by Kendall Ryan
“Is that so?”
I nodded, feeling satisfied.
“Does that mean girls are like kittens? Give them lots of snuggles and give them cream to lick up so they don’t get ornery and claw you?”
I giggled. “Something like that. Be right back.”
Once inside my bedroom, I didn’t bother with closing the door. I heard the television flip on and figured Braydon was making himself comfortable.
I unzipped my dress and stepped out of it, crossing the room in bare feet to hang my dress in the closet. I was humming the tune from the commercial I could hear coming from the living room and spun around to a rich grumble. Braydon was watching me from the doorway. I sucked in a breath as our eyes locked.
He remained motionless in the door, his dark blue eyes possessive and hungry.
“What are you doing?” My voice came in a rush of breath.
“Take off your bra.”
What?
His gaze dropped to the swell of generous cleavage that spilled over my pink push-up bra.
My body obeyed his command, my traitorous hands finding the clasp behind my back and releasing it. I let the straps fall from my shoulders, but palmed the cups of the bra before I was left completely exposed.
Braydon crossed the room and lightly gripped my wrists. “Don’t hide from me. I don’t know where this is headed, but this thing between us is real. I know you feel it, too.”
My brain latched on to his statement that he didn’t know where this was headed—wouldn’t make me any promises, but he was right, I felt more for him than I had for anyone in a long, long time. And not to mention, my body was humming for his touch. It had been so long, and no one knew my body quite like Braydon. I craved him. Even though I knew he was bad for me. “We shouldn’t,” I murmured, finding my voice.
“Don’t you think I know that? I don’t mean to mess with you like this—I never meant for things to get so complicated. But I want you. I want your friendship, and fuck, I want this body too, if you’ll let me have you.”
I chewed on my lower lip, weighing his words.
Braydon gently tugged my wrists away and my bra fell to the floor.
He inhaled sharply and cursed under his breath. He cupped my naked breasts, his thumbs lightly grazing my nipples. Darts of pleasure shot through me, sending a rush of warmth to my core.
Braydon watched my reaction with interest, his dark eyes missing nothing—not the rosy blush that was crawling up my neck or the way my breathing came in soft pants. He lowered his head and with his eyes still locked on mine, he pressed a tender kiss to the top of one breast, then the other. I ached to feel his mouth against my sensitive nipples and he didn’t deny me. His hot mouth closed over a nipple, his wet tongue loving it with soft strokes. A cry broke from my lips and my knees trembled. His hands pressed the weight of my breasts together and his mouth moved from one to the other, licking, sucking, and biting gently all while I writhed against his talented mouth.
Braydon pulled away, rising to meet my lips. He pressed a tender kiss to my mouth, then rubbed his thumb along my lower lip. The dampness he’d left behind on my breasts puckered my nipples in the cool air. He looked me over, his blue eyes alive with arousal and his slacks heavily tented in the front.
Not expecting anyone to see my panties tonight, I had on a pair of comfy black boy shorts. But the way his hands found my ass cheeks, which peeked from the bottom, he didn’t seem to mind in the least. He knew how to turn me on until I was soaking wet and nearly ready to beg. His fingers toyed with the waistband of my panties, dipping barely inside with featherlight touches to tease and arouse. The skin on my hips and stomach broke out in chill bumps. I rubbed a hand over the front of his pants, feeling his fully erect manhood, and my sex muscles clenched.
“Can I have you tonight?” he asked, breathless.
My brain was screaming at me to give in, to rip my panties down my legs and undo his pants . . . but my heart was throbbing painfully, reminding me of the ache only he could produce. “Have you been with anyone else?” I held my breath.
He shook his head. “No. There’s no one else.”
My breath whooshed past my lips as I breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you staying the night?” Cuddling with him was my favorite postsex activity. Sleeping warm and secure in Braydon’s arms made everything okay.
“Of course. After I orgasm, I can pretty much crash anywhere.” He chuckled lightly, looking at me like this was a fact I should know about him by now.
