Chapter 30
THIRTY
TEARS NIPPED HER EYES. Sealing her mouth, she feared opening it would dislodge the sob locked in her throat.
Upsetting him wasn’t the point, she didn’t want to upset anyone. It was late, her mind was foggy and she just wanted to rest. Sleep. Bed. That was it, all she’d wanted. And she couldn’t dial it back enough to do the right thing. The smart, sensible, polite thing.
That look on his face. Oh, she couldn’t get it out of her head even with her eyes squeezed shut. The glower as he blatantly refused her. She wasn’t offering, it wasn’t…
She was getting comfortable, expecting her nightdress would turn up with her bag. It wasn’t like she wanted to seduce him or anything. Though if she had, his rejection couldn’t have been more clear. It hadn’t been her intention, but knowing how he felt about her body…
Surely Bastian must have seen thousands of breasts in his time. Why were hers so offensive? Did he think she was throwing herself at him? Being inappropriate? Expecting something? The sex thing was a joke, he got that… Did he get that?
It didn’t matter.
Leaving the bed to go get her bag abandoned by the steward, she crouched to unzip it and retrieved a sweater and a pair of jeans. Sweater first, she scooped her hair out of the neck, swiping at the tears on her cheeks.
She couldn’t stay. Knowing his true opinion, being faced with it—he’d be embarrassed, by what he’d seen, what she’d shown.
Even his carrying her upstairs took on a different tone.
It wasn’t romantic, it was necessary. Almost falling asleep on him at the bar was ridiculous.
Why did she keep forgetting this was fake? Why did she keep embarrassing him?
It didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered.
All she could see was the ferocity of his disgust. That was a memory she’d never erase.
Zipping her bag, she wiped her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. Hold on. Hold back the emotion, Harper. Getting upset would only compound the humiliation. She fought to contain the grief. She had to. Just a little longer. Just until she could get out of there.
Goddamn her. They’d been getting along so well.
The night had been a dream. Friends, laughter, a night she’d hoped to remember with happiness.
Until she ruined it. What a surprise. It was always her.
People often said they were their own worst enemy.
And there was her, proving the adage true every day.
Angering and repulsing him weren’t the goal of her stupid, selfish act. Why couldn’t she be more aware? Everyone else managed it. What the hell was wrong with her?
Throwing the bag backward onto the bed, she stood up, jeans in hand, and took a minute to unwind the legs before stepping into them. Once they were up, she fumbled with the zipper, struggling to see through her blurred vision.
“What are you doing?”
Instinct tempted her to turn in the direction of his voice, but she couldn’t. If she looked at him, the last thread of her composure would snap. Besides, her face would be a mess too, he didn’t need to see that. Please. Hang on to the last frayed shred of dignity.
“I’ll hail a cab from the street,” she said, hoping the vibration wasn’t as audible as it felt.
“Like hell you will,” he said. “If you want to leave, we’ll leave. But I’ll fire the guy if—”
“It wasn’t his fault,” she said, still unable to turn around.
Idiot. Again. Why had she thrown the bag to the bed? Another example of her stupidity. Think things through. Think then act. It didn’t matter how many times she told herself that…
The exit was right there in front of her, just a few feet away, if she had her bag, she could leave this minute.
“You don’t have to leave,” he said. “I don’t want you to leave.”
Like a gentleman, raised to display every courtesy, could say any different. His tone was softer, but she couldn’t take his pity.
“I need to go,” she said, fighting to clear her throat and strengthen her timbre.
“It’s not your fault, it was me. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—” He touched her shoulder and her whole body clenched.
After a silent breath, she tried to step away, but his fingertips curved around the ball of her shoulder, holding her there. “Please let me go, Bastian.”
“I hurt you.” When his chest met her shoulder blades, she wanted to lean, she so desperately wanted to draw strength from him, but she couldn’t. “I didn’t mean to shout. I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said, attempting a smile, hoping it would carry to her words. What a futile hope, she wasn’t fooling anyone. “You can’t help your honest reaction. Could you pass me my bag, please?”
That request was a full-page ad announcing her humiliation.
Now she did want him to take pity on her.
It was plain as day, she couldn’t even look at him.
Turning around wouldn’t change anything.
Meeting his eye wouldn’t make this any better.
She had to get out of there. Away. Free. Into the open to breathe.
“Sweet,” he murmured. His lips met the top of her head. That was meant to be a comfort, to soothe her, but it didn’t relax her rigid body. “I’m sorry. Don’t walk out. We made a deal to communicate.”
Yes, they had a deal, but declaring her feelings wouldn’t erase any of the embarrassment. At least she couldn’t imagine it was possible to feel worse. Maybe honesty would be cathartic. Seemed it was the price of freedom either way.
“You couldn’t even look at me,” she whispered the stinging confession. “I wasn’t trying to make you angry. I didn’t think you’d notice enough to care but… you couldn’t even look at me.”
