12. Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
~LILLY~
I spend the entire day aware of Zed.
I can feel him in every room, every game, every stretch of beach and patio and lawn. Even when I’m not looking at him, I know where he is—I constantly feel his eyes on me.
I have never had this kind of attention from a man before.
I’ve been wanted, sure. Flirted with. Chased.
But not this. Not this fixed intensity that seems to wrap around me even when he’s half a lawn away.
He’s not making scenes. He’s not doing anything right now that I could point at in front of other people and say, there, look, see what he’s doing.
And another truth I’m trying very hard not to look at too directly is that I like it.
I like the way other men seem to disappear under that look. I like the way he circles without crowding. I like the fact that he doesn’t need to touch me to make me feel claimed in some deeply inappropriate way.
It should be concerning. Then again, concern is already in the room. It’s just sharing space with something much more dangerous.
I can’t believe I let him touch me like that in the pantry.
A flashback hits me while I’m handing plastic rings to a line of children, and it nearly takes my knees out from under me. I tighten my grip on them and keep smiling like I’m not replaying it with humiliating clarity.
My entire body turned traitor the second he touched me. The sheer mortification of standing there while Stacey talked through the door, and my body completely stopped belonging to me.
Heat flashes up my neck. I’m not this girl. I don’t do risky, impulsive things in pantries with terrifying tattooed hockey players. Part of me is appalled. A larger, much less useful part is so giddy about it I can barely stand myself.
A little girl tugs my hand and asks for a blue ring instead of a green one, and I give it to her without thinking. She runs off with it held over her head.
“Okay,” Stacey says beside me for what feels like the fiftieth time today. “Who was in there with you? You were breathy and weird, and I swear I heard a deep voice.”
Every time I think about earlier, adrenaline shoots through me. Every time I move, I feel him. The ghost of his hands is still under my tank top, his fingers still circling between my legs, with his teeth on my neck.
“No one,” I say, forcing a laugh that sounds way too guilty. “I told you, I just spilled coffee on my shirt and was changing. That’s it.”
“Uh-huh. Sure. Come on, tell me who railed you.”
“Stacey, stop,” I hiss, glancing around to make sure none of the kids are close. “There was no one. Drop it.”
Stacey has spent the entire day trying to crack this, dropping back into the subject every time we’re alone for more than thirty seconds.
“You are being incredibly weird,” she tells me.
“And you’re being incredibly nosy.”
“Something happened in that pantry.” She steps closer, scandalized and delighted all at once.
I sigh, looking around, and suddenly catch Zed’s pale eyes from the patio, framed by long black lashes and thick dark brows. I immediately look away, my heart kicking. Every time I look at him, I catch the exact same thing in his expression. He’s thinking about it too.
Every time our gazes meet across the lawn or the patio or during a camp activity, there’s that flash of recognition between us.
It’s enough to make my stomach drop and tighten at the same time.
Stacey is still staring at me, waiting for a confession I am absolutely not giving her.
I turn my head, unable to fight the urge to look at Zed again. He’s got one hand braced on the table while Dom says something to him. He hasn’t stepped into my space again since the pantry.
He lifts his head and finds me instantly. Heat moves through me as the world narrows.
I look away again. I never seem to be able to win these staring contests.
Stacey follows my line of sight and nudges me. “I think Zed’s looking at me.”
“Yeah?” I ask, trying to keep busy.
“God, I would let that man do unspeakable things to me. If he would just stop acting so hard to get.”
I think I’m a worse person than I was yesterday, because a tiny, private, deep wave of satisfaction moves through me.
“Watch the kids,” I say, and walk away before my face can show it.
After dinner finally dissolves into cleanup and getting overtired children pointed toward showers and beds, I slip away with my phone to call Nora and end up on the dock that stretches out past the quieter side of the property.
The wood is still warm from the day, and the water below moves black and silver in the moonlight.
The villa behind me is all soft gold light and muffled noise, far enough away to feel distant.
By the time I hang up, the call has done the opposite of calming me down.
Nora spent half of it shrieking about Zed kissing me. It’s not the kind of information a best friend receives calmly. She spent the other half demanding details I refused to give her because some things are already humiliating enough without saying them out loud.
