Very Twisted Things (Briarcrest Academy #3) (9 page)

Why was he angry?

He picked up the towel he’d used and hung it over a chair to dry. “I get it. Pretty girl like you. Makes total sense for you to have a guy.” He scooped up Monster, who’d been curled up in a ball sleeping.

I crossed my arms. “A guy and a girl can be friends and not sleep together.”

His eyes went to half-mast. “V, I have a hard time buying that. Any guy would want you.”

“Do you?”

He froze, but his eyes blazed with heat. “No.”

“Then why is your chest heaving?”

My own was as well.

“Come down here, V,” he said, a steely tone in his voice.

Need raced through my body, on fire to be closer to him. “Why? You could be a serial killer. And you never said you loved cheese puffs. I don’t trust a man who doesn’t like junk food. Plus, you’re mad. Not sure I like that.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry for being an ass. I blame it on my shitty experiences with girls. Just—I don’t know—come down here and look me in my eyes.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I want to kiss you,” he said softly.

“You’re kinda bossy. And I might have whiplash from the way you go from hot to cold.”

He said, “I quoted Shakespeare to you. I’ve never done that for a chick before. And you turned me down for coffee. First time ever. My ego took a hit and needs some stroking.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Thank you for the soliloquy. Next time try to remember all your lines.”

He shook his head, all teasing gone. “Thank me down here. Please.”

Okay, first he was all flirty, then pissy because of the phone call, and now I had no idea what was going on. But I was drawn to him with a recklessness that seemed to throw all caution to the wind.

“Give me a sec.”

I turned and bolted straight to my bathroom where I flung open the cabinet, swallowed down some mouthwash, yanked the ponytail out of my hair, and put on lip gloss. Obvious much?

I zipped down the stairs, making myself slow down as I opened the downstairs patio door and stepped outside. Breathless, I took a few big gulps. Be cool.

I marched up to him, stopping just shy of his bare chest. I tilted my head up to gaze into his eyes. “Hi.”

He blinked down at me, as if trying to clear his head. “Hi.”

I smiled at the shyness in his voice. “I’m here,” I said.

“You let down your hair.” He sounded dazed. Winded.

“Yeah.” I touched it self-consciously, twisting a strand around my fingers. I felt fourteen all over again and Bobby Malone was about to kiss me in a game of spin the bottle. “I swallowed some mouthwash too.”

His eyes went low. “Because you thought I might kiss you?”

“Aren’t you?”

He thought about it, his hand coming up to cup my cheek, the heat of it making me sway into him. He smelled like the sea, like the summer vacations my parents and I used to take at our weekend house in the Hamptons, where I’d wade my feet in the surf while my parents walked on either side of me, watching the sunset over the Atlantic.

I hadn’t even known it then, but those were the happiest moments of my life.

He
smelled like that. Happiness. Fairy Dust.

And with that thought, part of me wanted to retreat. To run back into the house far away from his magic.

But I couldn’t. Something about him had me transfixed.

He leaned his head down, his lips close to mine. The heat from his body seared me, and I inched toward it. And just when I thought he was going to take my mouth, he stopped. “I can’t kiss you until you tell me who Geoff is.”

“He’s not here, I know that.”

He studied me. “You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“Not even close.”

His other hand cupped my cheek, his voice gentle as falling rain. “I don’t like this dude very much. Can I kick his ass for you?”

Oh. He was being protective. He thought I was hurting because of a guy.

“Geoff didn’t hurt me, okay? If anything, I hurt him.”

He mulled that over, processing it, surprise flickering across his face “Fine. But
I
do have the potential to hurt you.”

“Let me be the judge. I’m game for you to kiss me. Right here, right now. Trust me, my therapist will be thrilled. Maybe even give me a discount next time I go in.”

“I’m not sure if I can stop if I do.”

I scowled. “Is this my punishment for turning you down?”

“V, I can think of several ways to punish you
creatively
, and not kissing you is not one. It’s punishment for myself. I—I’ve made a promise to myself that I won’t get involved with anyone.”

I closed my eyes briefly, hiding my disappointment from his searching eyes. “Fine, but if we did—kiss—what do you think it would be like?”

He traced my mouth with his finger. Gentle-like, his thumb pressed on my lower lip, and my tongue darted out to taste his skin. He watched my lips, his own parting.

“What are you thinking?” I whispered. I was thinking of him coming into my house with me.

“That
if
we kissed, you’d bring out the animal in me, and I’d die to taste every single inch of your softness with my tongue. And not just your mouth. I’d want my lips all over you. I’d lick every corner and crevice. I’d want to eat you raw, consume you until there was nothing left.”

