37. Gwen
Gwen
Something tightens low in my chest when Easton sets down his mobile. All that quiet strength is suddenly aimed at me. I expect him to dig for gum or make a joke, but he doesn’t. He just looks at me with those intense brown eyes. Like my words have landed somewhere neither of us was ready for.
“Obvious, hmm?” he finally speaks up.
My pulse hammers, urging me forward. To bridge the space and drown the quiet. But I force myself to stay rooted in place, fingers curling at my sides.
“I don’t need to read your dear diary notes.” His jaw tightens. “If you want me to, I will. But I don’t need to.”
My mouth opens on instinct, ready to overexplain, to backpedal. But I clamp it shut. I take a single, faltering step back, the sting in my chest sharp enough to feel like rejection, even if I don’t know that’s what it is. My lungs lock, and I don’t let that breath go until he takes a step closer.
“I’m worried you believe there’s something in your past I’ll judge you for, and you think I won’t want you if I find out about it,” he says steadily.
“And you’re doing this because you want to protect yourself from getting hurt now instead of later.
But I promise you”—two more steps this time—“it won’t. ”
“Not even what I already shared? That I had meaningless sex?”
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “A lot of us have. I’d never think less of you for that.”
“But you can’t look at me?” My stomach turns.
“What? No.” His eyes flash open and a slight rattle of emotion slides through his tone as he asks, “But do you wanna picture me with anyone else?”
Ohhh. “No.” The fact we’re on the same jealous page, but in a green-flag kind of way, is both comforting and a relief.
“The reason I don’t need to read them is because you don’t owe me any explanations about your past. I already know who you are.”
My vision blurs at what he’s saying, and emotion swells in my throat, pressing until it’s hard to breathe.
One more step and he’ll be close enough that I can feel the heat coming off him, and I pray he takes it.
“We already have a solid foundation of trust. We’re at a place where we can be who we really are around each other without worrying about judgment.
I know so much about you that I—” His gaze lowers to the floor as he grits out, “That I felt cut in fucking two when I was away from you after the accident. Like I lost half of myself.”
Yeah, well, I felt the same, which is why I was so depressed.
When he looks back up, his eyes are glossy, and something in my chest splinters open.
He closes the space between us and circles my wrist and draws it up to his mouth. His lips feather along the slight scar there from the accident, and I hope he’s kissing goodbye to his guilt from that crash once and for all.
Another kiss there before a shaky breath follows as I simply stare at him, my heart in my throat.
He returns my arm to my side and frames my face in his hands. His touch is warm and steady like always. His brows draw together as his fingers move into my hair. “If you take away everything from our past, do you know what remains?”
I lean into his touch, already undone. “What?”
“Us.”
Those two letters break the air open and slip under my skin, and it settles somewhere deep in my bones.
His eyes open—dark, heated, unguarded—and my pulse is shaky. He exhales against my cheek, close enough that I feel what he says before I hear the words.
“Be honest with me. Did you want to share your dear diary notes to draw me closer? Or, subconsciously, were they meant to scare me away because you’re afraid of getting hurt?”
Did I do that for the second reason?
He studies my face like he’s bracing for the answer.
I sniffle as he swipes at the dampness beneath my eyes.
“I’m pretty sure I have abandonment issues, among other things.
So, it’s possible,” I confess, hating myself for that.
“You know, push you away before you leave, assuming that’s what will happen one day anyway.
” There. I said it out loud. No hiding behind my dear diary thoughts. “Would it have worked?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“I just can’t lose you again.”
His brows snap together the second I accidentally let loose that last word. “My walking away after the accident was a mistake, and I’m so damn sorry for that.” He tangles my hair in his fingers and leans closer. “I was scared.” He swallows. “Maybe I still am.”
I press my lips together, searching for the words, and manage to keep my mouth shut for once until I happen upon the right ones. “What if we’re scared together?” I lift one shoulder, my voice wobbling with the last of my tears. “Better than going it alone.”
A faint smile tugs at his mouth. “I like the way you think.” His thumbs move in small circles on my cheeks, and my knees threaten to give out. “I want to kiss you.”
“Don’t let our joint fear hold you back,” I whisper.
His brows slant together before he drops his mouth over mine. And when our lips finally meet, everything else falls away—including my nerves, and the what-ifs they’re wrapped around.
The kiss is perfect. Closed mouth, sensual and sweet. Gentle and honest. For once in my life, my mind goes quiet.
“Bubble gum again, hmm?” He licks my lips open for another taste and kisses me even more fervently that time.
When he pulls back just a fraction, I blink twice, in a daze. “So this is what it’s supposed to feel like.”
He smiles against my mouth. “Just getting started.”
The restraint shatters after that, and the world fractures into sensations.
His tongue meets mine.
His hands find my waist, drawing me closer.
I curl my fingers into his biceps and hang on as the kiss deepens, lighting something dormant inside me, bringing me back to life.
We stumble out from the back area over to the wall, and without breaking stride, one of his hands lifts my wrist above my head while the other stays firm at my side. He rolls his hips forward, and the jolt of feeling him against me steals my breath.
And then he stills.
“I’m so sorry.” Anguish roughens the words as he lowers my arm.
It takes me a second to understand he’s remembering that room on the island.
When he starts to walk backward, I grab hold of his side to keep him in place.
“No,” I whisper. “We get to own this moment. To take back control where it belongs.” I slide my hands up the sides of his neck. “Let’s erase that memory and make a new one that’s ours.”
He searches my face. “You’re sure?”
“More than anything.”
His expression softens as the decision settles in, and something changes. Right here, right now. For both of us.
