Complex Kisses (Here & Now Book 1) Page 6

  I want to know everything.

  “Well?” I prompt, motioning toward the open doorway.

  “Yeah. OK. Let’s get it over with.”

  Allowing her to walk in ahead of me, I hear her audible gasp as we clear the threshold. Looking around, I can’t see anything to be upset about. This house looks normal. It’s actually really nice. Clearly well cared for, the old architecture stands out against more modern details like the stainless appliances of the kitchen we’re standing in. Everything, old and new, gleams. The only thing looking out of place is Jamie, and the shock so evident on her face.

  “Hey. Do you want to sit down? You don’t look so good.”

  “No,” she whispers, “No, I’m fine.” Her voice grows stronger as she continues, “It’s just … it … it looks almost exactly the way I remember it.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No, not bad. Just surprising.”

  I don’t follow her too closely when she strays further into the house.

  I take my time, looking around a stranger’s place, wondering what it is that Jamie’s seeing. Is it the same thing I’m seeing? A well-cared for family home. Or is she seeing something from her past?

  The living room’s all warm woods and leather seating, with a giant fireplace in the center of the far wall. Really impressive. There isn’t a single thing out of place here, and the only thing I noticed in the kitchen was a couple of dishes in the sink and a half full coffee pot on the counter. Otherwise, the house is spotless.

  Letting Jamie wander off down the hall on her own, I check out a group of photos on the fireplace mantel. They look like standard family pictures, with mother, father and two beautiful little girls, all professionally posed. It’s easy to tell the girls apart. They both have the white blonde hair and blue eyes but little Jamie has an indescribable quality. It’s like she glows. Even as a child she was painfully beautiful. But what stands out to me, more than the stunning little girl, is the happiness of her parents. They beam at the camera, pride and love shining through their eyes. It’s clear this was a strong family unit. So what the hell happened? Jamie’s words about her dad not wanting her around, her thoughts that his home wouldn’t be cared for, don’t fit with these cheerful family photos or anything else that I’ve seen here.

  When she returns, still with the bewildered expression on her face, I decide to try a little digging. “This place is really nice, Jamie. Your dad lives here by himself?”

  “Yeah … he’s been alone for a long time now,” she says almost dreamily, while her eyes continue surveying the room.

  “Well, he’s taken good care of it.”

  “I know.” She snaps into focus. “I’m shocked. But I’m really glad. This place always meant so much to him. It was quite run down when my parents bought it. My father restored most of it himself. He worked on it for years,” she sighs. “I used to beg to help him. I think he liked that, though, because even when the job was complicated, he’d find something for me to do. He always made me feel important, like I was really helping. God, I loved those moments. I haven’t thought about any of it for years.”

  Her wistful tone confirms what I’ve already assumed. She loves this place, and her early memories were good ones.

  I’m still curious as hell to know what happened to change all of that but I’m not going to push, not when she’s finally shed some of her anxiety and is opening up to me.

  “I think his love for the work must have rubbed off on me. That’s what I work in. Home restoration and remodeling.”

  It doesn’t surprise me at all that she’s chosen a male dominated field for her career. Beautiful Jamie. Tough as nails, just like I’d thought.

  “I’m not nearly as good as my dad was,” she continues, “But I just love the idea of bringing an old home back to its glory.”

  “Sounds like hard work.”

  “It’s honest work, and I love it. But I don’t get to do near as much as I’d like. I’ve worked for my boss for almost five years now, and he’s only trusted me with one really small remodeling job. I think he only gave it to me because the clients were difficult. Most of the time I manage the office and deal with the customer service end of things. It kind of sucks, but gotta pay my dues, I guess.”

  “Fuck that.” It pisses me off to think she’d get shafted with some bullshit gender role. Customer service, my ass. “Your boss sounds like a tool.”

  “Oh no, he’s really not that bad.”

