Chapter 16
Lily
It was easier to make Brady hate me than to tell him he shouldn’t want anything to do with me. Easier to feel the anger radiate from his body than feel the disappointment if I’d told him I couldn’t cave on my decision.
What I’d said to him was the truth.
But I hadn’t told him why.
Why I was running. Why I couldn’t want him.
Why I was this emotionally unavailable, complicated disaster.
Since he’d dismissed me to the back of the plane, acting as though he was tired of even looking in my direction, it didn’t even matter at this point.
What he didn’t know was that I was sensitive. That the conversation we’d had, even though it was short and semi-cryptic because I hadn’t explained myself, hurt. It was painful to admit what I’d done.
That even though I wanted to wake up in his bed tomorrow, that I wanted to go out on dates with him, that I wanted to explore what was happening between us, I couldn’t.
And I didn’t even have a chance to apologize.
Nor did I attempt to through the remainder of the flight or when we disembarked or got into the same vehicle to ride to the hotel.
The silence was so thick that I couldn’t fill my lungs until I was alone in my room, my back pressed against the locked door, the view through the large window taunting me.
The whys.
They weren’t just thrumming their regular beat; they were throbbing like techno through my entire body.
Of course, being back in Edinburgh only made everything feel worse. So did knowing he was staying somewhere in this hotel and that we had a return flight together tomorrow afternoon, where we’d be in close quarters for far too many hours.
But here, in Scotland, we had only one full day, and all of it was going to be spent alone in my room.
Except for the few minutes when I rushed down to the lobby to pick up the food I’d ordered. On my way back to the elevator, as I was passing the bar that was just to the side of the lobby, I couldn’t help but notice Brady. He was sitting in the center, both arms resting on the bar top, with a small glass of what I assumed to be scotch in front of him.
Even if I wasn’t so adamant on scanning every location I entered, I would have felt him anyway. I would have smelled him in the air. I would have somehow sensed his presence.
That was the kind of connection I had to him.
I stood midway between the bar and elevators and found myself frozen in this spot.
My feet wanted to walk to him, my hands wanted to place the food before him, my lips wanted to ask him if he wanted to share this meal.
But I couldn’t.
I needed to keep my distance, return to my room, and pretend that I’d never seen him.
So, I urged myself toward the elevators, and just as I was about to take my first step, his eyes connected with mine, immediately halting my plan and the chance of walking away unseen.
To make matters even worse, I couldn’t move. His stare was making my limbs lock in place, causing me to stay right here, vulnerable in more ways than one, while showing him how much his presence affected me.
I could only imagine what that looked like on my face when his light-blue eyes met my deep-blue ones.
A wave fluttered through my entire body. As it reached my chest, it took my breath away, like the plane and car ride, but this was worse. It was tighter. And as the seconds passed, my breath didn’t return.
Only when Brady nodded at the spot next to him did I find myself walking, and it wasn’t toward an escape—the elevators, a stairwell, even the lobby door. I was headed directly for him.
“Brady,” I said as I approached, my brain a mess of thoughts, but there was something I absolutely needed to tell him. “I want to apologize?—”
“I need to say something to you.”
My heart was beating so fast that I placed my hand on top of it. “Okay,” I whispered, cuddling the to-go food against me like it was a blanket.
He pointed at the chair next to his. “Sit.”
I took a few seconds to inventory the room, looking at each of the faces that surrounded the bar, and when I was positive I didn’t recognize any, I took a seat.
“I want to tell you something about myself.” He held up his glass. “If I hadn’t had four of these and a day of meetings that sucked the fucking life out of me, I don’t know that I would be saying any of this to you.”
His shirt was unbuttoned, showing a small hint of the dusting of hair on his chest. The gel he’d added to his locks had worn thin, allowing the strands to fall naturally. He looked like a man who had spent almost half of a day flying and most of the other half in meetings.
And he looked devastatingly sexy.
What I loved most about his appearance and the sound of his voice was that the edge was gone. This was the Brady I’d woken up to in Tampa. The one whose arms had wrapped around me in the middle of the night, as though lying next to me wasn’t close enough. The one who had gazed at me in the morning like I was more beautiful in my half-asleep state than the sun coming in through the blinds.
The man I’d seen hours ago on the plane was his thick, crispy outer edge.
The man sitting next to me was the warm, gooey middle.
“I can’t wait to hear it,” I admitted.
His exhale came fast, through his nose, and when it hit my face, I smelled the scotch on his breath. A scent that, when mixed with his cologne, was more delicious than any of the food I was holding.
