Kiss Me Now

by Wylder, Penny

  I still need to stop thinking about him.

  I pull onto my street, only to notice an expensive-looking car parked in my usual spot, the top rolled down, which is unusual considering it looks like rain. There’s no one inside, but I curse at the car anyway, rolling past it and hunting for a different spot. It takes me fifteen minutes to find one, and by the time I do, it’s started to drizzle. Wrapping my arms over my head, for lack of a better option since I only have my thin jacket on, I jog for the cover of my front doorstep.

  I make it to the door, keys jangling in my hand, shivering from head to toe, and jam my keys into the lock. That’s when the back of my neck starts to tingle, some sixth sense alerting me. It feels like somebody’s watching me.

  I turn around, and sure enough, there’s a hazy figure making its way up the steps, no umbrella either. For a moment, I can’t see through the haze. Then the figure reaches me, just steps from my door, and I blink, frozen in place.

  It’s Lark. His hair is soaked and sticking to his head, and his eyes look even redder than they did in the studio a couple days ago, when I saw Sheryl slap him. “Cassidy,” he says, and to my surprise, his voice sounds steady. Even. It’s completely at odds with the fire in his eyes, the war he’s clearly struggling to keep from showing on his face.

  “Lark.” I glance past him, and realize the expensive car I saw earlier must be his, although it’s not the same car he’s picked me up in before. I wouldn’t put it past him to own several expensive cars though, just for the fun of it. The top is still down. I nod toward it. “Your car’s getting wet.”

  He shrugs. “I’ll have it cleaned.”

  Now I really stare at him. I know he’s wealthy, but he’s never struck me as the wasteful type before. He’s always been so careful with his possessions, so exact about having everything the way he likes it—in his apartment, at work… in love.

  I force that thought away. I have no idea what Lark is like in love. I only know what he’s like in lust, and in lust, he’s complicated enough. “What are you doing here?” I ask. I’m proud that my voice holds even, too. Two can play at his game. The pretend we don’t care game. Pretend it isn’t killing both of us to be standing this close to one another, and yet to remain apart.

  There’s a long pause. I hold my breath, afraid of what’s coming next. Afraid he’ll make an offer I don’t have the strength to refuse. But then he says, “My tie. I left it here a few weeks ago.”

  “Oh, I…” It’s in my purse right now. I haven’t taken it out. Not since the day I went over to his house to return it. But my hands freeze. I don’t want to admit I’ve been carrying it around. That makes me seem like some kind of desperate weirdo.

  Even if I am a desperate weirdo, I don’t want him to know it.

  “It’s inside,” I say, jingling my keys. “I’ll get it for you.”

  He nods, and makes no move to follow me as I push open the door. But the sight of him standing on my doorstep, his hair still dripping, his feet leaving puddles on the mat, is too sad to ignore.

  “You can come in,” I tell him.

  He’s careful to keep his distance from me, only stepping far enough across the threshold so that he can ease the door closed behind himself. He doesn’t come any closer to me.

  I wonder if he’s battling the same worries. The fear that if we get any nearer to one another, we’ll combust. Or at the very least, do something we regret.

  “It’s in the bedroom,” I say, unable to drag my gaze from his. “I’ll just…” I gesture over my shoulder with a thumb, and then beeline into the bedroom, easing the door closed just far enough so that he won’t be able to tell I’m rooting through the very purse I had over my shoulder for it.

  Once I fish the tie out, looking a little wrinkled for its wear, tied up in a knot at the bottom of my messy bag, I smoothe it out as best I can, square my shoulders, and glance at myself in the mirror. Crap. I look like a mess—my hair is frizzing all over the place from the rain, and my skin is red from the facial I got at the spa.

  Any sense of calm I might have found there has definitely evaporated by now.

  Still, I square my shoulders. Remind myself of what Becky said. I deserve someone who treats me better than this. Someone who doesn’t drive me insane or leave me second-guessing my own sanity all the time.

