by L. R. Olson
Dear god, this is ridiculous.
“Ex-boyfriend,” I add, although why, I’m not sure. It’s not that I care about Christian’s feelings, it’s that I don’t appreciate Matt’s possessiveness. At least that’s what I tell myself.
But it doesn’t seem to matter what I say. Realization inches slowly across Christian’s gorgeous face. I can actually see the understanding as it dawns. He knows Matt is my one serious ex. His gaze grows cold, brittle. I’m surprised and intrigued by the shift that comes over him.
“I see,” he says.
Seriously? He’s angry? Did I not just see him kissing some woman in the park? But of course I can’t say that in front of Matt. Matt would kill him for hurting me. Somehow I’ve pissed off two guys when I haven’t even done anything wrong. I’m not sure who I’m angrier with, Christian for being a typical guy when he’d tricked me into thinking he was better, or Matt for interrupting my trip and making me second-guess our relationship.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Christian asks, his gaze finally on me.
Yep, I’m still here. “Sure.”
I give Matt a warning glance as I stand. He reads it loud and clear, and relaxes back into his chair, although I can tell it’s with reluctance. I don’t need a hero to come to my rescue. I weave my way through the café, following Christian outside. My heart is hammering so loudly I can barely hear anything else.
He faces me as we huddle over an overhang. “So…are you dating him again?”
It takes everything in my power not to touch him. Even now…while I’m angry, hurt, I swear I can still feel that connection between us. The electricity. It’s so damn hard to ignore. “No. I’ve known Matt since middle school. He just showed up.”
And even as I try and explain myself, I get angry. Really angry. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to ward off the chill. Who the hell is he to question me? Who the hell is he to take me on the perfect date to a castle, no less, and then kiss another woman? Suddenly, I want to hurt him. I want him to hurt like I hurt.
“I see,” he says, but he still looks confused.
“Christian, I’m leaving in a few days. I thought we were just having fun.”
Something flashes in his eyes. Surprise? Pain? It makes me feel immediately guilty when it shouldn’t. I squash down the guilt. He was the one kissing another. He stuffs his hands into his jean pockets.
Even if our relationship had been serious, it doesn’t matter because it’s true…I am leaving soon. And maybe, just maybe, it’s better to end things now. Here.
He nods slowly and gives me a stiff smile. “Right.” He steps back, into the rain, but he doesn’t seem to notice. I wanted to hurt him, push him away, and I have. “Well then, if I don’t see you again…have a great trip.”
The same words he said to me at the tower on our first date. But now I know he means it. With that said, he turns and walks away, disappearing into the crowd of people scurrying to find shelter, and I’m left to bite back my desire to call out to him, to explain.
I shiver, although not from the cold. I know I’ve destroyed whatever relationship we had. I shouldn’t care. I’ve only known him a week and a half. I turn toward the small café window and see Matt waiting for me. It was never my intention to get serious with Christian. I shouldn’t care.
Damn it all…but I do.
Chapter 8
Lose my virginity
Have hot sweaty sex
I cried myself to sleep last night.
I haven’t cried myself to sleep since my diagnosis.
One tear seeped out, then another, until I found myself full-fledge crying like a baby. I trace my finger down the window pane, following the trail of a raindrop. Who knows, maybe a good cry was long over-do. In fact, my therapist would be thrilled to know that I’d broken down my emotional wall to let some real feelings seep out.
The tears weren’t because Christian had played me for a fool. They weren’t even because I’m still a virgin and am starting to wonder if I’ll ever mark that off my bucket list. I cried because I realized how much I’ve missed over the years while being ill. How much more I’ll miss when I’m gone.
I woke feeling depressed, heavy and angry. The dreary weather hasn’t helped. I’ve spent the day inside, huddled on the couch, dividing my time between watching BBC and watching people race through the city, dodging puddles. Gabrielle did her best to cheer me up, but she went out of town to visit a friend an hour ago, and won’t be back until tomorrow morning.
Two more days.
