Complex Kisses (Here & Now Book 1) Read online

  “Well, shit. I’m not as perfect as you seem to think I am either, Jamie.”

  Okay, well I wasn’t expecting that. Now I’m the one caught by surprise. Perhaps I’ve put him on a bit of a pedestal as well.

  “Let me tell you something about myself, and then you can tell me something. We’ll do a trade. What do you say? Fair deal?” He offers this like I’m a scared animal he’s trying to coax out of a corner.

  Time to show him that I’m not afraid. “Fair. But, I’m going first. Then you can decide if you still want to share.”

  “Deal.”

  “Okay.” I take a deep fortifying breath, and then dive in, “Dylan was my very first boyfriend. We started dating when we were fifteen. We were young and in love and completely stupid. Well, at least we thought we were in love. When you’re having sex at fifteen, hormones and emotions can have a way of getting all mixed up. We were definitely stupid though, no question about that.”

  Eric moves his hand from my shoulder, trailing it down my arm. Taking my hand, he clasps it tightly in his own, reassuring me.

  “I’d stay over at his place when I couldn’t handle being at my own anymore,” I continue, “I’d sneak out and climb in his bedroom window, or I’d simply stay out all night with him. Sometimes we’d come out here. Sometimes we’d hang out at a friend’s place. It didn’t matter where we were, as long as I didn’t have to be at home with my dad.”

  Pulling on my hand, Eric guides me to sit on a bench. There’s four of them - probably installed to give a resting place to weary hikers. Right now, I feel like I’m the weary traveler, walking through visions of my past.

  “Tell me about it, Jamie. Please. Why was it so bad, living there with him? What happened? I know you had a happy family at some point, I’ve seen the pictures. Tell me,” Eric urges. Sitting next to me, our legs touch as he continues holding my hand.

  “There’s so much to tell. It all feels so complicated.”

  The silence stretches between us, until I can find the words. Words that will never be vivid enough to describe the most horrific experience of my life.

  “My mom and sister died in a car accident when I was fourteen. My sister died on impact but my mom was kept alive in a coma for over three weeks before she passed. For twenty-three days my father and I watched her, broken and bruised, lying unconscious. We sat by her side, unable to do anything but hope she would wake up, hope she would get better. But she never did.”

  Eric’s thumb strokes circles over my wrist as I continue to explain, “The doctors induced the coma to try to save her life, but after three weeks it was just the machines keeping her alive. They said she was brain dead. And even though there was really no choice, it was my dad who made the decision to take her off life support. He signed the paperwork and less than twenty-four hours later she was dead.”

  “Fuck, Jamie. I’m so sorry.” His empathy batters my heart.

  “You shouldn’t feel sorry for me.” A silent tear slips from my eye. “I blamed him. I yelled and screamed and cried. I accused him of killing her. I called him a murderer.”

  A new, unexplained pain clutches my heart. It’s different from the ache I’ve experienced these past few days. This is the pain of unresolved loss – unacknowledged misery.

  “What I didn’t understand was that the doctors would have done it anyway.” The pain in my chest moves up, forming a lump in my throat. “I didn’t realize that the decision my father made was probably the hardest choice he’d ever have to make, that he did it out of love and kindness. He had all her organs donated and he spared us the agony of prolonging the process.” My tears are free flowing now. “He never defended himself. He didn’t tell me any of the facts. He just let me wallow in my naive, petulant ignorance, thinking he was guilty of her death.”

  “Come here.” Ever the protector, Eric makes me feel like I deserve his warm, comforting embrace.

  Wiping up my silent tears, I get a little closer to him. Curling my legs on the bench, I rest my head on his shoulder, while he continues to hold me. I know I’m probably not entitled to his reassurance but it gives me the strength to carry on.

  “We co-existed in a weird state of unacknowledged hostility for a while. We were both sad and hurting. But instead of leaning on each other, we co-existed in silent misery. His sadness turned to anger and suddenly we were enemies.

