Reverse (Bittersweet Symphony Duet #2)

NINETEEN “Dive Deep （Hushed）”

NINETEEN

“Dive Deep (Hushed)”

Andrew Belle

Easton

N atalie gazes up at the towering Space Needle as I park, no expected sarcastic quip or trace of amusement in her expression, despite being lured to the most well-known Seattle tourist destination.

Instead, she turns and peers back at me with indigo-colored trust, which only further widens the crack in my chest as she pries her way in deeper.

She’s sobered considerably since dinner, which consisted of tacos. Our conversation at the table drew out my frustration, and the lingering stares added up as she skillfully skirted around our attraction. Without prompt, she recalled what it was like growing up in Texas, shared stories about her favorite horse, Percy, and gave some background on her closest friends, Holly and Damon.

In return, I revealed more of what life was like touring in the early years—getting educated by a tutor before clutching Mom’s hand side stage, and watching the Dead Sergeants’ reign before I was tucked in by both my parents. Parents who opted on most nights to nurture me rather than pass me off to my nanny to party.

Even though they did at times.

In some ways, we couldn’t be more different. Yet, I feel myself as drawn to her as I have been since she bulldozed her way into my space days ago. Somehow, at present, it seems a lot longer than that.

She’s not so much a mystery to me anymore as she is a fixation becoming fucking impossible to ignore. The longer we linger, the physical curiosity becomes a beating, breathing presence between us.

Every part of me wants to grip her in my hands, dominate her with a kiss, unwrap her, taste her, and fuck her so thoroughly that words become unnecessary. But, I know she can feel it and stated as much last night.

Wordlessly, I round the truck and take her hand in mine, which she gives freely, loving the feel of the small fit of hers in my own. We lace our fingers together, the energy between us buzzing as we silently walk toward the entrance. Within minutes, despite her protest, I’m pushing my wallet back into my jeans, collecting our tickets as she scans the gift shop for onlookers while keeping her hand firmly in mine.

She’s leaving tomorrow.

It’s that fact alone that has my pulse amping up, while the urge I’ve been suppressing for the last few days threatens to overtake me. I do my best to bat the idea away because of her hesitance and plea last night.

If she doesn’t want to give in to this attraction, I’m sure as hell not going to force her. I’ve never had to coerce a woman into my bed, and I’m damn sure not going to start now. Ironically, the physical isn’t the most significant part of my draw to her. This . . . feels different, and it’s different because I’ve allowed her to get close to me. I’ve shared enough truths and insight about myself that she could burn me with little effort if she so desires. Power I’ve never granted to any woman, not even when I considered myself smitten with women I’ve dated in the past.

We walk to the elevator and wait for the next car to the top of the Needle as I pull out my cellphone and flip through the music. Pausing on a song, I mentally hear it start to play, the melody, the lyrics, every aspect of it as I observe her.

When her eyes dart my way, I decide to swing the bat in the opposite direction, intent on some sort of satisfaction for what we’re denying ourselves before I let her go. Digging my earbuds out of my pocket, she grins when she sees me produce them.

“Can’t go long at all, can you?” she taunts in a whisper, her attention fixed on my lips, which hover close to hers. “You truly are an addict.”

“It’s my only vice,” I admit, pushing back her silky curls and securing the wireless buds into her ears. “Don’t you write to music?”

“No, not really. I mean, it’s not a habit I have.”

“You should. It enhances everything .”

She lifts a skeptical brow. “I love a good song as much as the next gal, but everything ?”

“Everything,” I insist . If I hadn’t seen her tear-stained cheeks after I played for her yesterday—a reaction I burned into memory—I’d believe she was more left-brain oriented than she’s letting on. Though it’s true that a certain amount of the population isn’t as affected by music as others, it’s most definitely not the case for her. She’s just not aware of how necessary it is for her as she should be. “It could be as much of a tool for you as your keyboard. It has the power to draw everything out of you that you can’t fully grasp on your own. For you, it’s fuel, trust me,” I tell her.

“Well, when you put it like that, I will.”

She’s looking up at me with the same expression she has had for the past twenty-four hours— touch me . I inhale a breath of patience, fighting once again to keep from capturing her perfect lips and owning them as the seconds continue to tick toward goodbye. She’s determined to snuff us out before we can become another mistake and leave our time together as nothing but a memory when she boards that plane. While I understand it because of how she’s explained it, and how it’s clearly affecting her, I can’t help but want to make her departure as hard for her as she’s continually making it for me.