With a sigh, I rest my forehead on the cool glass of the window. When I was at home, I so desperately wanted to be left alone. Now that I am alone, I don’t want to be. Being alone means being forced to deal with my troubled thoughts, when I’d rather do anything else. I cross my arms over my chest and stare out onto the streets below. It’s strangely quiet and empty tonight. The rain is keeping people inside.
Only two days left.
I need to go out, enjoy the city and the days remaining. But Matt has left for the Netherlands, and Gabby is gone. Damn it all, I’m not going to sit around, pouting. I spent my first few days here alone, I can do it again. Even through the closed windows, I can smell the scent of pizza from the parlor down the block. A slow grin lifts my lips. Why not?
The buzzer rings, startling me.
Who the hell is that? Thunder rumbles outside, shaking the window panes as if in warning. The perfect start to a horror movie. Maybe Gabby decided to return tonight and forgot her key. Maybe it’s Jessica. I move eagerly across the living room. Company is just what I need to get me out of this bad mood.
I push the button. “Hello?”
“Why?” Christian’s voice invades the stillness of the room. “Just tell me why?”
I stumble back in surprise. A million thoughts fly through my mind at once. I hadn’t expected him to return. I thought this was over. Hell, I’m not good with confrontation. I wring my hands together. Why would he be here when he has the hot blonde?
Annoyed, and yes, a little curious, I step closer to the intercom and clear my throat. “What do you want, Christian?”
“I want an answer, Hope. I deserve that much.”
My shock turns to anger. “You deserve that much? Are you kidding?”
Thunder rumbles again, mirroring my growing irritation. The rain thickens, pattering against the windows like tiny, irate fists. I should ignore him. I should refuse to answer if he buzzes again. So why don’t I? Why don’t I turn off the lights and go to bed? Leave him to rot in the rain.
“Let me up, Hope.”
“No.”
“Let me up, or you come down here. I’m not going to leave until we talk.”
The words “fuck off” instinctively come to my lips. But damn it all, I can’t deny I’m curious. Curious enough to let him upstairs? I hesitate. I’m in sweats, my hair in a lop-sided bun, still damp from the shower I took only a half an hour ago. It’s raining and cold outside, I sure as hell am not going downstairs.
I take in a deep, trembling breath, trying to calm my racing heart. He’s still waiting downstairs, I can feel his presence like he’s standing right next to me. Who am I kidding…the moment he spoke I knew I was going to let him come up. With a sigh of frustration, I buzz him in.
What is it about this guy that gets under my skin? He’s like an infection that won’t go away. A sexy, hot infection. I could ignore his knock. Refuse to open the door. He won’t cause a scene. Scandinavian people don’t cause scenes, do they?
There’s a soft knock and my heart leaps. “Hope, open the door.”
I part my lips to tell him I’ve changed my mind, to go away. Then he adds, “please,” so quietly, I think I’ve imagined it for a moment. My body grows soft. He makes me melt. I’m not sure what I’m feeling anymore. Hot. Cold. Angry. Excited. He has too much power over me.
I move to the door and open it. “What do you want?”
Our eyes lock, and for one brief moment all of my anger
fades. Damn, he’s gorgeous, even when he’s been standing in the rain for ten minutes. He’s soaked, water trailing down the hard planes of his face. His hair is damp, and the wet jacket and jeans he’s wearing cling to his lean, muscled body.
He looks like an advertisement for a high-end magazine. That spot between my thighs instantly throbs. Mentally, I might have written him off, but my body hasn’t. I swallow hard, resisting the urge to shift in an attempt to ease the ache. He looks fucking sexy as hell.
No. He’s a jerk. End of story. I slam up the emotional shield that has been my constant companion for the last few years. “What do you want, Christian?”
He brushes by me and enters the apartment like he owns the place. Even as my irritation flares, I can’t help but notice he smells of musty rain and heated male. And damn it all, if it isn’t a wonderful combination.
“Maybe I don’t understand American women…”
“Oh no.” I close the door and turn to glare at him, slapping my attraction across her slutty face. I will not fall for whatever shtick this is. I fell for his nice-guy act once, it won’t happen again. “Don’t make this about me being an American. There’s a lot of shit I’ll take for being American, but not this.”
