Love Struck (Miss Match #2) (30 page)

“Is that a sippy cup?” Too late, Eli had spotted it.

“I don’t want to take any risks around my equipment,” Lacy said stiffly, knowing full well that her dignity had just abandoned her. With Lucky on her lap, she cleared her throat and started the loop and sang for Eli. Was it horrible that she was singing Jax’s song to Eli? Not the time to think about it—it was time to do the chorus. She let the notes fade.

“Do you see what I mean? I’m just not sure I have the chord progressions right on the transitions.” Eli had his eyes closed and was doing that cute little thing where he was humming to himself. He held out his arms for the guitar, and she passed it over. He started to experiment a little with music, and already she could tell that his ideas were much better than the whack suggestions Jax had given. Maybe he was the type who could only have vision on his own songs, though he wasn’t like that online.

She flopped onto her tummy and automatically reached for Lance’s pillow.
What was that?

Something had fallen from the pillowcase, a little square of paper. She slowly unfolded it, her body shaking as she revealed familiar scribbly handwriting. Lance’s handwriting. Words and lines had been scratched out and rewritten, and there were a couple goofy little doodles in the margins of bells and doves. The blood rushed through her ears as the sounds of her song drifted into dull background.

She was holding lost words from Lance. Her throat grew dry. Her heart quaked in her chest. She couldn’t read them.

But then again, she couldn’t
not
read them. Her eyes were already floating across the lines, slowly, breathing each sentence into her body.

I promise you, Lacy, my love.

I promise to be in the front row at all your shows.

I promise to pour your wine in the evening, and your coffee in the morning.

I promise to let you win at Scrabble, but never at cards.

I promise to put you before me, every day, for the rest of my life.

Lacy hadn’t registered the guitar stopping, or her own tears replacing the sound, but suddenly Eli was holding her hand.

“It’s—he was writing his vows. Oh God, Eli. He must have hidden them in the pillow, and I never knew, and I’m sorry. Geez, I’m sorry. All I do is cry on you.” Because she’d moved into him unconsciously, her damp cheek pressed against his chest. He stroked her hair, and shushed her.

For the rest of my life
 … he had done that
.
He had fulfilled all of his vows, for the rest of his life
.
He’d put her first, never telling her about the pain devouring him, until the last day of his life. He’d faked it.

She let the sobs rack her for a few moments, remembering how he’d always greeted her in the morning with a fresh mug of coffee. And Scrabble.… He’d always been atrocious at the game. He’d pretend to be holding back, even though they both knew she was the wordsmith of the two. He
owned
Texas hold ’em, though; she never stood a chance. “Losing at Cards” would be a good song title, by the way. Even Lance would think so. He always told her when she found a good one.

Dammit, how could she be thinking about song titles at a time like this?

Then …

Song title.

Songs.

Lance.

Suddenly, the realization came crashing down like a ton of bricks, shocking her right out of her cries. The paper fell from her grasp, unheeded.

That song hadn’t really been for Jax. It was Lance that she lost inside herself. Lance that she remade as part of her. And her other song—the pieces of her—those were Lance too. The orgasms had never had anything to do with the songwriting. Or Eli. Or Folx or Jax. It was Lance, all along. It was talking about him, it was opening up to someone else. She’d known she was fine without him, but still, she’d never let herself truly grieve.

The songs were her grief.

And the words that came out, they were the ones she’d been hoping to write all along—they were about her first love.

“Are you all right?” Eli asked, and she remembered he couldn’t hear her thoughts and had no idea what sort of epiphany she’d just had. She pulled him down with her to embrace on the nest of pillows.

“I’m going to be all right. I just realized that. I think I was faking it before.”

He brushed her hair away from her face. “Everybody’s faking it, remember?”

She chuckled softly. “I do.” Then she grew serious again. “Will you just hold me?” Though she meant more than hold and her tone said that. “I really need to feel some love right now. I know we can’t keep doing this. But just for now. Just be with me?”