Neither of us notice the arrival of the elevator, just as lost in each other as we have been for endless minutes today until the attendant speaks up, holding the door to usher the few of us now gathered inside.

As instructed, we all do an about-face and turn in the direction of the glass wall at the back of the car. As the attendant begins spouting off facts about the top floor and the car starts to move, I press play on “Dive Deep (Hushed)” by Andrew Belle. Natalie’s reaction is instantaneous as the music begins to play. I feel the shift in her, the vibration and exhilaration rushing to the surface as the Seattle skyline appears while we gradually ascend. Unknowingly, Natalie tightens her hold on my hand, and I turn the music up, drowning out the attendant and the rest of the world around us to emphasize my point.

As we continue to rise, I can feel myself falling further into infatuation with her. In a matter of days, she’s managed to captivate and draw confessions from me that I never saw myself making to anyone, let alone a practical stranger.

When the door opens, I guide her out and onto the slowly revolving floor, away from probing eyes as the soft beat and lyrics work their way into her. Her chest begins to rise and fall as her breathing picks up. A minute later, we’re collectively standing in front of the wall of glass which overlooks the brightly lit cityscape. Opting out of the view, I study her and see her expression soften when the lyrics start to resonate with her. Ignoring the view along with me, she turns to face me, her eyes boring into mine as she falls under the spell, listening intently. Lips parting, she keeps her gaze locked with mine as my heart thrashes in my chest.

Fuck.

I’ve never felt so exposed, so raw with another human being in my entire fucking life. She’s leaving in hours with absolutely no intention of looking back, and I’ve never been so unsatisfied.

Adding to her confusion with my own won’t help her, but it’s not confusion I’m feeling when I stare back at her right now. Everything she’s drawing from me feels imprisoned. If I’m unable to act on any of it, I at least want to relay to her what she’s making me feel, and it’s through borrowed words I’m doing it, which keeps us both relatively safe. That is until she makes safe impossible when she whispers my name, shattering my patience as I will time to slow—to fucking stop, altogether.

Unable to keep from touching her a second longer, I glance around to make sure we’re alone for the moment, then glide my knuckles appreciatively down her cheek. In the next breath, I’m exhaling a groan into her parted lips as she grips the back of my neck, clutching my hair, clutching me to bring me closer.

Because we’re kissing.

Body tensing with the realization, I grip her face and take control. I lose that control just as quickly as I gain it when she presses against me, seeming starved as we furiously explore each other’s mouths. Chest detonating at the feel of her lush, hungry mouth, I grip her chin and thrust my tongue against hers, invading, consuming, taking every second we’re allowed as she kisses me back without an ounce of restraint.

The craving is instant, the hunger unmanageable.

Tilting her head, I feed. She opens further, our mouths fusing naturally. The crack in my chest becomes a gaping wound as I free-fall into what I’m feeling, pouring myself into her, which ignites a crazed need to possess her.

Seconds away from unleashing, but hyperaware we aren’t alone, I crack my eyes as an older couple comes into view at the edge of my periphery. Her moan vibrates in unison with mine as I allow myself a second longer, her hands fisting my hair as she sucks my tongue. My cock twitches in response, forcing me to break our kiss. Pressing my forehead to hers, she slowly opens her eyes, whispering my name with hunger while gazing up at me in confusion as to why I stopped our kiss. I lift my chin toward the couple as she pulls her hands away, eyes dimming considerably while she walks closer to the glass, crossing her arms.

Furious with the knowledge that I got a taste of something I know I’ll be craving for the foreseeable future, I turn and stalk toward the small bar coming into view on the revolving floor and order us two beers. Uncomfortably hard and pissed about the fact that taste was my first and last, I glance back to see Natalie blankly staring into the skyline.

Beers in hand, I approach to see her eyes trained on my reflection and notice she’s watching me intently. Keeping the connection, I walk back to stand next to her, offering the beer to her reflection. She takes it, thanking the man in the glass softly.

