Chapter Twelve
Twelve
LAILA
Two years ago
“Instant coffee?”
I stir my spoon quickly and glance over my shoulder to see James enter the kitchen.
“You got a problem with instant coffee?” I ask, and turn my back to him to hide my smile as I put the spoon in the sink.
“Yes,” he says, and I feel him walk into the room. “And it’s not just me, it’s everyone. I mean, you’ve got the best espresso machine from Italy right there, and yet…”
I turn around to eye him as he’s gesturing wildly to the fancy espresso machine, and I lean against the counter, blowing on my mug before taking a careful sip. It’s scalding hot, but that’s just the way I like it.
He’s wearing a suit this morning, as always, but there’s something about him that makes me feel a little dizzy, like if I didn’t have the edge of the counter behind me I’d slide right onto the floor like a melting ice cream cone. I don’t know if it’s just how intimately I know his body now, his mannerisms, his way, since we’ve been sleeping together most nights for the last few months, but I’ve never felt so connected to someone in all my life. I have to remind myself to act like a human being and not a pile of mush.
“It’s still coffee, James. It’s not like I’m drinking battery acid,” I scoff, straightening up.
“That’s up for debate,” he says with a roguish grin that makes my heart do backflips in my chest.
“James,” Eddie says, suddenly appearing in the doorway. He gives me a friendly nod, then eyes his PPO. “I’m going to head off. Better to get it out of the way.”
James’s face goes blank. It’s amazing to watch how his whole mindset changes when he goes on duty. All that is playful about him is quickly buried by his role as bodyguard. “Aye, sir.”
He doesn’t even look back at me as the two of them leave the room, bound for London for some event, and I ignore the fact that it bothers me. I know that we have to keep our affair a secret or else we could lose our jobs, and even though I love the idea of having a forbidden romance because there’s something so exciting and dangerous about it, it kind of bothers me that we have to hide it. I know it shouldn’t, but I can’t help feeling like he’s ashamed of me. It’s probably not true and just residual trauma from past relationships, but even so…
Anyway, our whole affair began only as a means to an end, a way to have fun and connect, but somewhere along the way I fell for this man. I don’t know how much, or how deeply, just that it’s happened. I don’t know if it’s love—I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love with anyone—but I know that he gets a part of me that I don’t give to anyone else. A part of me I try so hard to hide—the me deep down who just wants someone to push through the mire and see me for me.
I don’t know when this happened, and it’s still not something I’m ready to deal with, but I know that if I don’t figure out what I’m going to do with him before it gets any deeper, I might lose him. And I know I can’t lose him. I need him.
I’m still standing here, holding my coffee, when I hear the front door open and footsteps on the marble floor. I look to see James walking back into the kitchen, coming toward me and smiling.
I’m grinning like an idiot in response.
“Just grabbing some water for the road,” he explains, opening the fridge door and bringing out two bottles of water. He closes it and then quickly leans in close to me.
“See you tonight, aye?” he whispers, his breath hot and smelling of mint.
I feel my cheeks flush at the thought of what we’re going to do tonight, and my stomach does a little flip. “Yes,” I whisper back, my eyes still closed as I catch his scent again.
And then he’s gone, his footsteps echoing on the marble as he goes out the door.
I’m left alone in the kitchen, scared to death that I’m falling in love.
I’m even more scared that I might tell him.
···
That night, James comes into my room. It’s past midnight, and I’ve been waiting, lying in bed in only my underwear.
The door opens and he steps in, closing it behind him quietly. I can see the outline of his body in the darkness and I watch as he walks over to the bed, sitting down on the edge.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice a low rumble in the silence.
I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes, and I’m so grateful that he can’t see them in the darkness.
“Laila love,” he continues, leaning in to kiss me.
I kiss him back, melting into him as his lips move over mine. His hand is on my cheek, his thumb gently brushing away my tears.
“What’s wrong?” he asks with a pause. “Are you crying?”
My heart pounds away in my chest.
“I’m just feeling emotional,” I manage to say. “It’s nothing.”
“Is it your grandma?” he asks, knowing that she’s been going downhill lately.