  “He started drinking. Heavily. He went from having one or two beers at night, to drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. It progressed slowly. Took a while for it to become a habit, I think, but it definitely did become a habit.”

  Those days seem so distant, yet the pain feels fresh. Dealing with my drunken father became second nature but it still hurt every day. Seeing him fail. Watching him fall.

  “I’d come home from school and find him passed out in his bed, or on the floor if he couldn’t make it to the bed. He’d drink all day.” I cringe at the memory. “A couple of times I thought he was dead. He’d pass out in a pool of his own vomit. It scared me so badly. And I was just a kid, I had no idea how to handle it. When he wasn’t out cold, he was a raging asshole. He’d yell at me for anything, everything. I’d try to clean him up when I could and tried to avoid him when I couldn’t.”

  This is what I’d expected when I came back - him at a low point, me cleaning up the mess - instead, I walked into the home of a man who seems to have his shit together. I can’t wrap my head around it. When did this happen? How did I not know? He obviously pulled himself out of the gutter, and I was completely unaware. I wasn’t even here. And that makes me wonder if I’ve made everything worse by staying away.

  “Did he hurt you?” Eric’s voice sounds tight, like he’s holding back anger of his own.

  “Only once. He slapped me in the face one time. Before that was just a lot of emotional abuse. He’d throw things around and he’d scream until I thought he’d have an aneurysm. His words hurt more than enough. But the first time he hit me was the last time he ever hit me. I didn’t give him another opportunity after that.”

  God, that moment. Just thinking back to the sting of his hand across my cheek brings tears to my eyes. I’ve put it out of my mind for so long.

  For the first time in years I allow the bad feelings and negative thoughts to truly filter in. I don't push them aside. I don't rationalize them away. I open up to them. I feel them.

  I think of all the times he threatened suicide, all the times he promised to take me with him. I let the fear of those moments wash over me.

  Remembering how he berated my uselessness, condemned me for looking too much like my mother, cursed me for reminding him on a daily basis of what he lost - I take this time to experience the shame, believe the recrimination, and struggle with my feelings of failure.

  When I escaped from this place, I not only abandoned my father, I left all those bad feelings and memories with him. Being back here, I’m forced to face it all again. I guess I never really dealt with it, I just ran away instead.

  “So you started running away with Dylan?” Eric coaxes me to continue.

  “Yes. He was my escape.” I shake my head, reluctantly remembering how deeply I’d believed myself to be in love. “I really thought he was going to save me from it all, you know,”

  How naïve I was. A young girl, pinning all her hopes on a boy. A boy who, at the time, only worried about sneaking alcohol from his parents’ liquor cabinet and getting me to sleep with him. He was such a smooth talker. And I was such a goner. A complete fool.

  “But he didn’t,” Eric says, knowingly.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Okay … my turn.”

  “Huh?”

  “You shared something. A lot, actually. And a deal’s a deal. I’ll share something and then if you want to share more, you can.”

  “No, Eric. I really think I should just tell you everything now.”

  “Hey, beautiful girl. You’re stealing my spotlight. A deal is a deal.”

  He looks pointedly at me,
leaving no room for argument. So, I simply shut my mouth and wait to hear what skeleton he could possibly have in his closet that outmatches mine.

  “I’m an unemployed thirty-one-year-old man, who up until five months ago was living the life that my parents wanted for me. I never once questioned why I let them influence my decisions. I even let my mother pick my girlfriend.”

  “What?” He has a girlfriend? What the hell? “You have a girlfriend?”

  “What?” He seems to think a moment about what he’s just said. “No! No, not anymore.”

  Oh, thank god! I have enough issues on my plate. I don’t need to add lusting over a man who’s already taken to my menu.

  “She was actually my fiancée,” he continues, “But I never got comfortable calling her that. I don’t think I was ever truly invested in the relationship. I dated her because my mom introduced us and Amanda met the criteria. She was the type of woman I was supposed to want. She fit my perfect little life plan.”

  I allow him time for contemplation as he looks off to the horizon, his brow pinched, his jaw tight.