  “This one, right?” I ask him, inanely, as if I have dozens of guys over here potentially leaving ties around my apartment. He arches an eyebrow, and I flush. “I found it the other day. I was planning to bring it back to you, but…” I swallow hard.

  He just watches me, his expression unreadable.

  Did you ask him about it? Becky’s voice whispers in my ear, an annoying bug I can’t get out of my head. Because deep down, I know she’s right. I should have just had a straightforward conversation with Lark about this, long before now.

  I move closer to him. Close enough to catch that infuriating scent. Close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest, the jump along the side of his neck where his pulse beats. I wonder if his heartbeat feels as erratic as mine right now.

  I hold out the tie. He reaches for it, but before he can grab it, I draw it back an inch, just out of his reach. I keep my gaze on his when I ask it. “Are you still married?” I ask him.

  There. I did it. Point-blank. Straightforward. No way to dodge it.

  At least, so I think. Lark’s expression darkens, his brow lowering and the set of his jaw turning hard. “Who have you been talking to?” he asks, his tone low and dangerous.

  That’s when it happens. That’s when my heart finally and completely cracks in half. Because that reply is not the sort of answer you get from an unmarried man, when confronted with that question. My stomach sinks. “I can’t believe you,” I say.

  He scowls. “Cassidy, it’s not what you think.”

  “All this time. I can’t believe it. You told me; you told me you were divorced.”

  Lark holds up both hands and takes a step toward me, placating. “I never said divorced, exactly. I said things were over between me and Sheryl, which is true—”

  “You’re still married to her, though. That’s kind of a huge thing to hide from somebody you’re fucking.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I watch him flinch. But I don’t care. I’m past feeling sorry for him now. I’m just angry. “You lied to me, Lark.”

  “I never lied, Cassidy.”

  I shake my head. “A lie by omission is still a lie. You knew what you were implying to me when you told me things were over. I thought that meant they were really over, not that you two were still seeing marriage counselors and the lot.”

  I don’t realize what I just admitted until the words slip past my defenses.

  Lark’s eyebrows shoot upward. “What did…” His brow lowers. “How did you know about that?”

  “Because I saw you there, okay?” I blink hard, embarrassed to realize there are tears stinging at the backs of my eyes. I fight with all my might to hold them in, because the last thing I want to do is break down in front of this liar right now. “I was going for a consultation with my new therapist, and I got lost on the wrong floor, and I saw the two of you coming out of a counselor’s office. It said couples’ counseling right there on the door.”

  “When was this?” Lark asks, with long slow spaces between the words, as if he’s piecing something together in his head.

  “Right before I told you I had to call things off,” I say. “Because I don’t do that. I don’t do the whole being the other woman thing. I don’t want to be some homewrecker.”

  “That home had been wrecked long before I even met you,” Lark replies, his voice hardening. “So that’s why you broke things off with me out of the blue? God, Cassidy, I thought I’d done something horrible, hurt you somehow, or—”

  “Lying to me did hurt me,” I snap.

  “So your plan was just to never even speak to me about it?” He crosses his arms, his eyebrows lifting. “Why didn’t you ask me about what you saw?
You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”

  My stomach knots. It sounds far too similar to what Becky asked me at the spa earlier today for comfort. “Because that’s not the sort of thing you can explain,” I reply, trying to hold onto my own fury. I’m the one being done wrong here. “Maybe, maybe if you had been upfront about your situation with Sheryl in the first place, I could have trusted you—”

  “That’s the problem,” Lark interrupts me. “That’s always been the problem, Cassidy. You don’t trust me. You never have. And I doubt it’s just me.” He takes a step closer, the air between us heating. Or maybe that’s just me, my whole body flushing at his proximity. “When was the last time you really let anybody in, huh? When was the last time you had a real conversation with someone you were with?”

  “I…” My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. It’s just because I’m mad right now, I tell myself. That’s the only reason I can’t think of anybody.