“I don’t say I’m sorry. Not ever. I don’t even know what that fucking word means.” He turned in the chair, his body fully facing me. “But what I said to you on the plane was wrong. It was a lie. I didn’t want your number just so I could fuck you.” When he paused, I saw the passion flicker across his stare. “I do want to fuck you—I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is that there was more behind that statement, and I aimed those words at you because I was pissed. I shouldn’t have pulled out a verbal weapon when all you were doing was being honest with me. You didn’t deserve it, and for that, I’m sorry.”
My fingers were on his arm. I couldn’t recall when I’d put them there, but I was now squeezing him. It took everything in me to leave them there even though every warning sign was telling me to pull them back. “I owe you an apology too. I wanted to give you one on the plane. I just didn’t have the chance.”
“Because I took that chance away from you.”
I nodded. “You were only focusing on half of what I’d said.” I moved to the end of the chair as though the inch would allow me to lower my voice even more. “I wasn’t telling you I don’t want you. I was telling you I can’t have you.”
The corner of his lips lifted. “I don’t like that response either.”
“But it’s better.” I offered a small smile.
“Not really.”
My fingers finally released him, and I reached for his scotch and took a sip. The burn in the back of my throat was appreciated. So much so that I took another drink.
“God, that’s fucking hot.”
I paused midair, the cup halfway between my mouth and the bar. “What I said is hot?”
“No, that you just took a drink from my glass.”
“I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t even think to ask?—”
“Lily, you can put your mouth on anything of mine.”
My face flushed as I set the tumbler back on the bar top.
“I’m going to continue to be honest with you,” he added, “and say this situation isn’t something I’ve ever navigated before.”
He moved a piece of hair off the side of my face. Just that small, intimate gesture, the ends of his fingers grazing my skin, was enough to ignite these tiny fires inside me. And the base of those fires was building a heat between my legs.
“I’ve never asked for a woman’s number before.”
“You haven’t?”
He chuckled, not because he seemed to find it funny, but to emphasize his point. “I’ve never even been close to asking … until you.”
“Seriously?” I held up my hand. “I’m sorry. I just find that really surprising, given how many women I’m guessing you’ve been with.”
“My entire life, I’ve only ever wanted one thing from them. Once I get it, I’m out. It’s a routine, you could say. I don’t know what the fuck you did to me—maybe you played things just right, maybe it’s that you don’t want anything from me, maybe it’s knowing that I can’t have you—but I can’t stop thinking about you.” He pierced his bottom lip with his teeth, releasing it to say, “You not wanting us to hook up again or to go out on a date or for me to even have your number, well, given my past, I’d say that’s just fucking ironic.”
That admission made my eyes burn. It made my chest ache.
For reasons I couldn’t explain.
For reasons he would never understand.
Why?
“Why is that, Lily?”
The question hit hard, but it wasn’t unexpected.
He deserved an answer.
Maybe not the whole story, but certainly more than I was complicated, although that description was accurate. I couldn’t break it all down—there was too much—and given that knowledge was power, I refused to let Brady hold any when it came to this situation.
This was my mess. No one else’s.
But I could at least offer some type of explanation that would show him this had nothing to do with my feelings for him. Because those existed even if I couldn’t do anything about them.
I unhooked my fingers, balancing them on my knees, and I swiveled the chair until my body was aimed at him.
I didn’t know how I was going to get through this.
But I had to try.
Even if it was a topic I never discussed. Not with Aubrey. Not with anyone.
“It’s been a year since I dated, and to tell you the truth, it’s been that long since I even considered dating anyone. The thought of being with a man and getting involved again”—my head shook; my body recoiled—“that isn’t something I’ve wanted. In fact, I’ve avoided men completely so I wouldn’t send the wrong message or create an opportunity like the one that occurred between us.”
My hand left my knee, and I shocked myself when it landed on his thigh.
“I’ve literally been hiding my heart and covering my eyes so something like this couldn’t transpire. And then you came along, and to put it bluntly, you charmed the pants off me, and everything I’d been attempting to avert all went to hell.”
My fingers began to tingle, and I pulled them back, squeezing them into a fist.
“Here’s the thing, Brady. You’re the first man to ever make me feel anything. And in the year since I dated, you’re the first man to make me want to give my body to someone. You broke through a barrier that I never intended to lower.”
How could I describe this? How could I make him comprehend the gravity of what I was saying without opening a wound and exposing him to the current I’d been drowning in?