  “I almost married a woman I didn’t really have feelings for - isn’t that fucking sad and scary?” He asks, rhetorically. “The marriage thing was her idea - I just went along with it. I just went along with everything that everyone else wanted for me.” He laughs, low and humorless.

  With a shake of his head his laughter dies. “Actually, no. That’s not exactly true. I worked extremely hard for the life I had. At the time it seemed like the right thing. I just realized, right or wrong, it wasn’t really what I wanted. I worked my tail off for the things I thought I wanted but it all turned out to be crap I just did to please other people. And in the end, it bit me in the ass anyway.”

  With a pained noise, Eric rakes his free hand through his hair, pulling on the ends. “I walked away from it all. Caleb got sick and I realized, I didn’t want to waste another minute of my life on bullshit. I’ve wasted so much time already. So, I just walked away.”

  Pulling back from his embrace, I look him in the eyes. “Eric, I left home when I was seventeen. You weren’t walking away. You were just re-prioritizing. Me? I was running away …”

  “You left home at seventeen? For good?”

  “Yeah, it’s a long story. My father pushed me to the point of no return. He threatened me. He threatened Dylan. He threatened my baby.” I pause, searching deep in Eric’s eyes for his reaction. “Dylan had given me an ultimatum and, stupidly, I went to my father for help.”

  “What do you mean?” Eric interrupts me.

  “Do you remember that picture you were looking at? The one at my dad’s house? Of the little boy?” I smile sadly, thinking of the pictures of my wonderful, smiling boy. Pictures that I sent to Dylan and his family, not my father. “That’s my son.”

  The astonishment on his face is clear, with his wide eyes and furrowed brow. Somehow he manages to make even shock look sexy.

  “Dylan is his father. When I found out I was pregnant I told him right away. He told his mom, who suggested an abortion. The two of them wouldn’t let up. After a lot of arguing, Dylan told me that I could keep him or keep the baby, I couldn’t have both. I was scared and needed help. I needed my father,” I say, choking down another sob, “But when I went to him for help, he called me a whore, told me my mother would be ashamed, told me that if I didn’t fix the problem that he would. He said so many awful things. And that’s when he hit me.

  “So I left. I packed up a bag, walked out the door. I took my dad’s credit card and his car. I stole it. No planning, no thought, I just left. And I didn’t come back.”

  “You have a kid?” Eric asks, still sounding dumbfounded.

  “Yes.”

  “Dylan is the father?”

  “Yes.”

  “You had a baby when you were a teenager … you stole a car, left home … and you raised a kid on your own? Without any help?”

  “Mostly, yes.”

  There’s a long moment of silence where Eric simply shakes his head, staring off into the distance. This is not the nice, companionable silence we had before. This time it’s really freaking me out.

  Pulling away from the arm he has draped around my shoulder, I stand up, deciding it’s time to hit the trail. Getting all of this out in the open is good. I feel better being honest, being me. Eric’s going to reject me, and that’s okay - it’s what I expected. This thing between us is completely impossible anyway. Really, what else did I think would happen?

  “What the hell, Jamie?” His booming voice startles me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Grabbing my arm again, he pulls me with such strength that I don’t just sit back on the bench, I practically fly back at him. Eric’s so quick, he catches me around the waist and plants me right back in the spot I just vacated.

  “You think you can just lay that all out there and then get up and leave?” His controlled words belie the rough edge to his voice. “Do you think any of what you’ve just said changes my opinion about you? What are you going to do? Run away before you’re forced to find out?”

  He’s unrelenting, and I find that surprisingly seductive. This is a side of Eric that I haven’t seen yet. With narrowed eyes and hardened jaw, he levels me with a demanding look, making me feel undone.

  Is it wrong to be turned on by this?

  Hell, I don’t care. I find it unbelievably hot. Especially coming from Eric.

  Licking my lips in nervous anticipation, my heart pounds as I watch his eyes, tracking my movement. Bending down, he whispers in my ear, “You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met. Do not even think about walking away from me.”