I went to visit her last month, and it was the hardest trip I’ve ever had to make. She seemed like my beloved bestemor in nearly every way, but every now and then she would get this blank look on her face. She wasn’t scared by it, she just wasn’t…there. And when she came back, it was like it took her a moment to know who I was. My cousin Peter was there, and he told me that it seemed like she was hard of hearing and needed a new aid, but I don’t think that’s it. She can hear fine…I just don’t know if she realizes who she’s listening to.
Oh god, why is life so fucking hard?
I close my eyes and try to breathe.
“I’m fine,” I tell him, not about to get into all the reasons. “I just need you to make me feel better.”
“I can do that,” he says softly.
He kisses me again, and I let myself sink into him, like I’m letting him carry everything inside, stuff I don’t want to carry anymore. I can feel the warmth of his body, the strength of his arms as he holds me. Everything seems to fade away, and for a little while I’m just content to be in his arms.
Eventually, his hands start to wander and I can feel a little bit of the tension start to ebb away.
“Make me feel something,” I whisper, feeling like I need him to touch me, to make me feel something other than this weight in my chest.
He moves over me, and I can feel his hardness against my thigh. I reach for him, but he pulls back, teasing me.
“Patience,” he whispers, and kisses me again.
He starts to explore my body with his mouth, kissing and licking and nibbling his way down. I arch my back and moan as he reaches my most sensitive spots. My body is a map, and he’s tracing and retracing his steps until every path feels like the right one. He takes his time, teasing me, until I’m gasping for air and begging for more. Finally, he slides inside me and I’m lost to him. I don’t know what’s going on in the world outside this room, but I don’t care. Right now, I’m only focused on him, on us.
He moves slowly at first, but then he starts to pick up the pace. I can feel him getting harder, and I match his thrusts, wanting more, needing more.
“Harder,” I manage to say, and he obliges, increasing his speed.
“Laila,” he groans, and I can feel his muscles tense, like he’s fighting off that edge.
I’m so focused on him that I don’t realize I’m getting close to the edge myself. I feel my heartbeat start to race, my gasps come quicker, and I know he’s almost there. I can feel it just from the sound of his breath and the way he moves. The pressure in my body is coiling, and I try to push it off for even just a few more seconds. I’m so close.
I moan his name, begging him to let me go.
He gives me one final thrust, and I shatter. I can feel the shudders spreading through my body, and I can’t hold it in. I cry out softly, doing all I can to stay quiet.
“James!” I say through a rough gasp.
The orgasm pulses through my body and my back arches in ecstasy, feeling so overwhelmed and delirious that I forget where I am for a moment.
Then I hear his breath catch in his throat, the way his body stiffens, the muscles in his neck corded, and I know he’s going over the edge.
“Oh, bloody hell, love,” he manages to say. “Bloody hell.”
We’re breathing heavily, and I’m still feeling the aftershocks of our orgasms when he rolls off of me. I roll toward him, using his shoulder as a pillow as I try to catch my breath. He wraps an arm around my body, and we are still for a long moment, trying to calm down. James’s ragged breathing is the only sound for a moment as we lie there; the click of the radiator turning on is the only interruption in the silence.
I’m still tingling, still feeling the aftershocks, but now my feelings are crashing over me like a tsunami. My heart is pressing against my rib cage, like it’s trying to break free. If I let it loose, I hope it makes a run for it, but I know it won’t. I know it thinks it belongs here, with James.
I can feel the tears starting to well up in my eyes, but I keep my face buried in his chest so he can’t see. He still has his arm around me, and he gives me a little squeeze.
“You all right, love?” he asks, and I can hear the worry in his voice.
I nod, not trusting myself to speak, and I hold him closer to me in response.
He’s there for me. He’s right here. And all I want is to stay here with him, in his arms.
“I’m falling for you,” I whisper. I regret it instantly. I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want him to know how I felt because I know he doesn’t feel the same way, that this was just supposed to be a casual thing.
He stiffens beside me, as if shocked, and my heart sinks.
Oh god. What have I done?
I’ve ruined everything.
Panic floods through me, and I try to pull away, but he holds me tighter.
“Laila,” he says, his voice going tender. “Don’t.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I really am. I feel like an idiot. I don’t know what I was thinking.
