My heart races with uncertainty as he walks toward me with a look of purpose in his eyes. Bo takes the dishtowel out of my hand and tosses it carelessly on the counter. I glance in its direction but am stopped by his hands grabbing my face. His lips part as he scans my face, eyes darting back and forth, trying to find words.
I shake my head in question. “Bo ...”
He kisses me. A deep, hard, anguished kiss that curls my toes. One moan from his throat instructs me to open my mouth. I do. Bo’s hand runs up my neck and his fingers fumble with the elastic keeping the hair out of my face. When my hair finally cascades around my shoulders, he lifts me up onto the counter and pushes himself between my knees. Breathing hard through his nose, he grabs a fist full of my hair, pressing me deeper into his mouth. I echo his movements by setting his face in my hands. After a few minutes, he pulls away with a muted growl.
“Come with me.”
Hesitating, I touch two fingers to my swollen lips, as my legs swing free from the counter. Bo holds out his hand, but it’s not pleading—he’s demanding my compliance. Sliding off the counter, I follow him wordlessly up the dark wooden stairs. I have no idea if this falls under any category of appropriate, but he doesn’t seem to care. Bo begins unbuttoning his shirt, as his bedroom door swings open. He nods his chin toward my body and speaks barely above a whisper.
“Take off your dress.”
I nod and guide the dress over my head, leaving me standing in my black bra and matching panties in front of Bo, whose raging blue eyes stalk me as he takes off his pants. He walks toward me as I back up to the bed. I can’t believe we’re about to do this. It’s been months, but his touch has never left me. The first time we were together in my apartment flashes through my mind as my breath catches up with my body. I’ve craved him every second he’s been gone, but he never really left.
“Bo ...” I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I want this. Badly. But, like this?
He shakes his head as he repositions himself between my legs, his boxer briefs gone.
Scraping his fingers around my hips he tears off my panties a second before thrusting into me with such force that we cry out simultaneously. He fills every essence of my being, and I’m rendered senseless apart from feeling him. I reach around my legs and dig my fingers in his thighs, bringing him deeper into me as he anchors his hands on either side of my shoulders.
“My God, I’ve missed you.” Bo presses his forehead into mine, silencing any response I might have with a forceful kiss.
I raise my arms over my head and knot them through my hair as he pushes faster. Ecstasy cries out of my throat as he gently bites my lower lip. If I’d had my eyes closed this entire time, I would still have known it’s him—my body knows him. Bo slows for a moment, pulling back to look at my face. He looks absolutely broken. A tear finds its way down his face, clinging to his chin for a moment before free-falling to my neck. Reaching up, I dry his eye with my thumb. He turns his cheek into my hand as I draw my hand down his face, taking my thumb into his mouth for a second before burying his face in my neck, while he pushes harder and faster into me.
My hips and legs go numb as I try to find traction by releasing my hands and raking them through his hair. It shouldn’t feel this good at this moment, on this day, but it does. Oh my God, it does. Bo sits up on his knees, still inside me, and puts one of my legs up on his shoulder, stretching every muscle in my body as he leans back into my chest. I moan into his mouth as I force myself to silence the “I love you” brewing in my brain.
“You feel so good, November.” His eyes are closed and his face looks distant, as if he’s pretending we’re somewhere else.
He pulls out and grabs both of my hips, forcing them over wordlessly. I position myself on my hands and knees, sweeping my hair over one shoulder. Bo kneels behind me and brushes his hand slowly from my hips and up the length of my spine, before gripping my shoulder and entering me again. I grab at his bedsheets for balance as he slams into me over and over with low groans, gripping my hips with both hands now. Grief, anxiety, lust, love, and missing the absolute hell out of him brews an orgasm within me so intense that my arms give out and my shoulders press into the bed.
“Bo!” My scream is muffled into his mattress.