So not what I wanted to hear. I drew a deep breath and took a step back from him. Despite how sweet and attentive he was with me, that was still all this was. He made that crystal clear. This was sex between two consenting adults. Plain and simple. I could take it, or I could leave it. I knew exactly what I needed to do.
I crossed the room and stood at my open bedroom door. “Good-bye, Braydon.”
He adjusted his erection and came to stand next to me, pressing his palm against my cheek. “Kitten?”
“This has got to be fifty-fifty. If you can’t give me what I need, I won’t give you what you want.”
“What are you saying?” His thumb lightly rubbed my cheek.
“This isn’t going to work for me.”
Sad blue eyes met mine. “Understood.”
I wanted him to argue, to fight for me, but I knew that wouldn’t happen. Even more of a reason to let him go.
As I watched him pull his shirt back on over his head, my heart ached painfully in my chest, fearing that this was it. I wondered if this was the last time I would see him.
Without even a last glance my way, Braydon left me in my too-quiet apartment. Naked and alone.
14
Emmy came over a few evenings later to check in on me after my disastrous night with Braydon. We’d just finished giant spinach salads and garlic rolls from the deli downstairs and were sitting cross-legged on my living room floor, casually chatting about life, work, and any other topic that wasn’t my cringe-worthy love life. Thank God.
Never had I felt so out of control, so powerless around a man. Sometimes it infuriated me the way Braydon made me feel. Other times it was so completely blissful that it made my entire life’s outlook brighter. Today was not one of those days. I used to be so fearless giving Emmy advice when it came to Ben. I’d tell her not to take any shit. To not give into his sexual advances—to make him sweat a little. It was so easy from the sidelines. I wasn’t emotionally involved.
Things with Braydon were so much more complicated. I’d inadvertently given him not only my body but also my heart. I knew deep down I was falling for him. I’d fallen for his quick wit and sense of humor, for his sexy confidence, for the way he made me feel about myself. Aside from his commitment issues, he was sweet, a true gentleman. It was dangerous territory, especially because I was damn certain this was all just physical for him. He’d reminded me time and again.
“Sooo,” Emmy began, a hint of concern on her face. “Are we going to talk about it?”
I shrugged. “What’s there to talk about? I caved last weekend—brought him home with me.” It was a low point; that was for certain. It wouldn’t be happening again.
“And what happened? I know you two aren’t back together, so . . . tell me what happened that night. You better spill it, little miss. You know there’s no holding back from me.”
I swallowed my pride. “We started to . . . you know . . .” I wiggled my eyebrows—the universal signal for getting it on. “And then I realized that nothing had changed, I was still nothing more to him than his fuck buddy, and I lost it. I kicked him out of my apartment with a raging erection.” And then cried myself to sleep.
“Wow. You don’t fuck around. I like it, lady.”
I frowned at her. This wasn’t some game—not for me, anyway. I wasn’t trying to whip Braydon into shape. I just couldn’t put myself through the heartache again, so I ended it before it went too far.
“Well, don’t you worry, babe. I know he’s cra
zy about you. He’s going to come around.”
She sounded so confident, but I was pretty sure there was no chance of that. I’d given him every opportunity in the world.
“Let me ask you something . . .”
I explained about the insight I’d developed while stalking him online—and how I rarely saw him pictured with a girl—except for the one blond-haired girl, Katrina, though I didn’t tell Emmy I knew her. “Did he ever have a serious girlfriend?” I asked.
“I think so. A few years ago. Ben said something about how he’d gotten royally messed up when it ended and he’s really leery about new relationships and letting people in because of a crazy girl he dated a few years ago. That’s all I know.”
“Do you know her name?”
Emmy shook her head. “Let me see the pictures you found.”