  “He might not be a bad guy, but I’d bet he’s using you. He wants the pretty face to get his customers in the door. I’ve met plenty of guys like that. They don’t have the balls to give a woman a real chance in their business.”

  Drawn to defense. My need to protect her is irrational, but overwhelming. I want to be her advocate. I want to be her confidant. Shit, I think I just want to be anything at all to this girl. My reactions to her are all over the map and I can’t get my mind around it. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way. I don’t even know how to classify it.

  She just makes me want.

  More.

  A whole lot more.

  “So what are you saying? I’m just a pretty face?”

  Fuck! How have I messed this up - again?

  Wanting to protect her, to know her, to have her – it’s all just so completely out of line. She’s off limits. I want something I can’t have. I’m just struggling to remember why it’ so wrong.

  “What? No! I’m saying the opposite, Jamie! Yes, you’re a beautiful woman, obviously. But you seem smart and resilient, and I bet given half the chance, you’d be every bit as good as the men he’s got working for him. Hell, maybe even better.”

  “I know how good I am, Eric. But he gave me a job - one that I really needed. I was grateful for that.”

  “Yeah, it’s none of my business. I get it. I just think it’s bullshit when a woman has to work twice as hard as a man to earn the same level of respect. I think you deserve a hell of a lot better.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not,” she sighs, her focus straying back to her pensive examination of the place.

  Taking my opportunity to run some interference on myself, I decide this would be the perfect time to just shut the hell up.

  Another small set of photos on a side table are a good distraction from my epic failure at being sensible. All five pictures are of a little boy with dark blond hair and dark eyes. The family resemblance is obvious, but he wasn’t in any of the other pictures. I wonder if Jamie has a little brother like me. Or maybe he’s her father’s illegitimate love child and that’s why there’s so much hostility between them now. Or maybe it’s just a cousin or a nephew. Or hell, maybe it’s the goddamn kid next door and I’m just making shit up, how the hell should I know.

  Jamie catches me with one of these photos in hand and I feel like a kid caught sneaking cookies.

  “Just looking at the photos,” I state, obviously.

  But Jamie seems too entranced by the picture too be offended by my snooping. Standing beside me, one hand reaching for the photo, her other hand covering her mouth, she looks like she’s about to break down again.

  Watching her reaction closely, I’m mesmerized by the way her brow furrows and tears form in her eyes. The hand at her mouth, beginning to tremble as she holds back a sob.

  What’s this? Where did the tears come from? What the hell is going on?

  I’ve spent most of our time together lusting after her and then insulting her job, I’ve apparently overlooked the magnitude of her struggle being here. I should have known. She gave me plenty of warning but I brushed it off after we walked through the door.

  Jamie’s fragility is my undoing. I need to fix this. Whatever the problem is, I feel somehow responsible, like I should shield her from it, even though I’m clueless about the cause of her pain.

  “Hey. Come here.” I put the picture carefully back in its place.

  Taking her hand, and leading her to the couch, I pull down with me as I take a seat. U
sing the armrest to box her in, she’s given no choice but to sit close.

  But even that doesn’t feel close enough.

  Grabbing her at the knees, I pull her legs across my lap, forcing her to turn toward me. The physical connection may not be necessary to ease her pain but if feels right.

  “Look at me,” I tell her, as I grasp her chin, gently forcing her to meet my eyes. Stubborn as she is, I won’t let her hide from me.

  Staring into her eyes, I want nothing more than to absorb the pain I see there. She only stares back in return, reluctant or unable to speak.

  “Listen,” I say, with conviction. “You were there for me yesterday, right? You reminded me that we don’t have to lie about our feelings. Right?”

  Nodding slightly, she clears her throat but still doesn’t say a word.

  “I’m here for you. You can trust me with this, if you want to talk.”

  I continue searching her eyes, waiting for her response. But she doesn’t say a word.

  Instead, she wraps her arms around my neck. Leans forward.

  And presses her lips right over mine.

  Well, fuck.

