Chapter 25 #2
‘Jess grew up in Whitby too. She was in our class at school but moved to Leeds the year before we did. We’d had a thing as teenagers – just an on-again, off-again kind of deal – but I saw her in town one night just after we moved to the city and we swapped numbers.
’ He looks down the length of the alley, blowing breath into mist before it disperses into the night air.
‘She studied journalism, and after she graduated she got a job working for a local paper. She got in touch when our band was gaining traction and did a few pieces on us. And then we fell in love, the way you do when you’re young, you know – quickly, messily, but with that unshakeable hope, like nothing will ever go wrong. ’
I nod, but in reality I don’t know. The closest I ever got to love was Jon, and that … well, the less said about that, the better.
‘We moved in together,’ he continues, the words beginning to catch in his throat.
‘I even proposed to her. She was it for me, as far as I was concerned. We were doing the long-distance thing for a while after Gilly was diagnosed, and I thought it was going well, but then I turned up for a surprise visit and found her having sex with Dean in our bed.’
I’m pretty sure I gasp out loud as my heart seizes in my chest. I can’t imagine how much it would hurt being betrayed by just one person that close to you, much less two. And then a puzzle piece clicks into place in my brain.
‘That was the night you beat the crap out of him?’
His gaze snaps back to me, a question in his eyes.
‘He told me,’ I say gently, and he nods.
‘Of course he did.’ He pulls in another deep breath, raw and ragged.
‘But yes. I was leaving, just wanted to get the hell out of there. He followed me down the stairs and told me she was better off with him than me, right there in my own house.’ A muscle flexes in his jaw.
‘I saw red. Pulled him out of the house by his hair and threw the first punch.’ He huffs a laugh, but there’s no humour to it. ‘It wasn’t my finest hour.’
I nod. ‘He told me you got arrested.’
‘We both did,’ he says, with a shrug. ‘Disorderly conduct. We were fighting like animals in the street.’ His not-quite-smile turns into a wince. ‘We both ended up at A he followed.
I opened a vampire-themed bar; he did too.
’ He huffs. ‘I’d be flattered by it if he weren’t such a pain in my arse. ’
I nod, thinking back to the scene from earlier – the difference in the way the two men reacted. ‘He was goading you tonight.’
Bram leans back against the rough brick of the alleyway wall. ‘He does it all the time. I normally don’t fall for it anymore, but…’
‘But me,’ I say quietly, the realisation hitting me all at once.
He turns to me, one hand cupping my jaw. ‘No one’s got under my skin since Jess. I found out after we broke up that Dean wasn’t the only man she’d cheated on me with. She’d also been jumping into bed with her arsehole of a boss.’ His mouth twitches into an almost-smile. ‘Your boss, as it happens.’
My stomach drops to my feet. ‘Jon?’
This time he laughs, but there’s no humour to it. ‘What are the chances? Anyway, after that, I kept the women I met at arm’s length to avoid getting hurt again, which was working a treat.’ His fingers gently trace the shape of my chin. ‘And then you showed up.’
‘I did.’ My voice is almost a whisper, and it makes him smile.
‘I never stood a chance,’ he says in that low rumble of his, and when he kisses me this time it’s like a promise, quiet and reverent.
Like a vow he’s making – a piece of himself he’s giving to me.
I almost feel something shift in my chest as I kiss him back – something irrevocable, a change in the very fibre of me.
And it’s then that I know.
Whatever we are – whatever he is – there’s something in us which is the same. Something which makes us work, no matter what. Whatever happens after this weekend, I know I’ll keep coming back to this moment. To this feeling.
The feeling of being chosen.
The feeling of being enough.
Bram kisses me until I feel boneless. Until I’m not sure where I end and he begins. Until the chill of the night air sneaks its fingers into the gap beneath my jumper and I shiver.
That makes him draw back, his brows knitting into a frown. ‘You’re cold.’
I nod. ‘Let’s go home,’ I say, and nothing feels more right.
We head back to the annexe, my heart alive and my hand in his, and as I catch the scent of something that reminds me of Jon’s aftershave, I can’t help but think how funny it is, the way things work out.
I thought that I was in love with Jon. That he was good.
The same way I thought that the naked tattooed rogue I ran into on my first night here was bad.
How wrong I was, on both counts.
By the time we reach the cottage, I’m cold to my bones. We didn’t speak much as we walked, and it felt like Bram needed that, perhaps to recharge his emotional batteries. But once the door to the annexe closes, I see all the tension drain out of him at once.
We kick off our shoes and hang our coats up, and then he guides me to the sofa and goes to put the kettle on.
‘There’s a blanket in that basket at the side of the sofa,’ he says from the kitchen, and I find it quickly and wrap it around myself, the warm scratch of the wool easing my shivering just a little.
After a few minutes, Bram comes back over with two steaming mugs. He sets them on the coffee table before scooping me up, blanket and all, and plopping me into his lap, humming with satisfaction when I nuzzle down against his chest.