  But the only face coming to mind right now is Norman’s. And he was the last person on this planet I could ever have an honest conversation with, let alone trust.

  “This isn’t about me,” I reply, hardening my expression. Tightening my fists where they’re wrapped around my own elbows.

  “Look, should I have been more upfront with you about Sheryl? Yes, I see that now.” He uncrosses his arms. Spreads them at his sides, like an act of surrender. Like he’s opening himself up to let me strike him if I want. “I didn’t tell you more details because frankly, I was afraid it would scare you away. We’d only just started seeing each other, but I…” His voice hitches. Lowers. “I already knew I really liked you, Cassidy. I was developing feelings for you, and… it was selfish, but I didn’t want to say anything that would jeopardize that.”

  “So you lied.” I tighten my jaw.

  He nods slowly, gaze fixed on mine. “So I lied, yes. But…” He runs a hand through his hair and lets out a frustrated groan. “The thing with Sheryl. Our marriage. It’s been over for so long, that to me, I just thought… does it really matter what some legal piece of paper says? She and I both know where things stand.”

  “Are you sure about that?” I can’t help but think about her expression whenever she talks about Lark. Not to mention the way she went at him in Marcel’s office the other day. Slapping him, to boot. That’s not the behavior of a woman who’s over things with her ex.

  “Yes,” he replies, firmly. “Trust me.”

  But I can’t. Not after all of this. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the tears from spilling over, and then I reach out one more time, the tie in my fist. This time, I have to force it into his hand. “I’m sorry, Lark.”

  He closes his eyes for a long moment. I can see his jaw working, the muscles of his face tense as he fights with his own emotions. I watch his throat bob with a tight swallow. And then, finally, he nods. “Goodbye, Cassidy,” he says, and there’s a finality to it this time. A hollow ring that kills me, even as I watch him let himself out my front door.

  I wait until I hear his car start on the street outside before I shut myself into my bedroom, plant myself face down on the bed, and finally let myself cry.

  20

  Cassidy

  “This is a vicious cycle, Cassidy. You see that, don’t you?” My therapist keeps her voice carefully neutral.

  I stare up at her ceiling, blinking hard through the tears. “I guess.”

  “You’re doing the same thing with Lark that you did after your breakup with Norman. You’re letting him set all the rules, letting him dictate your boundaries. You owe it to both of you—yes, both you and him,” she clarifies when I look over at her, startled, “to let this go.”

  I inhale sharply. It comes out a long, pathetic sniffle. “I know,” I say. My voice comes out quieter now. Still heartbroken.

  My therapist smiles kindly. “It will take time,” she tells me. “But the nice thing about time is that it comes whether we want it to or not. This feeling will pass, Cassidy. I promise you that.”

  Easy for her to say. She’s not the one who woke up drenched in sweat again this morning—the same way I have every morning this week—with Lark’s name on her lips. During the day, I’ve gotten decent about fending off the emotions. But at night, when my subconscious takes over, they return with a vengeance.

  Like last night. In my dream, I was back at Lark’s apartment. Only we weren’t in his bed. He had walked me over to the huge floor to ceiling windows that wrapped around his living room, with a stunning, mesmerizing view out over the city. It looked like we had the whole world spread out beneath our feet.

  “You’re the one I want,” Lark whispered against the nape of my neck, his breath so hot I swear I could feel it. He kissed me right there, tongue trailing along the upper vertebrae of my spine. “Trust me, Cassidy.”

  In the dream, at least, I could. I tilted my face to the side, looked for him, and he caught my mouth in a slow, searing kiss that felt so real I tasted him. Then his hands slid down to my hips, my thighs. He nudged my feet apart with his, until I was standing spread out against the glass, the city below us, close enough to give me vertigo almost, except the adrenaline only added to the moment, made my heart beat faster with desire for him.