“Just for now,” he repeated, and she knew that he knew it was over too. Tonight, though, she needed someone.

No, not someone—she needed Eli. She was scared to be alone, with the weight of her newfound grief, but she was just as scared about being without Eli. About letting him go too, and she had to in the morning because even without Jax in the picture, Eli had his own somebody else, and she refused to stand in the way of his happiness. He deserved that.

But tonight she deserved Eli. She deserved some comfort while she finally let go of Lance. And wasn’t one love lost enough for one day?

Lacy traced Eli’s cheeks and met his eyes. “Just love me,” she said, knowing she’d regret it later.

“I do,” he said, and she knew he didn’t mean it, even though it sounded sincere, but it counted. It was what she needed.

She tipped her face back up to his, and reinitiated the kiss from before. If anything, it was sweeter this time, if also a bit salty from her tears. Her hand strayed up to hold his face, her fingers carding through his hair. He tilted his head to rain kisses on her neck, and she pressed into him, relishing the feel of his strength against her softness. She was melting.

His hand ran up and down her side, until it gently pushed her down so he could move on top of her. He propped himself on his elbows, and kissed her as she slid her hands up his shirt and over the ridges of his abs. He scrambled to his knees and pulled it off as she struggled to remove her own tank. Eli stopped her, gently pulling it over her head for her. Her breasts ached for his attention, and received it as he licked and sucked on each one in turn.

He continued kissing further south, down her stomach, until he got to her skirt. He slid it down her hips, kissing each exposed inch until he got to the spot she wanted him at most. He blew gently, the cool air delicious on her warmth, before turning his head to the side and kissing the soft inside of her thigh. She moaned, wanting more, needing it.

His tongue slowly, softly traced up and then down her most sensitive spot as his callous-roughened fingertips pushed her legs further apart. He licked her like he needed her too, like the cries he was pulling from her nourished him, like this was all the inspiration he wanted. He licked her until she couldn’t tell the difference between her wetness and his, until her need spilled over into a fountain of pleasure.

As she came down from the heights Eli sent her to, Lacy shivered and came back to herself. Her hand strummed through his dark waves. This guy. This guy was too good to her. Eli was the best man she’d ever known. And the sex was kind of the best ever, too. She knew, she
knew
, that it would get better with the right man, the man she was meant to be with, but for the life of her she couldn’t say how. Because Eli? Eli played her like a mandolin.

Every touch left her humming, and depending how he did it, the pitch changed. Thank God they were in a tent of covers, because she did not want him to see the flush on her face, the ridiculous faces she was making at the things he was doing to her. He moved back up, covering her exposed body with his warmth.

She buried her head in his neck, riding the last of the wave and inhaling his familiar sandalwood scent. His arms slid up her arched back, and she realized he was picking her up. The fort collapsed around them as he brought her to the bed, briefly giving the impression Eli was wearing an enormous cape. A king. Her king. She liked that. For tonight.

She lay back on the nearly stripped bed and watched him slide his jeans down his legs, releasing his cock. She licked her lips, and moved forward to take him in her mouth.

“Not—not tonight. Tonight’s just about you,” he said, gently shoving her back down. She relaxed into his kiss until she felt the familiar need start to creep up again. Her leg hooked around his back as she drew him in. With one push, their bodies joined.

He stayed like that, inside her, until she caught her breath. When she had adjusted to his thickness, he started to move slowly.

“I didn’t put on a condom,” he said at the same time she realized it. “I didn’t even bring one. I mean, this was completely not planned.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay, birth control.” Her words didn’t make the most sense, but he knew what she meant, which was to keep going. She couldn’t tell if he knew what she really meant, which was
I can’t get enough of this feeling.
Which was
I don’t want anything between us.
Which was
I trust you.

The muscles of his back were tense beneath her hands as she tightened her grip. Every thrust made her cry out. Her head sought the comfort of his shoulder again, but he leaned back to stare into her eyes.

