Chapter 12
Amelie
Carter’s hand on my thigh remains in one place, but there’s no forgetting it’s there. It isn’t heavy in a way that makes me uncomfortable, but it’s evidently present.
Lay your hand on top of his.
Over the course of the minutes that follow that stray thought, it circles back around a second and a third time before my body agrees with my mind, and when I lay my palm on top of his and fold my fingers underneath it, I glance in his direction. It’s dark, but I detect the smile spreading across his face.
He’s really good-looking. Like I think he might be the hottest guy I’ve ever seen. I mean, in person, anyway.
Good grief, I’m rambling in my own head now.
“So, are you headed towards any particular place?”
He shrugs. “I mean, I live this way, but I wasn’t headed there. You insinuated presumption, and I certainly don’t want you to think I’m being disrespectful. You’re a lady. I can tell.”
Good grief, this man’s vocabulary is so freaking sexy.
“What do you mean by that? How can you tell?”
Again with the shrugging. “I don’t know,” he says. “I never like to assume, but I feel like if you’re this averse to touch, you’re probably not falling into bed with guys you just met on a regular basis.”
I laugh full-out at that. Don’t try to cover my mouth or muffle the sound at all. It’s hilarious, but it’s spot-on, too. “Yeah, I think that’s a pretty safe assumption. I’ve never slept with someone I just met. In fact, the handful of times I tried to have sex, I had to get borderline drunk, teetering on the edge of being able to give consent, to even get into a bedroom with a man.”
He’s silent for a little longer than I’d have liked, and my brain goes to the worst case scenario immediately.
“You tried?”
Wait, what? “Huh?”
“You said you tried to have sex. What exactly does that mean?”
“Shit, I said that, didn’t I?” I drop my face into my free hand.
“You did. And I asked, but it’s your prerogative to withhold the answer.”
“I appreciate the out, but I am in your car, at dark, after being strangely okay with you touching me all night, so there’s probably a lot of curiosity about me on your end.”
“Yeah. I’m curious. About lots of things, but you’re fascinating. So, I’m interested in far more than this one thing.”
I tighten my fingers around his hand, and he squeezes back, taking his eyes from the road for a split second to shoot me a sexy smile.
“So, let me clear something up from the start. I haven’t been, and won’t be, diagnosed with any sort of aversion disorder. It isn’t that I’m physically unable or that it causes me pain. My problem — for lack of a better word — is sensory. I have a sensory processing issue that makes most touch feel uncomfortable.
“Like, okay,” I say, turning in my seat to face him as much as I can without unbuckling my seat belt. “You know how a cat hates for you to rub its fur the wrong direction? Or how a sunburn feels the day after when your skin starts to heal and gets tight? Oh, or like those really awful wool sweaters you get for Christmas every year from your Aunt Fern that are warm and cozy, but itchy as hell?”
He nods, rubbing his thumb over my thigh in a hypnotizing pattern. “Yeah, I think I get what you’re saying.”
I stare down at his fingers on my body, the next words out of my mouth contradicting the current situation like the ultimate hypocrisy. “So, it’s like that. I don’t like to be touched, but it isn’t going to institutionalize me.”
“Mm-hmm, I see.” We ride in silence for a mile or so, and the lights of downtown Nashville through the back glass fade more and more. After he thinks about that for longer than I’d like, he squeezes my thigh and asks, “So what about the sex part? The physical stuff?”
“Ah, yes. The good stuff,” I say with a self-deprecating scowl. “Well, there have been two men in my life who I thought I was comfortable enough with to give it a try, and both of them proved me very, very wrong.”
I’ve never heard a human being properly growl before that moment, and the shockwave it sends to my libido is wholly terrifying and invigorating all at the same time. “Fuckers,” he murmurs under his breath.
“They were indeed fuckers, but they didn’t fuck me, so…” I lift one hand in a “what are ya gonna do” motion and force out a laugh.
“Amelie…” Carter chastises me and laughs in the same breath. “You’re funny, you know that?”
“I don’t try to be, but for some reason, everybody says I am.” I shrug and smile.
“So what happened, and do you need bail money after giving me their current locations?” He shoots a quick look at me that would have knocked me over if I’d been standing.
“They both moved on long ago. No bail money needed. Nobody tried anything without consent, and everybody stopped when asked. It just wasn’t the right match, either time.”
“Hell, I love to touch and be touched, and I’ve had a few of those myself.” He winks at me and keeps driving.
I don’t want to go into any more detail about the nights I failed to successfully have sex with two acceptably good-looking, intelligent, enthusiastic men.
“Okay, I don’t want you to think I’m an idiot when it comes to sex. I mean, for crying out loud, it’s my day job in many ways.”
“So you treat people with sexual issues?” he asks.
“Yeah. Couples only, though. No single patients. That needs to be done inpatient for propriety’s sake. I’ve studied extensively and conducted research at a few very prestigious universities. I wanted to be somewhere warm for my fellowship, and Vandy had a spot open up. It was really lucky.”
“So, you’re telling me that you help couples fix their sex problems and their relationship problems, and you’re entirely inexperienced?”
“Not entirely,” I say, my head dropping so low that my chin hits my chest. “I’ve fooled around a little. Both times, the foreplay was fairly successful.”
“These euphemisms you use, woman. ‘Fairly successful’ foreplay? What does that even mean?”
“It means I know my body can get aroused, okay?” My voice rises in volume as I answer. “It means I’ve felt the beginning twinges of an orgasm from someone else other than myself. It means, it means… Hell, I don’t know what it means, but I know I’m tired of not knowing.”
Either my outburst shocks him, or he’s officially weirded out by me, because the driver’s seat is completely silent. I refuse to look at him, frozen in fear he’ll sit there, staring at me like I have three heads growing out of my neck.
The truck slows ever so slightly as he turns onto a gravel drive. Looking up then, I see he’s pulling into a subdivision full of unfinished houses.
“What are you?—?”
“Do you trust me?”
My eyes snap to his face. Do I? Do I trust this man I met less than an hour ago?
Well, hell. I do.
“Yes.”