thin, a barfing of words, but they were all I had right now, so I clung to them.
Bianca’s grin widened. “Girl, if that’s friendship, I’m obviously making the wrong kind of friends.”
So many people help me bring a book together and this was no exception.
First, my husband, Brian, who never complains when date nights turn into brainstorming sessions and who is more than happy to tell me how he’d react to the drama I throw at my heroes. You, my love, are the real hero. Thanks for being awesome. I might keep you around after all.
To the medical professionals who helped me understand Hanna’s condition and hospital protocol. To my sisters, Deb and Kim, and my mom—thank you for fielding my endless questions. Extra thanks to Eileen Dreyer, who didn’t know me from Adam but happily answered my emails quizzing her about retrograde amnesia and dozens of what-ifs. These ladies provided me with more information than I could possibly include, steered me clear of plot holes, and inspired plot twists with their knowledge. Any errors are my own.