  * * *

  The moment my lips met his, I know it’s a mistake.

  Eric’s still holding my chin lightly but the rest of his body has tensed up completely. I know that all his talk about feelings and trusting him were not a prelude to kissing. He was being supportive. Comforting, maybe. He was attempting to be my friend.

  He wasn’t trying to seduce me.

  But I’m mesmerized by him, all the same.

  Eric has shown me such devoted concern for seemingly no reason, other than to be compassionate. He’s been the first respectable man I’ve met in a very long time. Also, the first person in my adult life who I’d easily call friend. I’m not close with many people, or anyone really. Most of the relationships I’ve built are pretty superficial. I know people – lots of people. But none of them really know me. With Eric, I feel like he can see something in me that even I don’t know about. Like he’s interested in actually getting to know me. Not just hitting a like button on my latest status update – but digging deep and finding the real me. It’s a foreign experience and I’m not sure how to react.

  Even though I haven’t really opened up to him, I feel like I could. Like I should let him get to know me in every single way. Every. Single. Way.

  Part of me really wants that. He’s not just walking, talking sex on a stick, but he seems like he’s actually a really decent human being. Part of me craves the idea of building something with a man like him. But most of me just craves getting to know him in other ways. Carnal ways. All the magnificently dirty ways that make my toes curl and my body sing. Part of me really just wants to get naked with him.

  And so, I kissed him.

  A simple, closed mouth, lip on lip kiss. Just a way to return the sentiment of care. Not really sexual. Okay, maybe a little bit sexual. How could it not be, with our building attraction and him looking hotter than hell?

  Honestly though, I had truly meant to keep it a light, innocent kiss.

  But with his reaction - the rigidness of his posture and the way he’s stopped breathing - I feel like I’ve crossed a line that I had no business even approaching. I need a better sense of boundaries. Or just a way to control my hormonal reaction to this man.

  Pulling quickly away, avoiding eye contact I mumble, “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I just …”

  “Jamie.”

  With his voice so deep and soothing, I can hear the letdown coming.

  But instead of pushing me away, he slides his hand up from my chin, takes a handful of my hair, and pulls me closer. Gently but persistently, he brings my face to within an inch of his own. His small display of dominance sends shivers up my spine, sparking a vivid desire deep in my core.

  “Look at me.”

  His eyes reflect a heady combination of hope and lust that instantly banishes my sadness and confusion.

  All I can see, all I can feel, is Eric.

  I want him.

  I crave his warmth. His kindness. I’m greedy for us to get lost in each other. To forget our pain. I just want him. Every single bit of him.

  Hearing my silent plea, he mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “What the hell,” and pulls me in, capturing my mouth with his own.

  His kiss isn’t simple.

  It’s bold. Demanding.

  His mouth, coaxing my response, is hot and all-consuming. A swipe of his tongue. A bite of my lip. His grip on my hair, sharp and alluring.

  A frenetic energy passes between us, as I moan out my pleasure.

  His kiss burns through me with such fiery intensity - memories of all previous kisses go up in flames, floating away from me like ash in the wind. He’s branded me with this kiss. Singed away all other thoughts and feelings. Filled me up with blazing desire and heated possession.

  It feels like a new beginning. Like promises being made. Like I never want it to end. No, there’s nothing simple about it.

  This is the most complex kiss of my life.

  Despite my quick and pleasured response, Eric ends the kiss abruptly. A taste, just a tiny little taste is all he’s given me. It’s not enough. And yet, it’s far too much.

  What have I done?

  The whole encounter suddenly feels so shameful.

  I’m in the living room of a dying man, a father who I’ve ignored for the past ten years, making out with a man I just met two days ago. And I’m the one who initiated it.

  What’s wrong with me?

  If I was a better person, a stronger person, I’d do the right thing. I’d pack my bags and go running back to Toronto as quickly as I could. I’d stay far away from Eric Anderson, for his sake and my own.