I agreed, grabbing my laptop from the counter and logging in. At the first click of my mouse, I knew it was a terrible idea. His face appeared and my heart throbbed painfully in my chest. I missed him. Terribly. That chiseled jawline, his full mouth that used to erupt into a crooked smile with one simple quip. His insanely blue eyes fringed in dark lashes, the rumpled mess of dark hair. Seeing him on my screen wasn’t enough. It didn’t even compare to the real thing. I wanted to press my face into his neck and inhale, wrap my arms around his firm body, feel his gentle caress on my skin, hear the sweet words he would murmur.
Emmy studied each photo along with me, but found nothing even remotely familiar about the girl featured with him.
“So how do you feel?” she asked, nodding once toward my computer screen.
I sighed and thought it over. “I miss him. Too fucking much. And it makes me want to do strange things . . .” I rubbed my temples.
“Like?”
“I want to cook for him, do his laundry, fold his boxers into neat little squares. Something is majorly wrong with me.”
Her expression softened. “Oh honey. You love him.”
“Nooo. That’s not it. I’ve read studies about this. It’s just pheromones. Like some strange chemical reaction that my body has to his. Some people can have this unexplained attraction. Braydon and I obviously have it. That’s all this is. It doesn’t mean we’d even be capable of having a lasting, loving relationship.” I remained objective in my assessment, grasping on to the science of it.
“Really?” She cocked an arched eyebrow. “And wanting to do a man’s laundry doesn’t tip you off that maybe your feelings go a bit deeper than that?”
No, my feelings couldn’t extend beyond the bedroom. I couldn’t love him, that wasn’t part of the arrangement. My heart just needed to get the memo.
• • •
The following day, in a moment of weakness, I texted Katrina again.
Me: Hey! Are you up for meeting for coffee today?
Several minutes later, she replied.
Katrina: I’m busy today, but how about a drink tonight?
Me: Sounds great.
Once we’d set the time and place, I instantly felt calmed. Maybe tonight I’d get some answers about Braydon’s past.
When I arrived, I spotted Katrina right away. Her shiny blond hair was curled in tight ringlets that fell around her shoulders. She was dressed in skinny jeans with a cute top and matching scarf and large dangling earrings. She looked nice, even if she was trying a little too hard. My own hair was in a ponytail and I’d opted for comfort—jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
She hopped down off her barstool as I approached and gave me a hug like she was holding on for dear life. Maybe our shared experiences had bonded us more than I knew. Something told me I was about to find out.
We ordered our cocktails—she a glass of wine and me a Shirley Temple because I had to work in the morning and was tired of feeling like crap when I woke up. Once our beverages arrived, we sipped them in silence for several moments while I figured out what to say.
“So . . . how are you doing?” she asked, concern reflecting from her misty blue eyes.
I shrugged. “Not great. I still miss him.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Yes, we’ve seen each other, but nothing’s changed since I walked out on him in Hawaii. He’s still the same old Braydon with his issues.”
She nodded, knowingly. “Yeah, he’s tough to pin down. It’s okay to miss him.” The faraway look in her eyes made me wonder if she was talking to me or more to herself with that comment.
“So tell me more about your history with him—if you’re comfortable sharing,” I added.
“Yeah, I’m an open book. We dated for nine months. The best nine months of my life. We traveled abroad, went hiking in Belize, surfing in Thailand, dined in five-star restaurants, attended red carpet events. It was a fairy tale. I thought he was it for me—I’d found my forever. My parents were so happy for me. They wanted to meet him. But they never got that chance.” Katrina clamped her lips shut and the misty look in her eyes made me wonder if I’d hear any more. I wanted to know why they broke up—what had happened to end their fairy-tale romance to make Braydon into the jaded man he was today.
As silly as it was, something else was still bugging me. “Can I ask you a question?”
She nodded.
“When you were together, you went to his apartment, right? I don’t know why it bugs me, but I don’t even know where he lives.”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “I stayed with him most weekends. But he moved a few months after we broke up and I don’t know where he lives now.”
“Oh.” I guess that would stay a mystery.
