Unraveled_Undone
Page 13
Arm in arm Layla and Michael push forward, and just as I go to follow, Chad’s hand grips my arm again. “Hey, we should talk.”
I make sure I have the most brilliant smile on my face. “It’s a celebration, it’s a good night. Let’s just forget everything.”
He hesitates, his fingers tightening on my arm fractionally before he releases me. “All right.”
I’m relieved he’s not pushing me, because if he did, I think I’d break.
And that’s not possible. I need to be happy for Layla and Michael.
I need to sever this weird intimacy between Chad and me.
“Time to celebrate.” I square my shoulders and trudge on.
I’ll think later. Alone in bed.
But for now I’ll be happy. Or at least pretend. Nobody will know.
I glance at Chad, who’s watching me with that certain expression.
Except him.
Chad
It’s late. And we are all drunk on too much champagne.
Ruby made an excuse, saying she had to get up early, and called an Uber. She stumbled out of the club, and as covertly as I could, I excused myself and followed her.
I’m not sure why I’m not letting this go. I should.
Ruby is not my type. I like women like me. Girl-next-door types. Uncomplicated. Everything Ruby is not. But there is something about her that calls to me.
Something about her I can’t let go.
I’m not sure if it’s even attraction. I wasn’t lying when I told her she was gorgeous earlier, because she absolutely is. Like Snow White, with her red lips, black hair, blue eyes and pale ivory skin. She also has a body that will not quit, but rocker girls aren’t really my scene.
And Ruby has issues. Of that I’m certain.
I don’t have the time or inclination to deal with issues.
But I’m still following her.
I find her outside, leaning against the brick of the building, her eyes closed.
I shove my hands in my pockets and walk over to her. “Hey.”
Her thick lashes flutter open. “Hey.”
I look at her mouth. Her parents were right to name her Ruby. The name matches her lips. “How drunk are you?” I’m not going to lie, my own words slur a bit.
“Pretty drunk,” she says, her voice unsteady.
That’s what I thought. I have no business being alone with her. I push my hands deeper into my pockets. I won’t touch her. “Are you okay?”
She looks at me. Her eyes a brilliant, watery blue. “I think I’m going to cry.”
“Go ahead.” I nod my reassurance. I don’t get all worked up over tears the way normal men do. Being dominant, making a woman cry, whether it’s from too many orgasms or forcing her to release emotions she’s pent-up inside, comes with the territory. “I can be your shoulder if that’s what you need.”
One lone tear tracks down her cheek. “You would?” Her tone takes on a pleading note.
Fuck. I hold out my arms and she steps into them. Her head rests on my chest, her soft, shiny, shoulder-length hair brushing the underside of my chin. I wrap her up in my embrace, and she starts to shake.
I say nothing. I just let her have it out.
She cries, long and hard, her tears wetting my shirt as she clutches at me like I’m her lifeline in the fiercest of storms. She hiccups against me. “I’m a terrible person.”
I rub her back. “No, you’re not. It’s just been a rough night.”
I’m the only one that saw her face when Layla announced she was engaged. She put on an excellent show. But I saw her expression twist in pain while she hugged Layla. I know she’s happy for her friend, but she’s clearly going through some sort of internal crisis she’s trying to hide from the world. Hide from herself. And it’s just gotten too much for her. She’s a good actress—too good—but for some reason I see through it.
The Uber car pulls up and I’m about to tell her, but she fists my shirt. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
I signal to the driver that it will be a minute then return back to her.
“I won’t.” I hug her tighter and she trembles against me. “Your secrets are safe with me.”
She cries some more and then when she finally seems to settle she looks up at me with her tragic, tear-stained face. “You’re right.”
“About what?” Although I know.
She blinks. “I’ve never had an orgasm with a man.”
I nod. “I know.”
“How?”
The truth is, I don’t know how. I just do. It’s written in her face. In the confusion in her eyes. The etch of unease at the corners of her ruby lips. The flush of pink across her cheeks. She wants to pretend, wants it not to be so, but Ruby is not a woman comfortable with sex. She’s not easy in her sexuality.
I’d stake money that she has never had a fulfilling sexual experience with a man. There’s just too much bewilderment for there to be any other option.
I don’t think she’s ready to hear all those things yet.
She’s still waiting for me to answer. I wipe the wetness from her cheek and it smears some of her mascara, making her look even more tragically beautiful. “It was an educated guess.”
“Nobody has ever guessed.”
I run my finger over her jaw. “Then the men you’ve been with don’t pay nearly enough attention.”
Her gaze skirts to my mouth and I can feel her coil tight, readying herself.
I know what she wants, somehow to lose herself in me, but that’s not going to happen. I’m drunk. She’s drunk. Emotions are too high.
I rub my thumb over her lower lip and she parts on a gasp. “Your car is here.”
“Oh,” she says in a breathy lost voice that makes me hard.
“You need to go.”
An array of emotion plays out over her face, but she nods. “Okay.”
I hold out my hand. “Give me your phone.”
She pulls it out of her pocket and gives it to me without protest.
I enter my information into her contacts, then ring my number so I have hers before handing it back. “Text me when you get home so I know you’re safe.”
“Okay.” She clutches at me like she doesn’t want to let me go.
But I know what’s right, and going home with Ruby isn’t it. “If I don’t hear from you, I’ll call.”
“I’ll text you.” She looks up at me with wide eyes. “I promise.”
“Good girl.” The words automatic and without thought.
Her eyes grow wide as saucers and she shivers a bit. I put her in the car before I do anything stupid. I buckle her in and her head falls back against the seat. She blinks those big blue eyes at me.
“Ruby?” The moment, the possibility simmers between us, but I don’t take it.
“Yes?” Her voice is a husky whisper.
I want to say a thousand things, but only say, “Get home safe, I’ll be waiting to hear from you.”
“Okay. Good night, Chad.”
“Good night.” Then I stand back and watch her drive away.
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More books by Jennifer Dawson
Interested in steamy contemporary romance? Try Something New.
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The Winner Takes It All
The Name of the Game
As Good as New (Coming March 2016)
Can’t get enough emotional, erotic romance? Come Undone.
Crave
Sinful
Unraveled
Debauched (Coming April, 2016)
About the Author
Jennifer Dawson grew up in the suburbs of C
hicago and graduated from DePaul University with a degree in psychology. She met her husband at the public library while they were studying. To this day she still maintains she was NOT checking him out. Now, over twenty years later they’re married, living in a suburb right outside of Chicago with two awesome kids and a crazy dog.
Despite going through a light FM, poem writing phase in high school, Jennifer never grew up wanting to be a writer (she had more practical aspirations of being an international super spy). Then one day, suffering from boredom and disgruntled with a book she’d been reading, she decided to put pen to paper. The rest, as they say, is history.
These days, Jennifer can be found sitting behind her computer writing her next novel, chasing after her kids, keeping an ever watchful eye on her ever growing to-do list, and NOT checking out her husband.