Forget (38 page)

Dylan saying I’m full of shit, momentarily pulls me from my turmoil.
“What?”

“I said you’re full of shit,” he repeats through gritted teeth.

Say it. Let it him go. Cut him off. Now is the perfect time.
“Dylan, I’m fi—”

“Don’t you dare say that word.” He moves towards me, his large body looming over mine. “I can see it all over your face. I hurt you. Somehow, I hurt you. I’m not sure how or why, but I feel fucking terrible.” His expression turns soft, voice gentle. “What did I do that hurt you?”

The tenderness in his eyes has me folding like a deck of cards, completely forgetting what I really should be doing. “You looked at her the way you look at me. You gave her those fucking gorgeous
Bright Eyes
that I love so much.”

“Remember when I told you I’d always be honest with you? Even if it hurt like hell, I’d be straight with you?”

I nod, fearful of what he’s going to say, and guilt plaguing me over the fact that I haven’t been completely honest with him.

“I do know Mandi in the way you’re thinking.”

Damn, that felt like a bullet straight to my chest.
How do you think he’d feel if you told him about Jamie?

“She’s in a band. I met her a while ago when we played the same music festival. We hooked up a few times, but that was it. I was bored. She was there. End of story. It never went anywhere. I never took the time to get to know her because honestly, I didn’t want to, didn’t care to. She was a hookup, nothing more. A hookup I haven’t seen in over six months.”

Well, that kind of knocked the wind right out of my sails.

“Oh.”

“And I didn’t give her that look you’re talking about. That one is reserved for you, and
only
you. I was being friendly, maybe more friendly than I realized, and I apologize for that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’d rather cut my right arm off than see that look on your face.”

I let him pull into his embrace. My towel is long gone from my hands. I grip his shoulders as he wraps his big arms around me.

“I’m sorry, Little Wing.” He presses a soft kiss at the corner of my mouth.

I’m sorry I can’t be honest with you.
“I’m sorry I overreacted.”

“I get it. If I had to watch you on stage with another guy, I’d be bloody enraged.” He leans back, eyes staring into mine. “Let me make it up to you. Come back to my flat so I can feed you, and then, I promise I’ll draw you a bath.”

I just need one more night with him. Just one more night, and then, I’ll walk away.

“Okay.”

ONCE MY SKIN WAS
pruned, and my body sated, Dylan fed me pizza while we watched a French movie. We’re still cozied up in his bed. My head rests on his bare chest. Our feet are tangled together on top of his fluffy white comforter. His fingers run through my hair in soft, fluid motions. I’m starting to understand why cats purr when you pet them. If he could do this forever, I’d be in heaven.

I didn’t put up a fight when he threw me his
Baby Says
t-shirt to wear to bed. It’s the only thing he let me wear tonight. He’s more bare, than covered, in navy boxer briefs. I know without a doubt, it’s my second favorite way to see him. Naked and his gorgeous cock on display still take the number one spot. My hands move on their own accord, feeling Dylan’s skin beneath their fingertips.

I start giggling when Phoebe tells Chandler she changed her name to
“Princess Consuela Bananahammock.”
Thank goodness for Netflix and reruns of
Friends.

“Hey, giggly, what shall we do tomorrow?” Dylan asks, tickling my rib cage.

I swat his hands away. “I don’t care.”

“I’ve got a brilliant plan. How about we go to Île Saint-Louis?”

I tilt my head, looking up at him. “Huh? The only Saint Louis I know is in Missouri.”

“Not in America,” he says. I love how the word America rolls off his English tongue, so prim-and-proper. I don’t think I’ll ever tire of his accent.

“It’s an island on the Seine. Gorgeous. Peaceful. I promise you’ll love it. We’ll drink wine, watch the performers, eat mango ice cream, and I’ll even kiss you breathless on the bridge.” He waggles his brows like an old-timey vaudeville performer.

“Minus the kissing me breathless part, count me in. I think I’ve had my fill.”

Within seconds, I’m flipped onto my back, and Dylan’s large frame is pressed against my skin. “Excuse me?” he questions, nose rubbing across mine. “You’ve had your fill?”

I nod, fighting my smile, but the smile is quickly replaced by a near moan when full lips press kisses along my jaw line, cleverly moving down my neck. One strong hand holds my arms above my head, while the other slides underneath the cotton material covering my skin. The shirt is lifted, exposing my body.

Dylan’s lips whisper across aching skin. My nipples are hard, painfully so, and he barely pays them attention, seemingly kissing and licking and sucking everywhere else.

I’m panting by the time he sucks one pert nipple into his mouth. His clever tongue swirls and flicks at the sensitive skin. He pulls back, admiring his handiwork.

“More,” I say, desperate for his mouth and skilled hands.

He smirks, devilish and angelic. “Such a greedy girl. How am I going to keep you satisfied when you’re a thousand miles away?”

My back goes stiff in response.

“We’ve got two more days, right?”

I nod, too uncomfortable to mutter a reply.

Dylan senses my mood change, searching my eyes. “When are you going to let us talk about it?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” He looks irritated.

“No, I guess I
don’t know
exactly what you mean,” I spit his words back, venom tinting their syllables. I start to move out from underneath him, but he holds me tightly against his body.

“Bloody hell, Brooke. You can just run away from everything.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t just run away from everything,” he repeats.

“What, you’ve known me for all of two fucking minutes, and now, you’re an expert on the way I operate? The way I handle things? Let me up.” I shove at his chest, but it’s useless.