“This is about Twaddle,” he said, withdrawing. “You honestly still think—”
“Just hand me my bag, Bastian, please,” she beseeched and held her hand out backwards.
She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t fight. She was too tired to explain herself. He’d never convince her that anything other than his initial reaction to her nudity was genuine. Anyone could make up excuses and reasons later; the kneejerk reaction was always the most honest.
Instead of her bag, her hand came into contact with skin, hot sculpted skin. His hand spread over hers, pressing it against his abdomen.
Pull away. Walk out. To hell with the bag. Why wasn’t she moving?
He slid her hand downwards over the soft cotton of his underwear. Immediately, she felt the width of him, the length of him; hot, hard, and ready to fill the void inside her.
Without thought for tears, her head snapped around to meet his eye. She didn’t steal her hand away. In fact, when he averted his gaze, she curled her fingers around his cock through his underwear, shrouding his darkening focus. Tension gathered in his shoulders until his body was as taut as hers.
“Bastian…” she whispered.
Jaw clenched, he reached for the hem of her sweater, baring her body again. Releasing him was a torture she endured as pain. The second her jeans and panties were gone, she grabbed for his length again. If she was going to wake up any second, she had to make the most of each moment.
Bastian scooped her from the floor fulfilling their mutual desire when her legs twined around his hips. With a single step, he pinned her spine against the post at the bottom corner of the bed and just held her there, making love to her with his gaze.
Bastian was sure. Always. She couldn’t say the same about herself.
This could be a huge mistake. They were friends.
They weren’t supposed to be intimate. Not like this.
They hadn’t talked about it; there were no rules for the physical.
If they gave in to whatever was going on here and now, they may not be able to go back to the way things were later.
Answers were distant. Intangible and irrelevant the instant his lips met hers. She locked her arms around his neck and arched against him, desperate to be closer, driven to be a part of him.
Bastian slid a strong arm under her ass, boosting her high, freeing a hand to go exploring. Caressing her hip, her waist, her breast, he squeezed her. All she could do was squirm against the ridge in his underwear.
Any uncertainty she had flew out of the window when he lowered his mouth to her breast and breathed her in.
With a gratified yelp, she secured her ankles at his back and grabbed his hair to pull his mouth to hers.
She needed him. She needed his mouth. Needed his body. Needed him to occupy her, all of her.
Sucking his tongue from his mouth, her hands clamored with his underwear, shoving them down his legs out of the way. She released his mouth, but caught his lower lip in her teeth, overwhelmed by a need to keep him.
The glitter that shone in his eye braced her for what might come next. Yet, there was still a question in him. Was it her he doubted or himself?
He kissed her again, slow this time. On his release of her mouth, he guided himself into her, watching her so intently that one advance matched the other. As he went deeper, she grabbed for his shoulders, stalling him.
Stalling? Oh, no, that wasn’t right.
Shaking her head, her nails dug deep into him. “No,” she murmured. “White Knight, don’t dare stop.”
Doing as told, he kissed her again and continued to ease in.
Ah, she couldn’t help herself, her whole body moved, arching and writhing, wringing a moan from her deepest depths.
His tormenting mouth kissed wherever it could reach.
She couldn’t let him get away with that and tossed her own head forward to land her mouth on his throat.
With a growl of approval, he surrendered all restraint and plunged into her pliant body.
Engulfed in the surging torrent of desire and emotion, his generous girth stretched her in a painful pleasure. Oh, she had to be calm, hold on, breathe. All sense flew away when he drew out and thrust in again. Moving with him, all she could do was surrender and let this heaven happen.
His strength was impressive, he kept her pinned, piercing into her with every new breath, building the pressure of desire and gratification behind a dam eager to crack.
In a single blast, her scream of climax clamped her around him, once, twice, squeezing and pulling him deeper, begging him to remain within her always.
A dark rumble blackened his throat. He didn’t relax, he didn’t give her up, not yet. With each advance, she got louder, until emotion clashed with the physical and she cried out again. Bastian echoed her plea and with another thrust, froze within her, spilling his seed deep.
Neither said a word.
His forearm hooked under her, he supported her while they both fought to breathe in a normal rhythm.
Nope, wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t. He leaned back and looked into her eyes.
What was that? What was looking back at her?
Something different. Something inside him wasn’t the same.
She didn’t know what it was. She didn’t even know if it was a good change or a bad one.
“You’re incredible in bed,” he said with a twitch of a smile.
Her whole body sagged in relief and amusement. “We’re not in bed,” she said, freeing a grin and nudging his shoulder.
He took half a step to the side and fell forward, landing them on the mattress.
“Now we are, and you’re still incredible,” he said, bracing himself over her on his elbows. “Let’s see what else you can do.”
Only with him could she go from being in tears ready to flee to laying in bed laughing. Then again, what were friends for?