Bo’s fingertips dig painfully into my hips as his relentless pursuit of release nears its end. His movements become ragged as he starts to pulse inside me and I know he’s close. I reach between my legs and rub him as he pushes in and pulls out. It’s his breaking point. Bo throws his head back as he wails through me, collapsing onto my back when it’s over. He clumsily pulls out of me and rests his head on my shoulder when I roll over, his ragged breathing filling the oppressive silence of the house. Within a minute I watch the rise and fall of his chest even out, telling me he’s asleep. I lay motionless as silent tears roll from my cheekbones, off my earlobes, and onto his pillow.
* * *
The sweet smell of Bo’s cologne lifts from the t-shirt of his I’m wearing. I tiredly fumble my way through making coffee. The sun has risen again. At least we have that. The open windows on the first floor of the house usher in the sound of a car coming up the driveway. I grab the jeans I was wearing the night Rae died and slide them over my hips as I walk to the door. Ainsley’s bleach-blonde hair glows as sunlight bounces off her empty head.
“What do you want, Ainsley?” I try to sound bored as I open the door, but my heart is galloping through my chest. I know exactly what she wants.
She flips her hair over one shoulder and pushes past me and stands in the foyer. “What the hell are you still doing here? Don’t you live in Massachusetts?”
“I do. Bo asked me to stay.”
Well, he didn’t, but it was kind of implied.
Ainsley dips her chin as her eyebrows curl into a wicked stare. “Oh, and I’m the tramp, am I?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“You should. Why are you wearing his t-shirt? You really are no better than you make me out to be, are you?”
I calmly set my coffee on the small table reserved for keys and walk toward Ainsley. She wisely takes one step back.
“Bo asked me to stay. Unlike you, I didn’t muscle my way into his grief. God, you’re such an opportunist—a self-righteous one at that. I’ll tell Bo you stopped by. I’m sure it’ll make his day.” I turn back to my coffee when Ainsley’s hand snakes around my forearm, turning me to face her.
“Don’t you dare order me around, you arrogant bitch.”
I swallow my rage and my desire to smack her across the face. I settle for clenching my fist. My tone is cool.
“I suggest you let go of me.”
“Or what? Seriously, what will you do?”
I can’t swallow it anymore. I take my free hand and crack her porcelain cheek. It echoes through the house, as she drops my hand and puts hers to her face. Her wide ice-blue eyes fill with tears, and I wonder for a moment if she’ll hit me back. I’ve never hit anyone before, and she looks as surprised as I feel.
“Get the hell out of his house, Ainsley! If Bo wants you back, he knows where to find you.” I open the door and wait for her to exit.
“Oh, he wants me here. If he didn’t, he would have asked me to leave the night you bailed on him after the concert.” With the red cheek, her arched eyebrow makes her look maniacal.
Bo’s heavy footsteps down the stairs stop both of us. “I’m asking you to leave now, Ainsley.”
“But Spen -”
“Go. I’ll call you.” He says it so dismissively I wonder how she could possibly believe him. But, she seems to. She turns on her heels, looking back once to eye me up and down, and leaves.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say as I close the door and reach for my coffee.
“Don’t be. She has issues.” He walks to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee.
Standing in the doorway, I watch the muscles in his back flex underneath that sexy tattoo as he moves around the kitchen. I look for signs that he doesn’t re
gret last night. His apparent unwillingness to make eye contact isn’t reassuring.
“I’m sorry about last night.” He finally speaks as he sits at the table.
My eyebrows pull together as I sit across from him. “I’m not.”
“I meant the lack of protection. You’re not on the pill, right?” He’s watching the creamer swirl through his coffee.
“Oh, that. It’s fine.” I sigh, thankful he doesn’t appear to regret having sex—just not wearing a condom.
“It was really disrespectful, and I could have gotten you-”
“Look, it’s OK,” my cheeks catch fire, “my cycle’s normal. We’re in the okay zone, it’s fine.” The thought of possible pregnancy was far from my mind last night.
Bo sets his mug down and stares through my eyes—through my soul.
“Ember, it’s not ...”
“Bo, really ...” I shrug and we sit in uncomfortable silence for several minutes, drinking our coffee as darkness swirls between us.
