Chapter 36
“Yes,” I admit without hesitation. Yes, I want him to take it off.
With one hand, he grabs it between his shoulders and slips it forward over his head. He tosses it to the side and stays kneeling above me. “Touch me,” he invites.
Propping up on one elbow, I tentatively place my fingers on his lightly hairy chest. His muscles twitch in response.
I trail my fingers across his pecs, down over his warm, ridged abs, around his navel, back up and over to trail the tattoo on his arm. West comes toward me to settle between my thighs. This time our kiss is slower, more sensual, and seems to last forever.
His hand travels down my leg, squeezing at intervals, and I’m reminded of when he did that on the beach. I pull my inner thighs in, and he presses hard, shooting vibrations through me. Driven by instinct, I dig my fingers into his hips and pull him closer.
He tears his lips from mine and slides down to push my shirt up. He nibbles a hot trail up one side of my stomach and down the other. His fingers dip into the gap of my jeans, and he traces the waistband of my underwear.
I’m insanely aware of my heavy, shaky breaths.
He unsnaps my jeans…
There’s nothing special about you.
He unzips them…
You look like a slut.
He traces his finger around my belly button…
Go away! I tell Grayson’s voice.
I focus on West. Just West. But now that the other stuff is in my brain, I can’t redirect my thoughts. Breathe, Eve, breathe.
But…West isn’t doing anything. Why isn’t he doing anything?
“Eve?”
I open my eyes. He’s got his chin propped on my stomach, looking at me. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” I clear my throat. “Why?”
“Because you looked like you were in pain, and you stopped breathing.”
“Oh.”
Outside the hotel, the sound of an ambulance pierces the air.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks.
“No, it’s not you.” A sigh pushes out of me. “I’m sorry.” I can’t believe I just freaked on him. Again!
He crawls up beside me and rolls to his back to stare at the ceiling.
“I’m sor—”
“You know I’d never make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretches as he works things through in his brain. I wish I knew what he was thinking. He reaches out then to take my hand and gives me a little tug until we’re rolled and spooned together.
“Is this okay?” he asks, and I nod.
We breathe, trying to regain our equilibrium. He gives me a tender kiss on the neck. I draw his hand tighter around me, linking fingers, feeling such guilt. What does West think about it all? I don’t turn in his arms. It’s easier to talk when I don’t have to look at him.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
“A lot.”
A lump rises in my throat. “You’re upset—”
“No,” he interrupts. “Not upset. Never upset. This is new territory for me. For both of us.”
I let out a glum breath.
Softness creeps into his tone. “But that’s not a bad thing. Don’t you understand that making love with you is going to be so much more amazing when you’re ready? When we’re both ready.”
“I’m sorry,” I say again, miserable to my core.
“I’m not.” He turns me around. “And you don’t need to be, either.”
“You’re such a good guy.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” He lets out an amused scoff.
We both smile at that, and he playfully wiggles against me. “But all this foreplay is a good thing. Makes us all excited for the real event.”
I love the way he always makes an otherwise stressful situation an easier one. “Thanks for being so understanding. I know you’re used to different.”
“I am.” He traces the outline of my jaw with his finger. “But I’m not complaining. I was serious earlier. I want this to work between us.”
“Me, too.”
He pokes me in the ribs and I jump.
“What’d you do that for?”
He pokes me again. “Just trying to lighten the mood.”
I poke him back.
West catches me up in a hug, gives me a quick kiss, and rolls with me across the bed.
“My clothes.” I laugh, pulling my undone jeans back up.
He helps me. “Yeah, the last thing I’d want is for your clothes to come off.”
“West.” I giggle.
He drops a quick kiss to the tip of my nose. “You’ve got about the best giggle I’ve ever heard,” he says, and that makes me giggle some more.
Smiling, he buttons and zips me up and hugs me to him so I’m stretched out on top of him. He trails a lazy finger up and down my back, like he did last night, and I gradually relax into him.
His finger slips under the hem of my shirt, and I freeze.
“It’s okay,” he softly assures me. “Trust me.”
My breath catches, and I hold still as he strokes, bare skin to bare skin. He traces several of the scars with the pads of his fingers.
“I don’t know how you did it. Survived your childhood. Turned out so sweet.”
Survived. Yes, so far I have managed that.
He starts humming, continuing his stroking, and I gradually realize it’s our song.
Emotion swamps me, and I breathe out. The humming.
His tender, approving caress. The flowers.
The brunch we barely ate. It all smashes into me, cracking something inside.
A sigh leaves my lips as I fully sink into all that is him.
He speaks, his voice almost inaudible. “I saw a counselor last year. She helped me deal with a lot of stuff.”
“What kind of stuff?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Trust me,” I encourage, using his words. “You can talk to me.”
His hold on me tightens. “My…my mom and my sister were on I-95 heading north to come see one of my shows. My mom was driving—” Abruptly, he stops talking.
He draws in a deep breath, and when it comes back out, it shakes.
“There was an accident, and traffic was backed up. They were rear-ended by a semi.”
He covers his face with his hand and takes a second, and I do the only thing I can do and just hold him.
He sniffs. “Mom died on impact. Vianca’s paralyzed.” He sniffs again. “If they hadn’t been coming to see me, they’d both be fine.”
I kiss his chest. I don’t know what to say. I wish I did. But I don’t.
“Anyway, I went to a counselor to deal with it all. It’s helped. Sometimes we go as a whole family. Guilt’s a horrible thing.” He catches his breath. “What amazes me is that none of them blame me, and they have every right to. God, my beautiful sister is forever maimed because of me.”
His lips tremble, and it breaks me. I scoot up a little bit and wrap my arms securely around him, cradling his head to my breasts. I hold him, soothing my hand along his bare back.
Poor West. What a horrible thing. Who would’ve guessed that under all his grins and lighthearted ways, he was dealing with this? Then again, everyone deals with tragedy in their own way. I close myself off, and he smothers his in smiles and witty banter.
We continue to hold each other, lulled into peace by our breathing and the steady rhythmic beats of our hearts.
Why did he choose now to tell me this? Because it’s his way of showing the trust he has in me.
The trust he wants me to give him in return.
I’m glad he shared and can’t help feeling relieved he’s got stuff he’s dealing with as well.
That’s bad to think, but I just don’t want to be the only one with emotional baggage.
I want to help you. He’d said that to me in the stairwell in New York.
I hadn’t given it much thought since then because I wasn’t even sure I heard him right, but now it comes back.
Sad. Lonely. Pity. Those were some of the words he used when we first met.
Is that what initially drew him to me? Was he trying to redeem his guilt by helping me?
Maybe, but not now.
Brave. Strong. Beautiful.
Those are his words for me now, and I like them so much better.