  Inflicting him with more of my personal conflicts, when he’s already so oppressed by his own – it’s the most selfish thing I can imagine. And putting my own wants and needs ahead of Hunter? Well, that’s completely implausible. Impossible. Inexcusable.

  But, I’m clearly not a good, strong person because I don’t want to do the right thing. Not when I melt under every minute of Eric’s attention, craving it like a drug. Shameful or not, it feels good to get lost in a moment.

  It feels too good.

  I cannot afford to get lost here. The stakes are far too high.

  Embarrassment and regret seep into my consciousness, making it hard for me to look at Eric. I can only imagine what his thoughts are right now. I’m afraid to see his possible regret - afraid that he’s worrying about me, thinking he’s taking advantage of me. When truly, it’s the other way around.

  “Jamie.” His voice is strong and steady. His calm, reassuring presence solidifying the fact that I am, indeed a horrible person.

  Steeling myself, I look back into his deep emerald eyes. Seeking comfort, maybe an answer to my troubles, or even just a hint that what we’ve done is okay.

  Holding my gaze, with his brow furrowed slightly, he looks pensive. Perhaps he’s hoping to find the same kind of answer from me. Perhaps he knows that this moment, despite how right it feels, is all wrong.

  Acting without thought, physical urge overwhelming - we’ve made a mistake.

  How bad of a mistake, I’m not sure.

  I claim stress as our catalyst. Stress and my messed up lack of morals. I just wish he’d stop staring at me like there’s something he’s expecting me to say or do.

  “Jamie,” he urges again. “Someone’s at the door.”

  And sure enough, when I turn my attention outward, I realize someone is knocking rather loud and persistently at the front door.

  “Shit.”

  Who the hell could that be?

  Unceremoniously, I jump from Eric’s hold. Quickly adjusting myself, scampering off to see who the heck has the worst - or maybe the best - timing on the face of the planet.

  Instead of doing the smart thing and looking out the sidelight to see who it might be, I whip open the door like a crazy person. Whe
n I see who’s standing on the other side, I just about fall over from the ironic absurdity that faces me.

  Dirty blond hair, dark brown eyes, a growing arrogant smirk … and a uniform? Is that a police badge? Who the hell would give Dylan McCoy a police badge? Dear lord, I pray, please do not let him be wearing a gun. No way in hell should this man-child ever be within a ten-foot radius of a firearm.

  “Well. You were the last person I was expecting to find here.” His astonishment, although evident in his voice, is not enough to remove his wicked grin or the sinful glint in his eye as he peruses my body from head to toe and back again.

  Silently, we face-off, observing each other for weakness.

  It’s been more than a year since my ex-boyfriend, Dylan and I last saw each other. I’d be a total liar if I didn’t admit that seeing him still has an effect on me. Exuding a boyish charm, his sex appeal’s hard to ignore.

  Until a few years ago, I hadn’t been sure that I was completely over him. Hell, there’s still times when I think about all the ways I screwed things up with him. All the mistakes that impacted our lives. The way our errors continue impacting our lives and those around us.

  “Hello Dylan.” My cool response does absolutely nothing to dissuade him. Nope. Instead, he actually takes a step toward me.

  “Hiya, Jamie.” His leer strengthens. “Wow. As surprised as I am to see you, gotta say … sure is a nice surprise.”

  His look is fierce. If I didn’t know him better, I’d be afraid of his intensity. I’d worry that he might want to hurt me. Unfortunately, I know this man all too well. I know that look. That look means he’s about two minutes away from convincing me to let him throw me down and fuck me silly. He excels in the quick seduction. Never once has he been in a room with me and not tried this ploy.

  And why not? It’s been a winning tactic for him so often in the past. My track record with Dylan McCoy is kind of pathetic.

  “What are you doing here, princess?”

  Princess? He can’t be serious.

  This is my problem with Dylan. No matter how many times I tell him that we’re over, that romance and pet names are a thing of our past, he just can’t leave it alone.