He spoke to her as he pounded into her. Words fell from his lips in broken poetry, half-cocked phrases and sentiments. “You’re beautiful,” he told her between raspy breaths. “Like something I can’t hold. Wild. I’m inside you. In the deepest part of you. And I still can’t get deep enough.” His words sparked something in her, highlighted something.

One time, Lacy had run across the word
kintsukuroi
. Japanese in origin, it meant “to repair with gold.” There was a style of clay pottery it referred to, cracked then crafted back together with pure shining gold. It was more beautiful for having been broken. Finally, a year after having been irrevocably shattered, Lacy finally felt beautiful, even at the broken spots.

She murmured “please” and he moved faster, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She stilled him and flipped them over so she could show him the depths of her feelings. She moved over him slowly, savoring it, making it last longer than she thought she was capable of. And in those prolonged moments of ecstasy she realized that not only was she beautiful, but stronger for the broken spots that had been crafted back together. With gold. With love. With this king’s love. If only for tonight.

As the orgasm built, first slowly and then suddenly, she stopped moving. Eli’s hands gripped her hips and he set the pace, urgently sliding her over him, until he stopped with a cry. As he started to pull out, she bore down and rode out both of their orgasms until she collapsed into his arms, heart racing. He was still whispering to her, but she could no longer hear what he was saying. She closed her eyes to savor this incredible moment, and never noticed the moment when her reflection slipped into unconsciousness.

*   *   *

Eli stared at Lacy as she slept next to him, cheeks still flushed from their lovemaking. She looked more peaceful than he had ever seen her. The usual furrow in her brow was smooth. He stroked the curls away from her face and stared into it as long as he could without losing his nerve.

He hadn’t planned this. Truly, he’d meant to come and kiss her good-bye. And then leave. But even if she hadn’t been so sad, even if she hadn’t begged him to stay, he’d wanted to be there. Wanted to adore her properly, before he didn’t have the right to adore her at all.

Whatever he had planned and whatever he had actually done, there was something he had to do, now, before she woke. So he softly rolled her off his arm, gathered his things, and moved toward the door. First though, he stopped at the desk and tore off a piece of stationery, scribbled a few words. One more glance before he turned off the light switch and headed back to his room.

There, he opened his laptop and took a deep breath. Time to do what needed to be done. For the sake of everyone.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Lacy knew she was alone before she opened her eyes. The bed was too cold, the room too quiet. At the realization, she willed her heart to go cold and quiet as well. But it was no use—Eli was in her. Inked permanently to her insides like a tattoo.

She kept her lids shut tight.
I get to hold onto him for five more minutes. Then I’ll open my eyes and be done.
Not that she could know exactly what five minutes was without looking at a clock. The total running time of “Godric’s Hollow” was about five minutes. She let it play in the back of her mind as a timekeeper. Was it wrong that Jax’s song was the soundtrack to her good-bye with Eli? It felt appropriate somehow. Not just the lyrics, but the sound of it, the mood—it fit Eli.

But here she was already at the first chorus, and she’d yet to think the thoughts she really wanted to think. Thoughts from the night before—Eli’s mouth on her body, between her legs. Eli’s soft words, the poetry he’d spoken to her both out loud and silently. How he’d listened to her and held her when she most needed comfort. The way he’d cherished her and adored her and moved her. He’d made her come physically, and he’d also made her come emotionally. Her feelings, the ones she kept so buried inside her, had come to the surface because of him. Had shaken her nerves and exploded through her just like her orgasms.

Was that what it felt like to fall in love? It had been so long since she’d fallen for anyone—so long since the beginning with Lance that it was hard to remember what falling felt like. She remembered the actual being in love. It was a feeling that didn’t leave. It left scars.

It left tattoos.

God, she
was
in love with Eli, wasn’t she? Not Jax. Eli.

And what an absolute horrid time to figure that out—when she’d so blatantly told him she was unavailable. She could change her mind, though, couldn’t she? Tell him that it wasn’t Jax anymore who interested her. Tell him that she’d been blind and ridiculous and that Eli had always been exactly who she’d needed.