Chapter 10
Nora
Guilt, fear, and regret collide like dysfunctional fireworks inside me, suffocating and choking me the more I replay the day’s events. Kissing Jordan. Feeling my system burn for him again. Hearing him pour his sweet, forgetful heart out to me. If I can’t hold my shit together for the next five days, this lie will be my undoing.
I despise the mixed signals I’m dishing out—pretending to be his girlfriend while freaking out every time he acts like my boyfriend—making him question us both. In my defense, it’s not like I have experience with fake dating ex-boyfriends with amnesia. It’s maddening. It’s sad and so alarmingly confusing.
My heart fluttered unexpectedly when he said he’ll always love me. I’ve never had someone put me first and love me like I matter. Half of that is my fault. I push men away when they get too close. But the other is my sick, twisted childhood.
No one, no matter how strong they may be, could come away from that knowing how to deal with relationships in a healthy way. I’ve been to therapy. I know I’m fucked up, but change is hard. Accepting love is near impossible when I’m so used to everyone I care about leaving, as if I meant nothing to them.
My father left me alone with my lunatic mother when I was an impressionable second grader. My best friend chose popularity and boys over standing by my side in front of school bullies. The person I thought would always stand by me through life after high school broke up with me because suddenly, I wasn’t good enough for his family and future. My first stepfather, who treated me like his own, protecting me and earning my trust, left without even a glance over his shoulder when my mother showed her true colors and kicked him out.
Then, there’s Jordan. He left for three tours, and each time, I resigned to never seeing him again. To never seeing him again. It happens all too often, shattering hearts, families, and hope, and I had to protect myself.
And now? That fear is no longer relevant. He’s here to stay, and the more time I spend with him, the more I question why I fight it. Why I don’t let him see all of me—the stuff below the surface and locked away behind titanium walls. But after telling him everything, would he still want me? The nature of our predicament may render that question null and void in the end. Being honest about my past may be too late once he learns I lied to him in the worst possible way.
I can’t worry about that now. I’m already neck deep on a sinking boat with no island in sight to be my saving grace. All I can do is focus on one moment at a time. I don’t know what I want beyond today, yet I’m tired of swimming. If I give this relationship all I have until it’s stripped away, maybe a shred of who we once were will survive after this boat sinks to the bottom.
Summoning the fierce badass he thinks I am, I stalk back to the car and drop into the driver’s seat. His eyes question me, and I answer by taking his face in my hands and kissing him. Our teeth clash in a demand for more, passion flaring between us as if no time has passed and no secrets loom over us. My fingers dig into his hair, and it’s appalling how much I want him. While my body has always been his, my brain is the stubborn one, usually talking me out of doing anything that could hurt later. But in giving myself to him in this rebellious detour, I can’t figure out where my heart stands on the matter.
Pulling back, almost too fast not to cause alarm, I suggest, “We should keep going.”
“Agreed.” His hand reaches for my shirt, and as much as I want him to fist it and yank it over my head, I place a hand on his chest.
“I meant we need to keep climbing this mountain.”
“If you insist.” A defeated look drops his longing eyes to my mouth as he resettles in his seat. “You never said where you learned those facts about said mountain.”
Grateful for the switch to an innocent topic, I nod toward the windshield and put the car in reverse. His eyes soon land on a large sign with Blue Ridge Mountain Facts printed in bold letters at the top. A family stands in front of it reading the information.
“Really? You read that sign as we sat here?”
I shake my head in mock disappointment before backing the car into the road. “Just like a man. Can’t see what’s right in front of him.”
◆◆◆
The rest of the trip up the mountain then back to Richmond went by without tough conversations or confusing freak outs. We settle into the roles of two people comfortable in each other’s space.
But the long day also weakened Jordan and his overworked body. He didn’t try to start something we couldn’t finish with adventurous hands. He didn’t ask why I escaped the car earlier and looked as though I considered hurling myself over the railing. He didn’t bring us up once over the last several hours.
While it is easier on me to ignore things, he prefers to face concerns like the enemy—assess, address, and neutralize. The fact that he isn’t addressing what happened on that mountain has me assessing every word, glance, body movement, and murmur.
What if another side effect of his injuries is taking hold? What if he remembered something? What if he’s waiting to see how far I’ll take it before he calls me out?
For a distraction, I put a pot of water on the stove for tea before pulling his wallet out of my purse. “Is that famous bucket list in here?”