“That probably sounds a little off the wall, doesn’t it? Here’s a woman who’s been uninterested in men for an unreasonable amount of time, and I’m still in a place where I can’t handle anything and?—”
“You’re making sense.” His stare was softening. “Keep going.”
I looked toward the lobby, viewing the faces that had recently walked in, the ones heading for the elevators, the new additions to the bar.
Even though the anxiousness was building in my stomach, I continued, “When I look at you, I see someone—ah!” My hand went to my shoulder as the pain shot through my muscle, my chest tightening into a ball as the wind was practically knocked out of me.
What just happened?
Brady immediately stood and reached behind me. “Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t you see her sitting here?” he snapped to whoever he was gripping. “Are you okay?” he asked me.
I nodded.
“Lily, are you sure?”
“Yes,” I replied.
My brain slowly started to piece together the last few seconds—the ache, the movement, Brady’s reaction—and I figured out that someone had slid in between my chair and the one behind mine. There wasn’t enough room, which had earned me an arm—or a sharp, pointed elbow—to the shoulder to give them more space.
But before I could take a breath, I peeked behind me to see who the culprit was. When I saw it was a man I didn’t recognize, I gasped in some air.
“Dude,” the guy huffed, “I’ve been waiting forever for a drink and?—”
“I don’t care how long you’ve been waiting. That doesn’t make it all right to squeeze into a spot where there’s no room and hurt someone in the process,” Brady barked at him. “Apologize to the lady.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not even looking at her.” Brady’s eyes were rabid. “Say it to her face.”
The space in the back of me was suddenly vacant, the body that had been wedged in there was gone, and he came to my front. Brady’s hand was still clamped on the man’s arm, his expression telling me he was being forced to do something he didn’t want.
“I’m sorry,” he groaned.
I was still rubbing my shoulder. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” Brady said. “But get the hell out of here.”
The guy walked away, but Brady remained standing, his eyes glued on the man until he must have been pleased with his distance, and that was when he finally sat.
He massaged the back of my hand. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
That was a loaded question.
Because physically, yes, I was fine.
But mentally, I was processing the intricate layers of Brady Spade.
A man who hardly knew anything about me.
A man who wanted more despite the little I’d given him.
A man who had defended my honor as though we’d been dating for years.
Never, in the twenty-eight years of my life, had anyone ever stood up for me the way he just had.
But it went even deeper.
What this situation just proved was that, as long as he could help it, he wouldn’t let anything happen to me.
He was protection.
Security.
A guardianship that took away every one of my worries.
That was something I’d always wanted and never had.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“For what? I didn’t do anything.”
You did everything.
Instead of explaining, I said, “I thought you were going to strangle him.”
His hand slowly slid up to my cheek. “I was going to do far worse than that.”
Why was that response so incredibly perfect?
Why did it satisfy so many spots in my body, places that had been starving to hear words like those?
My eyes closed, and I nuzzled into his hand, a warmth swishing through me.
One that brought a calmness.
Reassurance.
But it only lasted a few seconds before the whys kicked in.
What am I doing?
“Brady …” My eyes opened, and I clasped his wrist, carefully pulling his hand off my face.
“It’s been a year.”
It took a moment, but I understood what he was saying. That twelve months should be an adequate amount of time to heal or move on from … whatever was stopping me.
He was right.
Except my situation was anything but normal.
“I know that seems like an eternity. And it is.” I took in his eyes. His lips. The way it felt when they were on me. “But things aren’t settled at all. They’re?—”
There was a vibration in my back pocket.
A notification, a sensation that made my spine straighten, like a string was attached to my head and someone was pulling it upward. My butt wavered over the seat of the chair, my balance still off, even after I stilled.
Like clockwork, my throat narrowed, every hair on my body rose, my heart pounded as though I wasn’t just running, but screaming at the same time.
I hated this.
Oh God, I despised this.
Even more so when I had to say, “I have to go.”
“Why? Because that motherfucker knocked into you? Are you hurting?—”
“No.”
His hand was on my waist as I stood. “Tell me why, Lily. Tell me what just changed that’s making you leave me.”
I shook my head, a war happening within those walls that couldn’t be defined in a few sentences. “I can’t.”
“I’ll go with you?—”
“No.” I squinted, the emotion burning my eyelids.
I wished I didn’t have to give him that answer. I wished I weren’t on my feet right now. I wished there wasn’t something in my life that was causing this fear.
“I’ll see you on the plane tomorrow,” I said as loudly as I could even though it was so soft I wasn’t sure he’d heard me, and I rushed toward the elevators.