CHAPTER TEN
Dublin
Five Years Ago
The elevator hums and begins to ascend.
I laugh. The sound is breathless and a little wild. He answers it with another kiss—deeper this time—like he’s claiming something he hasn’t earned.
And I’m letting him, because tonight I’m not Dublin Locke—steady and dependable.
At least that’s what I keep repeating to feed my courage, silence the doubt, and own the lust.
The elevator doors slide open with a second to spare before we start disrobing and we race toward my room. His hand is on my hip, and my heart is in my throat.
The door to my room barely clicks shut before he’s on me again. It’s not graceful in the least. It’s laughter and the kind of urgency that makes it impossible to tell where one moment ends and the next begins.
My back hits the door as his fingertips skim the span of my stomach before lifting my shirt over my head.
We both groan as his wide palms run up the sides of my torso and then I’m laughing again. Head back, kiss broken, giggling.
“This is a terrible idea,” I say as his hand cups the back of my neck and brings my lips to his again.
“Agreed.” His tongue delves back between my lips. “Terrible.”
But neither of us stops.
His mouth slides to my jaw, to my neck, and I tilt my head without thinking to grant him whatever access he wants.
“Trouble never tasted so good,” he murmurs as he licks a line up the side of my throat to end at my ear. “So goddamn good.”
I huff out a breathless laugh as his mouth meets mine again. There’s no slow build with this kiss, no careful pacing—just a collision of lips and breath and the kind of chemistry that makes it impossible to think past the next second.
I laugh into his mouth when we both stumble, knocking into the edge of the bed.
“Graceful,” I murmur.
“You didn’t single me out because of my gracefulness,” he says, grinning as he steadies me, his forehead dropping briefly to mine. “You still with me, Trouble?”
“Barely,” I tease. “How are we even standing straight?”
“We’re not. The room’s spinning.”
“Good,” I say because that somehow makes this all easier. “That’ll give us both the excuse to not remember any of this in the morning.”
“Isn’t that the point?” he asks. “What you wanted? That you got the star player everyone wanted—the notch on your belt—and then can walk away to brag about it?”
“What?” I ask, eyes trying to snap open but falling heavy with desire as his hand slips between my thighs and robs me of any coherent thought.
“You picked me.” A nip at my lips. A grind of his hips against mine. “Too late now.”
I chuckle, the sound breaking apart as his mouth finds mine again, everything tilting. I stop trying to track what’s happening and just let it be.
My hands sliding down his chest and under his waistband.
His groan in my ears.
His fingertips fluttering over the outside of my underwear.
“I need to—” He groans, runs a hand through his hair as a crooked smile tugs at his mouth.
I nod, still a little dizzy, still caught somewhere between this moment—him—and reality.
“Condoms?” he asks.
Shit. I didn’t think this far ahead. He must see the panic in my face.
“It’s okay. My room’s down the hall. I’ll go get one.” He pushes himself off the bed and adjusts his erection in his shorts as I hand him the key to get back in my room. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He grins, quick and easy, and heads to the door.
But the second that door shuts, everything shifts.
It’s as though his absence sobers me up and brings everything into sharp focus. I lie there for a moment, breathing labored, lips still tingling, and skin humming everywhere he touched me.
God.
His kiss. I press my fingers to my lips like I can hold on to it somehow. Like I can keep it from becoming a moment I’ll regret.
What in the hell am I doing?
The question is not playful. It’s not part of the game. Real. Because this isn’t a dare I made myself staring at a man from afar anymore. This isn’t just proving I can be someone else for a night. This is . . .
I squeeze my eyes shut.
This is something I might actually want from a stranger I’ll never see again, and that’s what scares me the most.
It’s easy to pretend being playful and reckless, but now that I’m alone in the silence, it’s so blaringly obvious that this isn’t me. Not the version of me I recognize when everything isn’t blurred by tequila and a man who kisses like he means it.
The door beeps.
My heart stutters and before I can think—I go still.
Completely and utterly still.
Breathing slow.
Eyes closed.
“I’m back,” he says, voice lighter and unaware.
His footsteps cross the room. They pause as that scent mixture of sun and cologne tempt me.
“Hey?”
I don’t move, panic ricocheting around inside me.
“Trouble?” A soft huff of laughter. “You seriously fell asleep on me?”
I stay still, because if I move, if I look at him, I won’t be able to stop this.
And I need to stop this.
There’s a long pause and then the bed dips slightly as he sits on its edge. His hips rest against my waist, but he doesn’t try to wake me again.
Instead, he just sits there.
A long beat passes.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “That pretty much fucking tracks.”
The emotion in his voice shifts. Not annoyed. Not pissed. Just . . . resigned.
“It’s okay, Trouble,” he says softer. “Get some sleep.”
The mattress lifts. There’s a slight sound that I make out to be him tossing the key card on the dresser. And then there are footsteps moving toward the door.
“You’re right. You sure as shit deserve better than me.”
The door opens.
Closes.
Then the silence is as weighted and heavy as his parting words.
I don’t move right away. Can’t. Because if I do then I just might admit what I almost did.
What I almost let happen.
And worse, what I know I wanted.
Sleeping with a stranger on a dare to myself.
Trying to be who I’m not.
Trying to convince myself that a man who can kiss that incredibly well hasn’t had so much practice that I wouldn’t just be another notch in his bedpost.
And that right there proves my exact point.
I was trying to be another notch. Trying to pretend I’d be okay with it simply, just to prove to myself I wasn’t boring. Predictable.
Instead, I tried and failed at it.
Not sure which is worse.