I slip my phone into the pocket of my cardigan and stare out over the water. The dock creaks softly beneath my feet. I couldn’t tell Nora about all of it, though I know she senses something more happened. I’m a terrible liar, especially to her. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud yet.
I let an NHL goalie touch me through my shorts in a pantry while Stacey was standing right outside the door.
God. Just thinking it makes my face burn all over again.
All day long, we’ve been playing this game of stolen looks. He never came close. He just… watched and made sure no one else got too friendly. Part of me is relieved. A much worse part has spent the entire day wondering why.
As if I’ve summoned him, I feel a shift in the air.
That same heavy awareness settles over me before I even consciously know why.
Then I hear the slow thud of footsteps on the wood behind me, heavy and lazy, making every nerve in me sit up and pay attention before I’ve even turned around.
And when I do, my heart kicks once, hard enough to feel in my throat.
Zed is coming toward me out of the dark without bothering to announce himself, hands loose at his sides, shoulders broad and half-shadowed in the low light.
He moves unhurriedly, looking absolutely certain that I’ll still be standing here when he gets to me.
His black T-shirt is stretched across that ridiculous chest, tattoos crawling up his arms, eyes locked on me.
My stomach flips when I catch the scent of his cologne as he gets closer.
“Hi,” I say, because that’s all my brain can manage right now.
He doesn’t greet me back. He steps even closer, the dock groaning beneath his weight. Both hands come down on the wooden railing, one on either side of me, caging me in. His body settles near enough that the heat of him sinks through me. My pulse kicks even higher with him this close.
“I thought you were avoiding me,” I huff out with a small laugh, filling the silence that’s amplifying the effects of his gaze.
One corner of his mouth moves.
“No,” he says. “I’ve been behaving.”
Behaving. After what happened this morning.
“Have you?” I fold my arms across my chest.
His gaze drags over me slowly enough to make the question feel stupid.
“Haven’t I?” he counters.
I look out at the water for one second, then back at him. “You’ve been staring at me all day.”
“So have you.”
Heat flashes over my skin.
He’s close enough that I can see the details of his face: the shadow along his strong jaw, the unusual color of his eyes, and the shape of his mouth.
I close my eyes the moment I catch myself staring, sure that he’s noticed. When I open them, his gaze has dropped to my lips.
My heart is going so hard I’m half-convinced he can hear it over the water. His hand comes up then, slow enough that I can stop him if I want to, but I don’t.
His fingers brush beneath my chin, lifting my eyes to his.
“Do you regret asking me to stay?” His eyes hold mine.
The question catches me off guard. I stare back at him, studying his expression. There’s no smugness in it, only a genuine interest in knowing the answer. For once, I don’t want to twist away from what’s true just because it would be safer.
“No.”
His brows relax a fraction, softening his eyes.
“Do you regret me kissing you?” he asks with the same lips that held mine hostage last night.
Do I regret the best kiss of my entire life? Do I regret feeling like I’m soaring and free-falling just from his mouth on mine? Do I regret finding out what being kissed by Zed feels like?
I look up at him, pulse hammering, and think about what I’m doing. About who I’m doing it with.
Zed Mercer is intense in a way that should send me in the other direction at full speed. And yet he’s also standing here looking at me like there’s no one else worth the effort. If all Zed wanted was sex, he could’ve had something easy and uncomplicated the minute Stacey showed interest. He didn’t.
It makes something softer and reckless rise in me. A need to give him something back. Maybe just enough for him to feel that this isn’t all one-sided madness.
So instead of answering, I rise onto my toes and place one hand against the hard plane of his chest. Before I can think myself out of it, I lean in and press my lips to his. Just enough to show him. To say it without saying it.
He closes his eyes, letting me kiss him. A sound leaves him low in his chest, and one arm wraps around my waist while the other cups the side of my face. Suddenly, I’m being pulled tight against him as he takes over the kiss completely.
He deepens it, mouth hot and rough on mine, and whatever little brave gesture I thought I was making gets swallowed whole by the force of his response.
My fingers clutch at his shirt while his tongue brushes mine.
His hand at my waist tightens, and he tips my head slightly, changing the angle so he can get more of my mouth. And God, the way he kisses me when he knows I came to him this time is somehow even hungrier. More certain.