He sighs heavily. “No, I’m not letting you up.” His fingers grip my chin, forcing my eyes to his. He kisses me long and deep, leaving me panting when he pulls away.

“You can’t distract me with sex, Dylan.”

He lets out a sharp laugh. “You’re preaching to the choir, love. That’s been your MO since this whole thing started between us.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry you had to deal with all of that.” My tone is pissy. “Poor Dylan having to fuck the pathetic American girl who never faces anything.” I’m being irrational. I know I am, but for some reason the wrong words keep leaving my mouth. And why can’t I just be honest with him? Why can’t I just tell him we can’t be anything but a fling?

Because he’s so much more than that . . .

Dylan’s eyes narrow. “Why don’t you tell me what you want to fight about so I can give you the fight you’re hell-bent on having?”

I want to fight about the fact that you made me fall in love with you! I want to fight about the fact that I have to walk away and I don’t want to! I want to fight about the fact that I’m starting to feel resentment towards Jamie because I’m going to have to give you up to keep my promise to him!

My heart isn’t clinging to Paris. My heart is clinging to Dylan. I want to cry. I literally want to curl into the fetal position and weep. I can’t do this with him. I can’t give him hope where there isn’t any hope. The timing is all wrong for us right now.

“I’m sorry, Dylan. I think I need to stay at my hotel tonight. I think I need to . . .”

His expression turns panicked. For only knowing me for a month, I think he might know me better than anyone. He grips me tightly, understanding that I’m a flight risk. “No, no, no. Stay right here, Brooke. Forget I said it. Forget I asked you those questions. Don’t pull away. Stay right here. We can talk about it another day. We still have time for that conversation.”

But we don’t have time.

We don’t have time because I’ve decided I’m going to leave tomorrow.

Once you fall asleep, I’m leaving without saying goodbye.

I have things I need to sort out back home.

Jamie needs me.

And I can’t tell you any of this because I’m in love with you.

I’m so in love with you that I already think of you as home.

And that’s when I know it’s settled. I’ve already made the decision. We don’t have time because I’m leaving in a few hours. I’m already planning to call Jamie’s dad and see if he’ll let me fly back with him to L.A.

Tears fill my eyes, spilling onto my cheeks as I kiss Dylan with everything I have. It’s a bruising kind of kiss. Tongues and teeth clash. Breaths come out in hard pants. I’m crazed over the idea that this may be the last time I feel his full lips or taste his sweet tongue. This may be the last time I feel the hard press of his body against mine or the strength in his arms as he holds himself above me.

This may be the last time that I see those green eyes staring down at me like I’m his world. Like I’m the reason he wakes up in the morning. I may never see his playful grin or sexy smile or hear him switch back-and-forth from English to French during an argument because he’s mad.

Home isn’t Paris or L.A.

And it’s not city lights or gorgeous parks or winding cobblestones.

Home is green eyes, strong arms, and a thousand smiles. Full lips, a gorgeous voice, and a playful laugh. Home is right here with Dylan.

It’s the only place I want to be, but the one place I can’t stay.

“Brooke, look at me. Please, look at me.”

I meet his gaze. His is steady and determined, but I’m the opposite. I can feel the uncertainty and fear seeping from my lids.

“I can’t read your mind, Brooke, but I know you feel this . . . Brooke, I lo—”

I place my fingers over his lips. “Don’t say it. My heart can’t bear it. But yes, I’m with you. I feel it too.”

Dylan’s mouth coaxes deep, addicting kisses from my lips. His hands grasp my breasts, sliding across my belly, and then clutching my thighs.

My fingers trace his back, gripping and scratching my mark into his skin.

I’m lost in his touch, his kiss, and the feel of him sliding inside of me.

My eyes fall closed. Colors dance behind my eyes. Vivid shades of green eyes and pink cheeks and red lips and white sheets. And breathtaking sensations of desperate lips, trembling hands, and racing hearts brand themselves into my brain.

“Come with me, Brooke,” he groans, circling his hips, and holding himself deep. “Let go with me.”

His eyes are the spark for the perfect song.

His lips and tongue trace the lyrics against my mouth.

His fingers tap out the beat against my skin.

And with our bodies, his and mine, we play our song.

QUIETLY, I TOSS ON
my clothes, and shoot Jamie a quick text.

‘What time is your dad leaving London this morning?’

Dylan is sprawled out under the covers, fast asleep. His hand rests in the empty spot I just vacated. I can’t take my eyes off him. I watch his chest rise and fall in smooth, even breaths. I stare at his face, memorizing every detail—his strong jaw, his thick lashes, and soft lips.

Like a freight train, it hits me at once. This might be the last time I get to see him like this.

I may never again feel his lips against mine or his fingers caressing my skin. I may never again feel his strong arms embracing me. Or count his thousand smiles and witness that perfect dimple indented into his right cheek.

I swallow back the choking sob bubbling up from my lungs.

My phone vibrates in my hand, pulling my eyes away from Dylan.

‘He’s leaving in an hour.’

‘You think he’d let me hitch a ride?’

‘Are you okay? Why are you leaving early?’

‘Yeah. I’m good. Just ready to be home.’

Instead of worrying Jamie over why I’m leaving Paris two days early, I’ll call Alistair after leaving Dylan’s apartment. No doubt, Jamie would figure out something is up by the shaky tone in my voice.