Katrina straightened her shoulders and kept the topic light. She told story after story about their dating history—the places they’d been, things they’d done—recalling funny things he’d said, often making herself erupt in laughter. It all struck me as very sad. Their relationship had ended two years ago and she hadn’t moved on. Not one bit. My stomach churned. I couldn’t be like this girl. Realization struck me smack in the face. Maybe I already was.
A short time later, we said our good-byes, Katrina making me promise I’d keep her updated on what happened with Braydon, and I agreed.
If anything, my meeting with her strengthened my resolve about Braydon. I needed all or nothing. Seeing how she was still very much hung up on him was almost too painful to watch. I vowed not to become her.
15
A new project at work had left me blissfully busy and was almost enough to distract me from constantly thinking about Braydon. But now it was the weekend and my sorry ass couldn’t stop picturing his pretty blue eyes and messy dark hair or remembering the way his strong arms felt around me. That was why his text on Saturday afternoon totally took me by surprise. It was like he’d somehow known I was sitting here, pining for him.
Braydon: Hiya kitten
Me: Hello
Braydon: I miss you.
Me: Me too.
Braydon: I hate how we left things.
Me: I know.
Braydon: I get that our arrangement didn’t work for you, but the worst part is, I feel like I lost a friend.
It was true, I felt the exact same way. I missed having him in my life. And stalking his photo shoots online wasn’t enough. I had no clue what to say. He knew how I felt. He’d either reciprocate or he wouldn’t.
Braydon: I was wondering if you’d meet me for coffee?
Wow. I had to reread the text twice. He’d never asked me for coffee before.
Me: Sure. That’d be nice. ;)
Braydon: Cool. You free now?
Interesting. Braydon Kincaid missed me and wanted to see me in a casual setting. Progress? My day was suddenly looking up. It was crazy how a bit of attention from this man could change my entire outlook. I was addicted to him.
He suggested a little café that he said was quiet and out of the way, about halfway between his place and mine. I still didn’t know where he lived, but now I supposed I had a clue.
An hour later we were seated at a small round table with s
teaming mugs of coffee in front of us, an awkward silence big enough to fill a stadium settling between us. I didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know where to look.
“So . . . we’re out . . .” I raised my eyebrows, glancing around the room.
While we were out in public, Braydon was right, this coffee shop was a hole in the wall, a teeny tiny place tucked between a couple of office buildings. In fact, there was only one other patron inside. Suddenly I was seeing our first outing with new eyes. And I wasn’t happy.
I set down my coffee and planted my elbows on the table. “Listen, I get that you’re embarrassed to be seen with me. I know I’m no supermodel, but shit, this is kind of a blow to the ego.”
Braydon leaned forward. “No, that’s not it at all. It’s complicated.”
I waited for him to say more, but he remained utterly silent. “Okay. Bye.” I stood and grabbed my purse from the back of the chair. Complicated, my ass. I wasn’t going to sit here in this dump and pretend it was a date any more than I was going to pretend a polished turd was a Tootsie Roll.
“Ellie, wait.” He rose and clutched my hand, preventing my escape. “I’m sorry. Listen, I’ll explain it.”
He guided me back to my seat and I sat, but I kept my purse clutched in my lap.
“Shit, where do I start?” He rubbed a hand through his disheveled hair.
I bit my lip, waiting.
“There was this girl . . .”
Ah, it always started off with a girl. I hated that someone who had come before me had messed with his head so badly, but I suspended judgment and just listened. He was finally talking and opening up. Maybe this was a start.
“We dated for a while and things were fine. But once it was over, she turned ultraclingy and crazy. She began stalking me. She’d show up everywhere, at my work, my apartment, you name it. Calling nonstop, crying, begging for me back. It got really out of hand and it actually got so bad, I had to get a restraining order against her.”
“Wow.”
“I wrecked my last girlfriend. She went on antidepressants, suicide watch, and had to move back in with her parents.”