He smells amazing, the familiar woodsiness of his shower gel combining with the faint tang of sea salt like he’s the hero in a romance novel who is somehow both a sea captain and a lumberjack at the same time. I inhale it shamelessly, painfully aware that this could be our last night together.
It’s a possibility neither of us has voiced.
The louder, more hopeful part of myself – Glass Half Full Lucy – is telling me that there’s every possibility we could get our happily ever after.
But then there’s another side, the side which can’t be sure this isn’t our last chance – the side which makes me want to make every second of this night count in case the fairytale ends the second I get on that train tomorrow.
‘Stay with me tonight,’ I say, tracing my finger along his collarbone, and I feel him sit up taller on the sofa.
‘Lucy,’ he starts. I can hear the hesitancy in his voice. I hope he’s pulling back because he doesn’t want to push me, not because he’s not up for it, but Last Chance Lucy’s in charge now, and she’s not afraid of what she wants.
‘I know what I’m asking,’ I say, my hand tracing the hollow at the base of his neck. I can feel the flex of this throat beneath my fingertips as he swallows.
‘What are you asking?’
I slowly untangle myself from the blanket, hitching my skirt higher so that I can swing my leg over to straddle him, just like I did in my bed this morning. ‘I want you to … wait, what were your exact words?’ I put on my best Bram voice. ‘Rock my world.’
He smiles at that, bright and wide. He must have taken his fangs out at some point, because there’s no sign of them now, just those prominent canines that press into the skin of his lower lip. Tattooed hands settle on my thighs, fingertips sneaking under the hem of my skirt.
‘Are you sure?’ he asks, the grit in his voice making liquid heat pool in my belly, and when I hum my reply, his green eyes fix on me, pupils dilating.
‘I’m gonna need you to say it,’ he mutters, and I can’t help my giggle.
‘You need an invitation?’ I ask, thinking back to the previous night. I mean it as a joke, really, but he is deadly serious as he nods slowly, not taking his eyes off me even for a second.
‘Ok,’ I say, finding my confidence as I shrug off the blanket and reach for the hem of his T-shirt. ‘This is me formally inviting you into my bed.’ I pull the shirt up and over his head in one swift move. ‘And this is me formally inviting you into my body.’
He laughs at that, a rough rasp that tips his head back a moment before he straightens, eyes burning into me. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yes,’ I say steadily, like I’m not on the precipice of something monumental. ‘I feel like I might die if I can’t have sex with you tonight.’
‘No need to be dramatic, Lucy,’ he says through a grin, the smallest of tremors in his voice. ‘We’re not in a graveyard now.’
It’s a moment or two before either of us moves, the tension between us pulling tighter and tighter as we smile at each other, before all of a sudden it snaps.
And then everything changes in a split second.
I’m not sure who closes the gap first, but suddenly his mouth is on mine, the fingers of one hand raking into my hair as the other slides to my hip, pulling me so close that I can feel the vibration of his growl through his body.
He’s a ball of tension underneath me, sprung tight, his hips moving just a little against mine, just enough to wind me up too.
It’s different from before. Deliberate and irresistible, like a riptide sweeping me away from the shore.
His kisses are slow at first – deep, drugging grazes of his tongue against mine, which send ripples of feeling though me, gathering momentum slowly but surely until they become crashing waves of need.
My hands grasp for him greedily, exploring the scratch of stubble under his jaw, the bob of his Adam’s apple in his throat, the smooth skin at his sides.
I feel different when I’m with him – not like myself at all. In Bram’s arms I feel wild and unrestrained – giddy with feeling and with pleasure. I want him like I’ve never wanted anything else in my life. Like he’s something I need to survive.
He breathes a satisfied sigh into my mouth as my hands trip down the planes of his body. I feel him smile against my lips when my thumbs find the bars through his nipples, testing them, relishing in the rumble of his groan when I lightly tug on them.
When he pulls my jumper over my head, followed by the thin vest I’m wearing underneath, he stills. For a moment I worry that something’s wrong, but when I open my eyes, there’s a look of such desire – such wonder – on his face that it almost takes my breath away.
‘Beautiful,’ he murmurs, thumbs skating down my skin, his eyes tracking the course of his hands as he trails them across my curves, like he’s learning them. Like he’s going to replay this moment in his head over and over again.
When he kisses me again, there’s a new urgency to it. It’s needy and raw, punctuated by small rolls of his hips underneath me, a growl deep down in his throat. His hands move to my legs, slipping up higher underneath my skirt, his skin cool through the thin fabric of my tights.
My hips are moving almost involuntarily, rolling against him – seeking pressure, friction, anything he can give me, but it’s not enough. I want more. I need more.
When I pull away from him to tell him so, we’re both breathless, our chests heaving in sync, mouths parted as we drag in air. My thumb moves to stroke his swollen lips, and he nips at it playfully before soothing the sting with a kiss.
And then I look him straight in his beautiful sea glass eyes and mutter a single word – one syllable which will entirely change the trajectory of the night.
‘Bed.’