“Then why? I thought…” He rakes his hands through his hair, sending droplets through the air. “I thought you liked me. I thought we were…dating.”
Always calm, always rational, this is a new side of Christian I’ve never experienced before. He’s obviously frustrated, but I won’t let myself be intrigued. I’m furious, I remind myself.
“Yeah, I thought we were dating too,” I admit, despite the voice inside my head screaming to tell him nothing. Nothing! I will not let him see how much he’s hurt me.
“Then what happened?”
“You kissing some blonde the other day by the castle happened,” I blurt out.
He looks confused. Even shakes his head as if in denial.
I roll my eyes and laugh. He’s not going to play this game. I’m not some weak-willed woman so desperate for a man that I’ll believe anything…will I? I shake my head. No, of course I won’t. If I want to lose my virginity I’ll call Matt. At least I can trust him.
“Christian, don’t.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Jessica and I were walking by Rosenborg the other day. We saw you kissing a blonde woman.”
His gaze clears. He mutters something in Danish, or maybe it’s Norwegian, and paces the living room. His boots are heavy and hard against the floorboards, mirroring the pounding fury of my heart.
That’s right, buddy, you were caught and I have a witness. So stop playing the poor me card.
He finally faces me. “Kirstin is like family. She’s a friend.”
Kirstin? Ugh. And oh my god. He seriously expects me to believe that lame excuse? “Friend? Maybe it’s just an American thing, but we don’t greet our friends by making out.”
Enough, my rational mind tells me. For once, I listen. I start toward the door, determined to throw him out, but he refuses to follow, staying firmly planted in the middle of the living room. I know he’ll leave if I insist. As much as I hate him in the moment, I’ve never feared him. So why don’t the words leave my lips?
“Our families have been friends since before I was born.”
Great, they’re besties. Their names are similar, they probably shared a crib, first kisses. I glare at him. Nothing he says is making me feel better. I don’t even greet Matt with half the enthusiasm Kirstin greets Christian, and we dated. It’s bullshit. “Listen, if you’re dating other people, fine. Of course I get it. But don’t fucking lie to me.”
“I’m not dating anyone else. She has issues. Lots of issues, mostly because she has a shitty family.”
So what, I’m supposed to feel sorry for her? My anger and frustration are mounting, and I’m really starting to hate this Kirstin. “You kiss her to make her feel better? Just like you kiss me when I get dizzy? Wow, you’re a real hero.”
I shouldn’t be this angry. What the hell is wrong with me? We’ve only known each other a week and a half. But I’m not really angry about the fact that he might be dating other women. I’m angry because he might be lying about it, and refuses to tell me. Angrier at myself for being so upset. For wanting him even still.
Before I can prepare, he’s in front of me, his warm fingers wrapping around mine. And if he pulls me close…I know…know…I’ll sink into him. “She kissed me, and I pushed her away. I swear. I’d be happy to get the security footage from the castle.”
I can feel myself melting. My strength wavering. One touch. That’s all it takes.
“Very funny.” I tear my hands away and step back. Thinking is impossible when he is near. Did he really stop the kiss? I stare into his blue, blue eyes, trying to read the truth. A woman doesn’t just kiss a guy, unless she thinks he’s interested…right? Ugh, this is so out of my experience. “She wants to have a relationship with you?”
He frowns, hesitating, and I have my answer even before he speaks. “Yes. But she has problems. I don’t need that.”
His words hurt me like they shouldn’t. I have problems too. Maybe not mental and emotional, but I definitely have issues. He wants something easy. Something…normal. I get it. Which is why I never wanted this to be serious. Never wanted to care.
My emotional wall is wavering. I can feel it growing weak. Dare I believe him? Do I even want to believe him? Believing him means letting that wall down again. It means becoming vulnerable because I know I can’t stay detached.
“Okay,” I whisper. “I believe you. Just…leave. Please.”
It’s a weak, pathetic command, at best. And he knows it.
“No.”
I stiffen in surprise. “No?”
