Chapter 7 #2
Victor paused when mere inches separated them.
“Stay home. With us,” he growled.
Belle’s eyes searched his. Confused. And maybe intrigued.
Before she could respond, he closed the distance, holding her against the wall.
This kiss was like the first two. Passionate, hungry, bordering on painful. He kissed her like the beast he was, staking one hell of a fucking claim.
His hands slid down her sides to her hips, where his fingers closed around the material of her dress. He slowly began inching it up as his lips devoured hers. Victor slipped one large thigh between hers, pressing it firmly against her hot center.
Belle’s hips twitched, just once—no, twice—before her small hands closed around his wrists, stopping him.
Victor tried to shake himself free, but her grip tightened, rousing him enough that he found the strength to pull back from the kiss.
“What’s changed since the last time we kissed?” she asked.
He froze.
Everything.
And nothing.
Nothing had changed.
And that was the problem.
Pip’s stability was sacred. If they failed, it was Pip who lost. Pip and Viv.
He exhaled slowly, his heart thundering so hard in his chest, he could feel the pulsing in his ears. It was almost deafening. “Nothing,” he murmured.
Belle’s expression shuttered. “That’s what I thought.”
Victor was too shell-shocked to resist when she gently pushed him away from her, stepping to the side and leaving the kitchen without another word.
He remained there as she said a quiet good night to Pip. He listened as the front door opened, then closed, and he heard the sound of her car starting, backing out of the driveway before fading into the night.
Victor lifted one hand, placing it on the wall, fighting like mad to steady himself, but to no avail.
He was fucking wrecked.
Again.
“Uncle Vic,” Pip said, venturing into the kitchen. “Can we have popcorn?”
He nodded, grateful his niece didn’t think it was weird that he was standing alone in the kitchen, staring at the wall.
He was also thankful that Belle’s question had been the equivalent of dumping cold water over his head, because his raging erection had wilted the moment she’d asked him what had changed, and he’d been forced to admit the truth.
Pip walked to the refrigerator, opening the door to peer inside. “Can I have some juice too?”
“Sure.” Victor tried to shake off what had just happened with Belle, but the tightness in his chest was stuck, and he was afraid all the distractions in the world weren’t going to loosen it anytime soon.
Victor had lost complete control, his life running off the rails in spectacular fashion. Suddenly, everything felt fragile. With one wrong move, he’d cracked it open, and now, he didn’t have a clue what was left on the other side.
Placing a bag of popcorn in the microwave, Victor pushed the buttons, then turned toward the cabinet. He poured grape juice in Pip’s favorite cup, filling a glass with beer for himself.
The microwave had just beeped when Pip asked, “Will Belle marry that man and leave?”
The thought punched him in the gut, the bottom falling out of his world completely.
“No,” he said, fully aware that was the wrong answer. He couldn’t promise his niece of that.
However, when he repeated the word, shaking his head, it was spoken with a determination that couldn’t be denied.
All his lies fell away, crashing and burning around him like the wreckage of a plane.
He was in love with Belle.
He was so fucking in love with her.
Victor had sworn off that emotion since Amelia, and he thought he’d succeeded in casting it out of his life, certain he didn’t need it.
Now, he was starting to question if he’d ever loved Amelia, because God knew his feelings for his ex hadn’t even come close to this insane, overpowering, intense, heart-thumping, chest-tightening emotion.
He loved Belle.
He wanted her.
She was not going to marry anyone else.
Period.
End of fucking sentence.
“No,” he said a third time, in serious overkill. “Belle is not going to marry that man.”
His assurances worked, as Pip smiled so widely, he could tell his little niece had been fretting about losing Belle almost as much as he had.
“Come on,” he said, feeling ridiculously lighter, considering his life was still in shambles. “Let’s watch that movie.”
Two and a half hours later, Victor was sitting on the couch alone. He’d put Pip to bed following the movie, then come back downstairs, a spider on his web, waiting for the fly to return home.
Headlights flashed through the front window.
She was back.
Victor followed Belle’s progress as she entered the house. After her last date, she’d stopped in the living room when she saw the light. This time, she didn’t.
He’d anticipated that, so he stood up the moment he heard the door close behind her and the lock engage.