  Holy shit.

  With his breath still fanning across my ear and down my neck, he doesn’t pull away from me when he asks, “Do you have a real boyfriend, Jamie?”

  Laughing a little at that, I whisper back, “No.”

  “Your son is the guy waiting back home for you?”

  “Yes. His name is Hunter,” I whisper again.

  “Hunter?”

  “Yes.”

  With a light laugh, he pulls back to study me. Directing his focus to my eyes, he examines me intently. His heady gaze, lighting me up from the inside.

  “When I kissed you before - did you want that?”

  The moan that crawls up my throat escapes as a whimper. Pressing my hands into my thighs, I attempt to maintain control over my urge to grab onto him. At this point, he’s in complete control - I’m entirely okay with that.

  “Is that a yes then, beautiful?” He cocks an eyebrow, his sexy smirk returning.

  “Yes,” I breathe, barely able to contain my arousal.

  “Would it be alright if I kissed you again?”

  My reaction is immediate. “God, yes,” I exclaim, not even a little embarrassed by how desperate I sound.

  Answering with desperate sound of his own, it surprises me when he doesn’t advance the way I anticipate - the way I want to attack him. Instead, he smoothly grips me around the waist, effortlessly moving me over his lap. He maneuvers me. My legs braced on either side of his own. I’m straddling him. Ready to burst into flames.

  His hands slide slowly up my sides, skimming my breasts, caressing my shoulders, and stopping to hold my face. Gently, reverently. His long fingers tangle in my hair, his thumb brushing across my lips.

  “You amaze me,” he murmurs. His eyes, exploring my face, as though seeing me for the first time. Despite my confusion over his proclamation, my libido has taken over - I don’t have the mental capacity to question or correct his statement.

  As he pulls my face down toward his own, I rejoice in the anticipation of his kiss. But before our lips touch, he stops. Holding me softly, his mouth’s just barely out of reach. His breathing, like mine, shallow and ragged.

  It thrills me to see him react this way. To know he’s as affected as me.

  “No more pretending.” His words blast across my lips in an urgent demand, before he surges up, cl
aiming my mouth with his own.

  Our lips collide and every nerve ending in my body lights up. Millions upon millions of tiny lightning strikes, creating an electrical storm within me.

  In total opposition to my fired up body, my mind is cool, calm serenity.

  Melting into Eric, I finally allow myself to really touch him. My fingers, diving into his hair, reveling in its thickness - one hand straying to wind down the back of his neck and over his broad shoulders. If I did nothing more than touch his hair and kiss his lips, I could die a happy woman.

  Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulls me closer as we sink down into the back of the bench. His tongue sweeps seductively across mine, seeking permission. Answering back, my tongue chases his, granting him full access.

  There’s no more hesitation. The vocal expression of my pleasure is a loud and explicit moan. Softness evaporates. Eric’s lips and tongue and teeth are everywhere. Licking and biting his way across my jaw and down my neck, his hot breath against my skin, scorching me with desire. I feel his need – it’s as urgent as my own. I don’t think I can hold back. God, I don’t want to hold back.

  Voicing my delight with a string of mumbled curses, I frantically try to get even closer. Eric’s hold on me is tight, but I manage to press further into him as my hips rock, involuntarily over his. Rewarded, my aching core finds his incredibly hard erection. This is what I’ve been craving. The electricity. The heat. The physical connection.

  “Jesus Christ.” Delivering a quick, hard kiss, he breaks away. His hands, firmly on my hips, halting my torturous movements. “Jamie?” He pants, his mouth still close and whisper soft against my own.

  “Hmmmmm?” I hum, because who can form actual words right now?

  “Beautiful, beautiful girl. You are fucking killing me. Fuck,” he groans.

  “You said a swear!” A very loud, shrill little voice screeches from behind me, scaring the ever-loving crap right out of me.

  Letting out a surprised and slightly shrill screech of my own, I jump part-way out of Eric’s hold and turn to look behind me, giving Eric the ability to see our unscheduled interruption as well.