“Since you’re holding it, I assume you’re going to check.”
“With your permission, of course.” He nods, and I unfold the worn leather. “Did you have fun today?”
“I did. I’d choose to spend time with you over anything.”
My heart squeezes as relief consumes and relaxes my muscles. I roll my shoulders, realizing how on edge I’d been, waiting for something to drop and ruin our easy flow. “Especially over sitting in the quiet apartment.”
“Especially over that…at least until you’re willing to remove my chastity belt.”
And just like that, flirty Jordan is back. Thank goodness. This side I know how to handle. “You’re not ready for that,” I inform him.
“I beg to differ.”
“Anyway.” I pinch a yellowing piece of paper that looks to have been folded and refolded until its creases are tearing and hold it up. “Got it.”
“Go ahead.” He waves a hand. “Read all my desires.”
My eyes narrow with suspicion. “I thought this was a trip bucket list, not a—”
“It is,” he says a little too quick, cutting me off.
“Hmm. We’ll just see, won’t we?”
I unfold the list, which I soon realize is an old, faded store flyer with his scribbles on the back. Most of the ink on the front has worn off. Only a few random words and shapes remain. Turning it over, I begin reading the list aloud.
“Drink wine and squish grapes in Italy. Check.” With a grin, I lean my elbows on the counter.
“Sort of.”
“It’s checked for now. Next, climb a mountain. Check.”
“I could go for another climb so long as you kiss me like that again.”
It had been a kiss I won’t soon forget, and a piece of my resolve was left on that mountain alongside part of my heart. Damn him.
“Next,” I continue, ignoring the heat rising from my core into my cheeks. “Cave exploring, skydiving, gambling in Las Vegas. Oh.”
I look up from the list and find him smirking.
“Number six,” he says in a confident, you-know-it-would-be-amazing rasp. It’s a look I adore on him.
Clearing my throat, I skip that sexy little number to something safer. “Swim with dolphins, learn to paint. That’s sweet.”
He shrugs. “It’s important to her.”
“And what’s important to your sister is important to you.” He truly had the purest of hearts. Returning to the list, I squint to read the next entry. Am I seeing this right? Ride a steam engine?”
“I loved trains as a kid.”
“How are we going to find a steam engine around here?” I stare at him in dismay.
“You said you wanted to get creative…you’ll figure something out.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You mean impossibly charming?”
My gaze holds his because yeah, I could get behind that statement. The wind gusting through the open windows on the drive home mussed his blond hair, giving off a carefree, surfer charm. The eyes that can soften even my sharpest edges bore into mine, revealing a side of him I’ve never truly witnessed until this moment. He’s more than charming, and I wish I hadn’t damaged everything beyond repair.
“Yeah,” I agree, my voice wearing my regret. “You’re impossibly charming.” And a lot of other memorable adjectives.
“What’s next on the list, Nora?”
He must have felt the shift between us and needed a diversion or knew I did. I look at the list, but my eyes are unfocused, reeling from the revelation that I regret destroying what we had. A regret stemmed not only from hurting him but accepting his love and not returning it. From never telling him how sweet and thoughtful and amazing he is. And mainly from pushing away and shattering the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
“Nora.”
“Right.” I suck in a breath and blink to clear the fog. “Skiing in Vale, Niagara Falls, something about a camel, rafting, camping in the Grand Canyon, and…”
“And what?”
Holding the list closer to my face, I squint for a better view. “The last one is missing.”
“Missing?”
“You erased it.”
“That’s weird. I don’t remember erasing anything or even the last time I looked at that list.”
“I can make out an M at the start and an L and E. Sorry.” I shrug and stuff the list into his wallet. “You’ll have to remember or come up with a new one.”
Speaking of remembering something forgotten, I drop the wallet and add two tea bags to the boiling water on the stove. Half the water has evaporated thanks to the list distraction, but I focus on the simple task to keep my thoughts off my regretful heart. Locate the sugar and a large pitcher for making sweet tea—Jordan’s favorite. Consider measuring the sugar, forget how much to add, pour in what looks like an unhealthy amount, and hope. Stir in the hot water from the pot and cold from the tap. Collect a glass from the cabinet and fill it with ice and tea.
I glance over at him. “Feeling okay?”
“Sort of. Bruises are throbbing.” He checks the time on the microwave. “Mind grabbing my meds?”
“Sure. Think we did too much today?”