Victor stepped out of the living room just as she reached the foot of the stairs.
“Belle.”
She froze, her shoulders tightening, as if she was fighting to find her strength. Obviously, he hadn’t been the only one waging this constant internal war. He found comfort in their shared misery.
Not that he intended to be miserable for long.
Belle turned slowly, as if she had to force herself to face him. He’d been so wrapped up in his own head this past week, he hadn’t seen something that should have been apparent to him.
Belle looked as tired as he felt.
Victor raised a hand, crooking his finger at her.
She frowned, confused.
“Come here, Sunshine.”
Belle blinked a few times, surprised by his use of the nickname. It had gone away the same day he’d discovered that fucking cooking schedule on his fridge.
“Victor,” she started, not moving.
His patience was in tatters. Now that he’d turned this corner, there was no going back. Or waiting. He was finished with fucking waiting.
“Now, Belle,” he stressed.
This time, she responded, her cheeks blushing in response to his command.
Interesting.
She approached him, still maintaining a good five feet when she stopped again.
Victor reached out, grasping her hand before pulling her into the living room.
One of the cooler features of his house were the pocket doors.
Ninety-nine percent of the time, they remained open, giving his downstairs an open concept, but on the rare occasion when he needed privacy, he was able to close and lock them.
Which was what he did right then.
Mercifully, Pip had inherited her mother’s ability to sleep like the dead. A bomb could go off next to that little girl’s head and it wouldn’t rouse her.
“What’s going on?” Belle asked, somewhat alarmed.
“If you don’t want this, the time to say so is now,” he said.
Belle opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
He gave her a full ten seconds, which he felt was really fucking generous because damn if he wasn’t a man on the edge.
He half expected her to use the same line she’d said in the kitchen, since they were technically still in the same boat they were three hours ago. At some point, they’d have to talk it all out.
But that was going to have to come later.
Much later.
Right now, he didn’t have anything to say. At least, not with words.
Grabbing her hips, he drew her to him, his lips cutting off any reply she might make at this point. The only sound in the room her adorable squeak of surprise when he kissed her.
Her arms looped around his shoulders, both of them shifting forward, pressing their bodies together. Belle’s lips parted, inviting him inside, and she moaned with the first swipe of his tongue.
Since she’d left for her date, he’d done nothing but fantasize about what she’d interrupted, what she’d kept him from seeing and feeling under that pretty dress of hers.
“Don’t stop.”
He heard the desperation in her voice, and he felt guilty for his previous actions. For leaving her high and dry. Not once, not twice, but three times.
“Never again,” he growled.
This time, when he began to pull up her sundress, she didn’t stop him. Not when the skirt cleared her waist, not when he dragged it above her head. And not when he whipped it off, tossing it over his shoulder to the floor.
While they hadn’t gone into much detail on past relationships, he got the impression Belle’s experiences were limited. She’d mentioned a couple high school boyfriends and a barista from work. And all of that was years earlier.
Regardless, she wasn’t timid or shy, and she didn’t seek to shield herself from his gaze.
Not even when he took a step back, his eyes enjoying a slow, leisurely tour from her face all the way down to her feet.
She was wearing one of those sexy bras that pushed her breasts up and a matching pair of panties.
She tilted her head, her cheeks growing redder. “I’m not exactly well-endowed.”
He growled, hoping to God no man had never complained about that to her in the past. “You’re fucking perfect,” he said. “Gorgeous.”
Her eyes lit up, just as they always did whenever he paid her a compliment. Her happiness made him want to tell her how beautiful she was every single day.
She lifted her arms, clearly intent on resuming the kisses, but Victor resisted the pull. He wasn’t finished looking…and he hadn’t even started the touching.
Reaching out, he drew one finger along the top of her bra, watching as her nipples budded behind the lacy material.
He couldn’t hold back his grin when she shivered in response.
Her arousal was as easy to read as her happiness, though he wasn’t sure if that was because she was an open book or if he’d been studying her for so long, it felt simple.
Now that he’d stopped lying to himself, he could admit—even if only in his mind—that he’d been fascinated by this woman since shortly after their introduction. Victor was a tough son of a bitch, the kind of guy who was slow to warm up, the type who never had a lot of friends.