And then I’m lost in his arms again. In his touch. In everything.
His mouth drifts to my cheek, then he angles my chin and kisses along my jaw and down my neck. I thread my fingers through his thick hair as he mirrors what I did to him last night. Shivers skate over my skin as he finds a sensitive spot, every nerve in me reaching for him.
His hand is warm beneath my shirt. Fingers splayed across my abdomen, he moves slowly and unhurried, devastatingly patient.
Finally.
He traces the edge of my rib cage before he eases my sports bra aside, then brushes the underside of my breast, just enough to drive me wild before his hand closes around me. I bite down on my back teeth to keep from calling out his name as he lightly squeezes.
Here I am, pressed against him, ready to come undone, and he’s taking his sweet, old-school time.
The heat of his palm seeps into my skin, and I swear he must feel the way my stomach tightens as I long for more. More of everything he has to give me.
His mouth drags to the corner of my jaw, and the rough scrape of his facial hair sends chills crashing over my body, and my nipples harden to almost painful points.
“Trouble,” he rasps near the shell of my ear.
“And you love it,” I tease back.
His mouth finds mine again before I can catch my breath, and the low sound he makes in his throat nearly undoes me.
For a split second, I think he’s finally going to forget all his patience. Take me into the back hall and have his way with me. We both need it.
But this man.
This incredible man . . .
Just can’t help but respect me. (That’s good, I know, but damn do I want him.)
He breaks the kiss. “We’ve waited too long, and you deserve so much more than for me to pin you against the wall and take you like—”
“But that does sound nice.” I groan softly and step back.
His eyes fall to my lips as he steps in.
Well then.
His hands skim to my hips as he curses before claiming my mouth again—rougher now, less restraint, very much I need you.
I slide my arms over his shoulders, linking my wrists at the back of his neck, kissing him back with everything I have.
Take me, take me, take me pours through my mind like liquid heat.
“Gwen,” he grits out, fighting for his control that I want to shatter even if he’s right. And I know he is.
We can’t make love in the coffee shop.
I mean, we can’t, right?
His mouth slowly leaves mine.
“How’d we hold off for so long?” I whisper.
His brows slant inward, but he keeps quiet.
We both know why. Of course we do. It wasn’t our time then. But it is now. God, I hope it is, at least.
“E?” I breathe out.
He brushes the hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ears. “Yeah?”
Talking about something heavy is the only way I’m going to stop myself from pleading with him to say F it and take me now. Not here. But my bedroom? Yeah, that could work.
There’s also my shower to dull the noise of me crying out his name as he makes me come. Beneath the spray of the water, his rigid and hard body pressed tight to my back with my hands over my head, tits smashed to the tiles and—
“If you had to choose just one . . . what’s your greatest fear when it comes to there being an us?” I rudely interrupt my fantasies before I lose control.
“Truth?”
“Ideally.” I smile.
The lines around his eyes deepen as the humor drains from his face.
“I’d be lying if I said you being Wyatt’s daughter doesn’t trip me up.” He shakes his head, gulping. “But don’t worry, I can handle him,” he promises, his voice low.
I don’t know why the way he says that hits me right in the chest and low in the stomach in the best possible way, but it does. “Good.”
“And our friendship matters to me more than anything, of course.” His hands move to my waist. “But to be honest, it’s that I’m worried I’ll—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” a deep voice cuts in, and I could scream.
Really?
He clears his throat and lets me go. There’s no way he’s hiding his hard-on in those gray sweats.
Thinking fast, I sidestep him and use my body to shield his erection from view so we can face our head of security.
Malachi’s mouth twitches, and a subtle I know what you were up to smile comes and goes fast. “Your father and Carter are looking for you. They’re on their way down here. I figured it’d be best if I was the one to intrude.”
I nod, heat still humming under my skin. I’m too wrapped up in the aftershock of Easton’s touch to feel embarrassed. I’m also anxious for him to finish that thought of his, but it looks like it’ll have to wait.
“Thank you,” Easton says quietly. Despite what he said about my dad, I’m sure he’s relieved it wasn’t him who caught us up against a wall.
Malachi turns and leaves, and the second his back is to us, the space between Easton and me rushes back in, and I spin around to face him.
“Your lips are swollen. Face is red around your mouth, too.” He drags his thumb along my lower lip, brow creasing.
I glance pointedly at his sweats. “At least you’re not hard anymore. That’s a plus.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, brief and rueful. “Tactical thinking.” His gaze snaps past me, and his hand falls away.
Dad.
Of course.
I turn just in time to see him and Carter approaching, their expressions grave. The bubble Easton and I were standing in shatters.
“What’s wrong?” I ask before Dad can clock my lips, or how close Easton is standing.
We regroup at the table where my new rig waits, its screen dark and innocent looking.
“There’s been a security breach with air traffic control in England.” Carter delivers the bad news, and my stomach drops, like I missed the step on a staircase. “Two planes collided off the coast and went down.”
The room tilts. My legs give way, but Easton’s arm hooks behind me, keeping me upright.
“It’s them, isn’t it?” Easton beats me to asking.
No answer, so I pull away from Easton and head to my rig. My fingers move fast as dread sharpens my focus. After I enter the password and my screen wakes up, that’s when I see it—what I missed while Easton and I were kissing.
I grip the edge of the table. “The signal is pinging.” I straighten, forcing air into my lungs. “They didn’t clone my rig like we thought they’d do. They flipped the real one on ten minutes ago.”
“Ten minutes ago? And you didn’t notice?” Dad’s gaze flies between Easton and me.
I look to Easton, then back at Dad, and instead of answering him, share, “My rig . . . it’s in London.”