He pulls me into his hard body. His clothes are cold, damp, but the heat between us is strong. And damn it all if I don’t sink into him. My fingers curl into his jacket. I want him. That hasn’t diminished. He shifts, drawing me closer. The area between my thighs throbs almost painfully. I sigh. My head tucks perfectly underneath his chin. It’s almost as if…we were made for this. Dare I believe the guy? Does it matter? God, he smells good and I’m only here for another couple days.
Why not indulge? the breeze seems to whisper as it rattles the windows.
“Do you really want me to leave?” he asks, his hands pressed warmly to my back.
It’s as if he’s read my mind, knows my weakness. I tilt my head back and meet his gaze. My heart hammers so hard I know he can feel it. Maybe I’m stupid. Maybe I just don’t care. Maybe I’m tired of fighting the attraction. When he lowers his head and molds his lips to mine. It’s like coming back to life. I don’t want to sleep with Matt. He’s a friend, and as much as I try to tell myself otherwise, it would be awkward.
But Christian…I want him like I want to live. Desperately. Completely. His hands cup the sides of my face as his tongue sweeps into my mouth, a bold and demanding kiss that consumes me. My heart shatters into a million tiny pieces that flutter like butterflies inside my chest. I realize that I’m frantically clutching his sodden t-shirt, but I don’t care. I want him. Even if he did lie. Even if he is dating other women. I want him.
He pulls back, and tosses aside his jacket. “Damn, but I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
I look into his eyes. “What?”
He doesn’t respond, merely catches my lips in another devastating kiss. I’d thought my first time would be slow, sensual. But I’m tired of waiting. Tired of fighting this attraction. Neither of us want to go slow at the moment. I slide my hands up his chest and around his broad shoulders, clinging to him. Not an earthquake, a tsunami, not even Gabrielle walking into the apartment is going to stop me.
He lifts me into his arms, moving across the room. The moment I accept the fact that this is going to happen, is the moment my rational mind retreats and instinct takes over. His hands cup my ass and he sets me upon the kitchen counter. Desperate, I grab the hem of his shirt. He pulls back just eno
ugh to allow me to tear the damp material from his chest. Dear lord, I was right…he is gorgeous.
Then he’s back, pressing his body into mine, holding me captive on the counter. I part my thighs, wrapping my legs around his lean hips. No time to be virginal, nervous or timid. While he kisses me, I allow my hands to move down his chest, savoring the hard muscles, dips and planes, the light sprinkling of hair that leads to the waistband of his jeans.
He’s amazing. I want to explore his body like an archaeologist explores a newly discovered civilization. Just call me Indiana Fucking Jones.
“God, I want you,” I whisper against his mouth.
He growls in response.
I’ve never heard anything so erotic. Gone is the sweet, caring Christian. His tongue rubs against mine, the kiss deep and hot and completely demanding. I’ve never been kissed like this. The kind of kiss that makes you feel branded, wanted, needed. The kind of kiss that sends heated shivers through every cell of your body.
He presses closer, the steel length of his erection straining against me. Hard. So very hard. It’s scary and intriguing all at once.
“I…I need to make it clear,” I somehow manage to get out. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
He mumbles something in Danish I don’t understand, but it sounds sexy as hell. His fingers grip the hem of my shirt and it’s suddenly jerked over my head. I’m not wearing a bra and for a brief moment I’m slightly embarrassed. His heated gaze slowly travels my form. I don’t have to wonder if he likes what he sees…I can tell by the way his body hardens, the way his eyes darken. The desire in his gaze makes me tremble.
When he cups my sensitive breasts in his warm hands I can’t help but arch into him. I’ve experienced so much pain in my life that I grasp onto this pleasure with a greedy grip, desperate to make it last forever. He presses his lips to my neck. How does he know exactly where to kiss? When his tongue darts out and slides against my sensitive skin, I melt, my eyes rolling back in my head.
“Beautiful,” he whispers.
I’ve been naked in front of a lot of people…nurses and doctors…but as a patient. With him I’m not a medical specimen. I’m a woman. A sexual being. Here, now, I’m not some little, pathetic creature to be pampered, looked at with pity. I’m someone to be pleasured and to please.