  I can’t remember what I was wearing. Some sort of skimpy lingerie thing. It didn’t matter. Lark had soon torn it off anyway, tossed it aside like so much refuse. Then his hands were back on me, searing, strong and in control. He reached over the arch of my hips and trailed his fingertips over the smooth plain of my belly, holding me pressed tight against him so I could feel the hard press of his cock against the small of my back, already rock hard, wanting me.

  His fingers slid over my mound, cupped my pussy and gently wrapped around it, the heel of his hand pressed lightly against my clit, his fingertips spreading my lips stroking slowly along the length of my slit. The glass pressed against my front was cold, but Lark’s warm, naked body crushed against my back was searing hot, and oh God, he felt so good I almost lost control right there.

  I let my head fall back against his shoulder, my lips parted as I gasped with pleasure, as he pressed a finger inside me, gently swirling it around, testing me.

  “God I love feeling you shudder against me,” he murmurs, his breath hot again, tickling the back of the shell of my ear. He licked along the very edge of that shell, making me shiver from head to toe, and chuckled faintly, as though he were enjoying himself.

  He liked it whenever I lost control. I knew that much by now.

  And even in my damn dream, he certainly made me do that. He spread my legs wider, pressed the thick shaft of his cock between my thighs, and then—

  “Cassidy.” My therapist’s usual calm manner can’t hide a faint tinge of concern now.

  I wonder how many times she had to say my name before she got my attention. I flush and straighten in the chair. “Sorry, I…my mind wandered off.”

  Her eyes soften. “I want you to try to get some sleep tonight, all right?” she says. “Decent sleep. If you’re still struggling to in a few days, let’s talk and see what we can figure out, okay?”

  I nod, trying to focus on her, on the bright office. On anything but the damn dream that woke me this morning, hours before my alarm went off. A dream that made me afraid to fall back asleep, worried I’d only start to dwell in the past even more profoundly than I already am.

  She asks me about schedules for next week, and I pencil in my new time, then rise on unsteady legs to shake hands and show myself out of the office.

  It’s not until I step out into the hallway that I turn my phone back on. It’s one of her policies. No phones in the room, because they might ring or buzz with a text and interrupt the flow of our conversation.

  When my cell reboots, it chirps with a new text. I tap it open, frowning at the sender. It’s a local area code, but otherwise the number is unfamiliar, and not attached to anybody in my contacts. When I read it, my lips part, my stomach sinking.

  All it says is,
There’s something you need to know about Lark.

  21

  Lark

  I stare at the ceiling of my bedroom. The bedroom I had custom-designed to my order, because I was finally, finally going to start doing things my way. I was going to pursue what I wanted, live the life I wanted.

  Instead, it’s all been stolen from me. Again. In the exact same way that it is always stolen, because I failed, yet again, to anticipate the consequences of my own actions. I have no one to blame for the way I feel right now. No one but myself.

  I shut my eyes, my hands clenched in tight fists. But that’s no respite. Because behind my eyelids, waiting for me, the same way she always is, every time I close my eyes and lay my head down on this pillow at night, is Cassidy Marks.

  I can still picture the last glimpse I caught of her, before she shut her apartment door in my face. The pained expression on her face. The hollow look in her pretty brown eyes. I did that. I put that there. And no matter what excuses I gave her, no matter how I tried to talk my way around the full story, she’s right.

  I never told her the full truth. And because of that, her trust in me is broken. Because of that, I lost my first real chance at happiness in I can’t remember how long. Maybe ever.

  Behind my eyelids, the Cassidy in my head shifts. Her smile turns sly, inviting. It reminds me of the first time I brought her here, to this apartment. The first time I pinned her against the door before it had even fully shut behind us, and kissed her full lips, her long, lean neck. The way her muscles shifted against my lips when she swallowed, barely able to contain herself. And the expression in her eyes, when I’d drawn back just far enough to take her in…

  Fuck. A look like that could drive a man to insanity.

  Which is exactly what she’s done over the course of the intervening weeks. Driven me mad. It’s the only explanation for why I can’t get her out of my head, my veins, my cock.