“Don’t apologize,” he tells me, and he’s kissing me again, holding me against him. “Just please, don’t tell me you’re falling for me.”
I pause.
“Why not?” I ask, feeling a little angry now.
He runs his fingers through my hair, as if trying to comfort me.
“Because I can’t give you what you need,” he tells me. “I can’t give you what you deserve.”
I swallow, trying to get rid of the lump in my throat.
“What if I don’t deserve anything?” I ask, my voice catching.
“Don’t say that. You deserve the world, Laila, but I can’t give that to you.”
“Stop saying that,” I tell him. “Stop saying you can’t give me what I deserve. You’re here now.”
He doesn’t respond to that. He just lies there, holding me, and I can feel his chest rising and falling.
“I’m here now,” he finally says, as if thinking about it. “I can give you that, at least for a little while. I can be here for you.”
“Then that’s all I need,” I tell him.
“No,” he says. “No, that’s not what you need. You deserve so much more.”
“I don’t want more,” I tell him, feeling fucking ridiculous, like I’m bargaining with him to stay in my life, to keep things status quo. “I only want you.”
“I’m not sure that’s enough,” he tells me. “I can’t…I won’t be able to…You need so much more than I can give.”
I stare at him. How many times have I heard that I’m “too much” for someone?
“Who hurt you?” I ask, suddenly angry. “Who broke your heart so badly you can’t even let yourself feel anything for me?”
He blinks at me, surprised at my outrage. I’m surprised myself. I’m in dangerous territory. I try not to let myself get angry often, because when I do it’s like the rage blinds me and I say terrible things, things that I might not even mean.
He then gives his head a shake and gets out of bed.
“I’m sorry,” I plead, quickly reaching for him, but he’s already on his feet. “I didn’t mean that.”
“You knew that this had to remain this way,” he says through a harsh whisper, putting his clothes back on.
“Nothing has changed,” I tell him. “Nothing at all. So I told you I’m falling you for you, so what?”
“So what?” he says, an edge to his voice. “So what? I don’t want you to fall for me, Laila, not if I’m going to break your heart.”
“Then don’t break my heart,” I tell him.
He shakes his head again. “This was a mistake.”
“It’s not a mistake,” I cry out, sitting up on my knees. “I’m just…I developed feelings and I shouldn’t have, but it doesn’t have to change anything between us. We can just keep having sex, keep having fun.”
He runs his hands over his face, head dropping. “No,” he says adamantly. He looks up at me. “We can’t. I care about you, Laila, I really do. But I’m not going to string you along like this if I know where your heart is at. I won’t do that to you.”
“But I don’t understand,” I say softly, making fists in the sheets, the anger and frustration rising inside me. Frustration at the situation, at how quick he is to call things off, anger at myself for saying anything at all. I hold my tongue because I know if I say anything now my words are going to be harsh and full of venom. I need to be quiet; I need to let him go and not make this worse than it already is.
I feel my eyes filling with tears, and I don’t bother to wipe them away. I don’t care that I’m crying, I don’t care that he sees me like this. He knows how I feel, so he might as well know what I’m going through, the hurt I’m feeling now.
He’s watching me, his face unreadable. “I’ll miss you,” he says quietly. “Miss us.”
Hearing him say that just makes my heart sink even more.
“Will you?” I ask softly.
He swallows thickly and nods. “It’s always fun until someone gets hurt. If both our jobs weren’t on the line, if it wasn’t a big deal to be together…”
I stare at him through my blurry vision. I know what he’s not saying. That it doesn’t matter that we could never be. Even if I quit, he still wouldn’t want me for anything more than sex. I know it.
The thing is, I’m not asking for anything more.
He opens his mouth to say something but then he closes it again, his features hardening.
“I’m sorry,” he says, turning around and heading for the door.
“Don’t go,” I finally say, voice cracking.
“I have to,” he says, looking back at me. “I have to go. For both our sakes.”
And then he’s gone.
I’m left in bed, heart aching, tears flowing freely from my eyes.
I’m so foolish. I left the door open in my heart, just a crack, and it was enough to lose it all.