I place three prescription bottles in his lap, hand over the glass of tea, then push him to an empty spot beside the couch.
“No. Well, maybe, but I don’t care. It was worth it.”
“Not used to retirement life yet?” I joke, not realizing the slip until it was out of my mouth.
“Hell, no,” he continues without a beat. “And never will be. Other than the cost of losing all this time with you, I can’t wait to get back to work.”
“Want to watch a movie?” I blurt. It was an awkward transition, one he could chalk up to my reluctance to talk about our relationship, but it had to be done. The conversation had taken a dangerous right turn, thanks to my unfortunate slip, and I’m not prepared to handle the aftermath if it stays off track.
“Sure, but pick something you like.” He nods at the prescription bottles. “This concoction usually knocks me out.”
“In that case, we should get you into bed,” I suggest, knowing I won’t be able to move him if he falls asleep on the couch.
“Hmm. I like that idea. Will you join me? I can’t stomach the idea of having you so close but not with me.”
“Jordan.”
“Nora,” he says in the same exasperated tone, taking my hand. “You’re my girl, and I miss holding you. Please.”
How could I resist that plea? How did I ever before?
With a nod, I move to stand in front of him and kick off my ankle boots. His eyes stay on mine as I kneel to remove the sneaker from his uninjured leg and push all three out of the way with my foot.
Rising again, I peel off my sweatshirt, unbutton my jeans, and wiggle out of them. I take a step toward my suitcase to retrieve a pair of shorts, freezing at the sound of his deep voice. It wraps around me like velvet and a soothing warmth fills the void inside me.
“Don’t. I want you just like that.”
“What about my bra? I was thinking I’d be more comfortable without it, but if you prefer—”
“Good point. No bra. I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
“How thoughtful of you.”
Pinching back a grin, I reach both hands around to unhook the bra. All amusement leaves his face as desire and primal need have him fidgeting in his seat. His gaze trails from my lips to my breasts, pushing against the tight cotton. I hook the strap inside my right sleeve and pull it down my arm, repeating the feat on the other side. For the last step, the one I can tell is making his mouth water in anticipation, I bunch my shirt above my waist to pull out the garment underneath. With a flick of my arm, I toss it onto the couch behind him.
“Your turn.” After two unforgettable kisses from him today, all I can think about is doing it again while trailing my fingers over the ridges of muscles and smooth skin.
I help him out of his layers, amazed by how sensual it is to undress him with careful precision. His breath heats my cheek, teasing me with how close he is. If I turn my head, my body will have what it craves.
Him.
I want him, even though I shouldn’t. Even though it’s wrong, and potentially destroying this sinking ship with a relentless thunderstorm. I need his hands and lips on my skin. I need him to unravel me and take me under.
“Bed. Now,” he whispers through gritted teeth, his control shredded and faltering.
Straddling his legs, I set aside the glass and medication to wrap my arms around his waist. “Hold on to me.”
“Gladly,” he says and grips my left shoulder.
Unable to resist, I place a kiss on his cheek and start the countdown. On one, he pushes up, instantly smashing our bodies together—shoulders, chest, hips. I can feel the cold metal of his dog tags through the fabric as he leans on me, his hand sliding down my back to cup my ass. Stunned, I look up in time for his mouth to cover mine, possessive, greedy, and hot. Holding him closer, I realize how much I missed our connection and the surge of electricity we invoke in each other.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, moving to my neck.
“I…can’t think…when you do that.” I also can’t stop myself from leaning back to allow more space for him to continue whatever he’s doing to me. My knees quiver, but since I’m the one holding up this pleasure party, I steady myself. “I don’t think you should do extracurricular—”
He takes possession of my lips with his before I can finish drawing a line in the ever-changing quicksand that is our current relationship. If I had been wavering on whether to give in, this kiss would have been convincing enough. Consequences be damned.
A low moan flutters in my throat as his hand finds its way inside my shirt, and a rough, calloused palm embraces my breast.
“What do you think now?” he asks, clear on his intentions.
“I think you’re my weakness, and when you touch me like that, you can have anything you want.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“But,” I manage through the haze of my own unmet needs, “you haven’t taken your meds yet.”
“Forget them. I want to be fully present for every minute.”
“We must be careful. You’re injured in places easy to make worse with what you’re offering.”
His posture deflates, making me smile.
“Don’t worry. It just means we have another opportunity to get creative.”
“I love how you think.”