Reaching across the table, I grab his hand. Tight. He stares at our knuckles, rubbing his thumb over mine for a while, before looking at me again.
“When did you two break up?” Bo brings up Adrian of all things.
“Um, the day after Josh and Monica’s engagement party.”
He pulls his hand away from mine and grips his mug with both hands. “Why?”
I watch him slide away from the table and head to the sink. I don’t think I like where this conversation is headed.
“We shouldn’t be together, Adrian and me. He knows you kissed me after the concert, I know I’m not myself when I’m with him...obviously.” I tug at my jeans, half-blaming Adrian for their loosened state.
Bo stares at me for a while. The silence is killing me.
“I think you should go.” I’ve heard this tone before. I used it on him in Room 323 at The Centennial.
“What? Why?” Tears sting my eyes. “If this is about what happened with Ainsley, I’m sorry.”
Bo takes both of our mugs and sets them in the sink before turning around, gripping the counter as he leans his back against it.
“I love you, November. I want to be with you. But, not like this. I’ve got a long road ahead of me—”
I stand and walk, panicked, toward him. “I love you, too. I won’t leave you. People who love each other don’t leave each other ...” I shake my head as he grabs my hands.
“I need to do this alone, November. It’s going to be ugly and painful. The past two months have made both of us sick.” He slides his hands down my ribs and grips my bony hips. “I can’t pull you down any further, but I can’t help you right now either. God, I wish I could.” Waves of tears crash through his eyes.
“No...Bo ...” I tighten my hands on his. “Please don’t do this. Last night—”
“Last night shouldn’t have happened, Ember. I wasn’t thinking. I just needed you. I’m sorry.” He shakes free from my hands and places his back on the counter. He looks away.
“I don’t want to leave you here alone.” I slide my hands into my back pockets.
His voice cracks. “I’ll be fine, Ember. I’m going to spend some time with the therapist that helped me and Rae when our parents died. I just need space from everything right now. If we get our chance again, I want it to be when we’re both healthy and ready.”
If? Again?
Shit. He’s absolutely right and it kills me. We’re a disaster right now—apart and together—and I have no rebuttal.
“I’ll get my things.” I turn and make my way upstairs to collect my clothes and backpack, and head back down the stairs, where I find Bo waiting by my car.
“I’ll call you when I’m ready. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but...I just need ...” He runs his hand over his face, sweeping away tears.
“No, I get it. You’re right. Can I say one thing?” He nods as I open my door. “I’m really sorry. About absolutely everything.” A sob chokes out anything else I planned on saying and he nods, pulling me into a mournful embrace.
“I’m sorry, too.” Bo smoothes his hand over the back of my hair and kisses the top of my head. He takes my face in his hands one more time. The pain in his eyes is unbearable. “I love you.”
I nod through tears pouring down my face. “I love you, too. I never stopped.”
It’s too much for both of us. Bo releases my face and walks back to his house, face in hands. I collapse into my car and sob for half an hour before I’m able to start my car and drive home.
Chapter Thirty-Three
My breath floats in puffy clouds by my chin, as I anchor myself in a full headstand in the cold, damp sand at sunrise. The mid-October beach is empty as I breathe through the blood rushing to my head. My once-bony shoulders are now able to support all the physical and emotional weight I throw their way.
It’s been three months.
Three months without his voice, his touch, his presence. And, I’m OK. I wasn’t. But I am now. I cried for a week straight after I left Bo’s house that day. Monica was at a loss for words for the first time in our friendship. I missed Bo instantly. We’d just made love for the first time in two months and, just like that, it was all gone.
Bo was right—we were a mess. The day after I got home from Concord, I took a good long look at myself in the mirror and didn’t recognize the girl looking back at me. My green eyes were mossy with grief, stress, and malnutrition, and my body followed suit. Bones in my chest and hips begged warmth from a layer of fat that disappeared sometime when I wasn’t paying attention. I started yoga immediately—the only form of prayer I’ve ever been familiar with.