“This, here,” she says, nodding toward our clear outlines. “This is where we can . . .” She doesn’t finish. She doesn’t have to. I gaze back at her in the glass as we both lift our beers to drink, remaining in the only place we’re allowed to be more than figments of our imagination. At least in her mind.

I’ve been wrapped up in her mystery since she went apeshit on me in the parking lot of the bar on day one. Something about this woman is driving me to the brink of insanity, and I’ve loved every minute of it. I can’t pinpoint exactly when it happened, but all that matters to me right now is how strong this pull is; though foreign, it feels fucking amazing.

If I could bottle or needle it, I would inject myself regularly, even as its danger presents itself, and despite her warning, it’s lethal.

I want more.

I want her.

Even if I have some idea of how fucked up the situation could get and know this can’t go further than tomorrow, I can’t bring myself to stop imagining something with her on this side of the glass. In this reality. Feeling bitten and battling the venom of her kiss, I only grow more aggravated as the threat of the clock eats away at me.

Kissing her was heaven, but fucking her before she flees from her self-confessed biggest mistake would be a hell I don’t want to sign up for.

I don’t even have to know what it’s like getting that level of personal with her to understand it would draw me further under and maybe alter me more than her sudden presence in my life is starting to. This is no longer just about what she’s missing. She’s starting to make me believe I’m missing something vital too.

Knowing we ended with that kiss, I pull out my cellphone and kill the rock now blazing through her speakers and turn her to face me, forcing her to deal with the reality on this side of the glass, back into the universe we exist in.

Just before we step off the revolving platform, I pull out my cell, open my camera, and focus on our shoes which fit perfectly inside opposing edges of the frame, an inch of the sidewalk far below between our feet, before pressing the shutter. Satisfied with the snap, I adjust the exposure a little before sending it to her via text.

When her phone rattles in her pocket, she pulls it out and opens it, a sad smile lifting her swollen lips. Gently, I push her hair back and retrieve both earbuds before sticking them into their case and tucking them away in her jacket pocket. Her eyes dim as I down the rest of my beer, hoping it will douse some of the racing in my veins.

“I’m so glad I met you, Easton,” she relays softly.

I can’t say the same now, so I guide her off the platform. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

On the way down, I don’t hold her hand and refuse to so much as brush against her as we walk soundlessly to my truck.

When I turn the engine over, she murmurs my name and I ignore it, knowing whatever words she’s devised will come out as some sort of effort to placate me, which is bullshit because she’s battling the same war. The difference is, she’s winning hers.

“I get it,” I say gruffly, unsure if I do, my anger boiling over at this fucking predicament. I’ve never been so hard for a woman in my life, and I’ve been cut off before even getting a chance to explore all aspects of the attraction. Resigned to let it go, I remained silent the entire ride back to her hotel.

When I pull up through the circular pass-through, I glance over, granting myself one last look at her. I allow my eyes to linger just long enough to see the regret in her features before I tear them away to focus on the flames burning in the large fireplace on the other side of my window. “What time does your plane leave?”

“Four tomorrow afternoon.”

“Will you text me and let me know you got home okay?”

“No,” she answers apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Without looking her way, I know she’s staring out of her own window.

“I don’t regret coming,” she says softly, “but something tells me I will.” She turns to me, and I keep my eyes averted as I white-knuckle my wheel.

“Don’t fucking thank me,” I warn with the firm shake of my head. “Don’t.”

She doesn’t because she knows it would be insulting. We got way too personal for any sort of bullshit or formal goodbye. We got way too close too soon to be anything but fucking miserable right now, and that’s all I feel.

Words are futile at this point, so I don’t bother with them. Touching her isn’t an option either, so I remain caged.

I know what this is and what it isn’t, and there’s not a lot on the isn’t side. If I say another word, I won’t be able to give her anything but my truth, which will only make shit worse. Thankfully, she frees me of the burden.

“You deserve every amazing thing coming your way, Easton Crowne, and when it happens for you, I’ll get to kick back and say I knew him when.” Her hesitance is palpable as she pushes open the door. “Take care of yourself. I-I’ll . . . bye.”

The burn in my chest intensifies as she slams the door closed. I immediately hit the gas, refusing myself the chance to stop her.

No matter how we parted or what words were spoken, it was going to sting like a bitch. What I didn’t expect was the full-fledged, continuous punch in the gut the whole ride home.