The first few days I headed to the beach to practice, I ended up in a ball in the sand for an hour, my salty tears mixing with the waves. I cried because I bailed on him in May, for reasons I have yet to understand—fear is the only one I’ve come up with. I cried over losing Rae. I loved her like a sister, and she was someone’s sister. Once I made it into a headstand, I cried some more. Then, I started to heal.
Three months without Rachel. It seems like much longer somehow.
I stay in the headstand a bit longer, letting Rachel wash over me. I’m so, so sad that she’s gone, but it doesn’t have to take me out. I can feel sadness and be OK.
Slowly bending my legs and folding into child’s pose, I ready myself for flower shopping with Monica. Shortly after Rae’s funeral, she tenderly asked if I was still “up” for being her maid of honor. I hugged her, and then smacked her for asking. I can’t wait for their wedding; it’s only three weeks away.
“You’ve got one hell of a headstand, Harris.” Monica pleasantly disrupts the last moment of Zen I’ll have for the next twelve hours.
“Thanks. Feel free to join me any time.”
She ignores my invitation. “When are you going to take these sessions inside? It’s cold as hell out here.”
I look around and breathe in the freshest air anyone could ever breathe. “When the snow falls, I guess.” I stand and we walk to the parking lot.
“Your arms are looking fierce, Ember. I haven’t seen you look this good since you were twenty.” Monica playfully grabs my tight upper arms. “Are you singing at Delta Blue tonight?”
“I planned on it, unless you have something else in mind.”
I’ve been signing at a tiny jazz club on the outskirts of Boston on the weekends. I needed something new, something challenging. I wanted to flex my singing muscles just outside the shadow of my parents. Jazz and soul are the ticket for me. I can still play the guitar, but it sounds sexier somehow. Our house band took an indefinite break when, as promised, Regan headed back to Ireland two days after Rae’s funeral. C.J.’s been the only one to speak to him and says he’ll be back eventually, but I doubt he will. I wouldn’t if I were in his shoes.
Monica smiles and shakes her head. “I’m glad you have that. You’re so freaking good, like you could go on tour with ZZ Ward or something. Seriously. I can’t come tonight is all. Josh’s brother is
coming to town so we’ve got dinner plans.”
“It’s OK. So, what is it, exactly, that we’re doing at the flower shop today? I thought you had all the arrangements and whatever picked out.” Poor Monica, I’m the least “in-the-know” person she could have chosen for maid of honor.
“I have to choose my flowers for the bouquet toss.” She sighs as though this is something we’ve been over, or that I should know.
“Your what now?”
“I won’t toss my super expensive bouquet, you nitwit. You pick a smaller arrangement—”
“Ah, yes, to chuck at some unsuspecting girl’s forehead?” I roll my eyes and snicker.
“You laugh now, November. But my friend’s cousin, Daphne, used to catch the bouquet at, like, every wedding she went to.” She’s dead serious as she tells this story.
“Oh did she, now? And, Ms. Pierce,” I flutter my eyelashes, “did this Daphne girl ever find her happily ever after?”
Monica grabs my face and plants a dramatic kiss on my cheek. “She did.”
* * *
As I sit amongst leaves and petals, my mind wanders. I try to rein it in as much as possible, but a stroll once in a while is necessary. I think about Bo. A lot, actually—I just don’t make it hurt. He asked me not to call him, and I haven’t. I have, however, been in semi-frequent contact with David Bryson for work purposes. Out of respect for Bo, I haven’t directly asked David about him, but he has slipped unrequested information into our conversations.
“He’s coming along.”
“Yesterday was tough.”
“I sure miss seeing you around here, Ember. You should stop up and see the center again soon.”
Each time David has offered something about Bo it’s been at the end of our conversation, allowing me to deliver a polite “goodbye” without addressing his information. He hasn’t said anything in a while. I try not to think about why.
I wander through the flower shop as Monica talks about ribbons with the florist, inhaling hydrangeas as I think about Bo’s music. I hope he’s still playing.
Reckless Abandon (November Blue, #2) Page 20