I shivered.

That was … that was. Hot.

Before I could change my mind, I tilted up my head, stood on my tiptoes and kissed him. Just a press of my lips against his pillowy ones. Soft. Tentative. My hands went to his broad shoulders, easing up to the nape of his neck.

He froze, not kissing me back but not pushing me away.

Mortified, I stepped down and stared at the ground. Anywhere except at him. Heat rushed to my face. I counted my toes, noting that the red color on my nails needed to be redone. My hands went crazy against my leg.

How could I have been so stupid?

“V.”

Retreat, retreat,
my head said. I gave him my back, forcing my hands to be still.

“V?”

His hand cupped my shoulder and turned me around. “Look at me.”

No.

“Come on, look at me,” he whispered.

I sighed heavily and gazed at him. “I’m sorry.”

His eyes burned into me. “No,
I’m sorry
.”

“For what?”

“For this,” he said, wrapping his arms around my waist and tugging me until our chests crushed together. Then his head lowered and his mouth took mine, and there was nothing tentative about it as our tongues tangled together. Immediately, every inch of my skin flared to life. Heat. Fire. I strained toward him as if I needed him to breathe. His full lips razed mine like a man starved, devouring me with each little nip and groan that came from him. He picked me up off the ground, his arms molding me to him. He was a lusty kisser, a man who took what he wanted, who pillaged. Every atom, every molecule inside me ached to inhale him, to swallow him whole and never let him go. I imagined him as a demanding lover, one who took what he wanted as hard as he wanted, but then gave you back a thousand fold. He was exactly what I needed, and I moaned out his name, and he answered by whispering mine, his hands drifting down to my collar to push inside my robe.
Yes
. I wanted his naked flesh against mine. I wanted him to sink into me and take me hard, drive away the pain of my past and make me feel good. Happy.

I don’t know how long we kissed, but I burned the moment into my head, part of me afraid he would disappear, be yanked from me like everything else. I gripped his hair, my fingers threading through the strands, holding on. It may have been a kiss, but it smacked of more, of something so real I could reach my fingers out and touch it.

“V,” he whispered, his voice rough like it had been dragged over gravel. “I can’t stop.”

“Then don’t.”

He moved without taking his lips from mine, guiding me until my back was pressed against the brick of the house. I parted my legs and he settled in the middle, his kisses becoming softer. Gentle. I ran my hands over his naked chest, my fingers playing with the soft skin of his nipples. He came up for air, his hands cupping my face like I was a piece of fragile glass. He looked wild, his face flushed, lips swollen, and I wanted to bite them they looked so good. I wanted affirmation I was alive. That he was right here in front of me.

“You taste like strawberries,” he whispered as he kissed his way down my neck, sucking on my collarbone.

“Lip gloss,” my strangled voice managed to get out.

“Mmmm,” he said, spreading apart my robe and gazing down at my naked breasts. “I say we take your lip gloss and put it everywhere. Your neck, your breasts, your nipples, behind your knees, on your thighs—”

I moaned and nibbled on his lips. “Yes, it’s been so long.”

He stilled. “How long?”

“Two years … not since Geoff.” Not since the crash.

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Why?”

I swallowed. “Because it hurts to care. People always leave.” Or die.

He set me down gently, took a step back and scrubbed his face, frustration evident in the way he looked at me.

“What’s wrong?”

He paced around the patio. “This—” he motioned between us “—is a mistake.”

What?

He groaned. “Don’t you see—you’re in a fragile place right now, and I’d just end up hurting you too, V. I don’t want that.”

Hurt and then anger flared. He’d brought back my music—but he didn’t want
me
.

He splayed out his hands. “Look, this is my fault. I just came over to get Monster. Not this.”

My chest got tight. “You should leave,” I said, pulling my robe together.

He inhaled a deep breath, his eyes seeming to plead with me. “I’m sorry, V. Promise you’ll play for me again. Hearing your music, watching how you let go—it reminds me of how I used to feel when I first discovered music. The emotion in you is so fucking visceral—”

“Stop, with your compliments. You don’t have to explain.”

Still he didn’t move, frustration flickering across his face as he ran a hand through his hair and then tugged on it as if he needed grounding. “V?” He sounded confused. “There’s something between us—I don’t know what—but it scares the hell out of me. My life … it’s crazy right now … and my ex got pregnant with another guy’s baby, and it messed with my head—”

“Just go. Please.” My voice cracked. Here I was, a silly girl who stupidly thought he was going to be the one who made me whole. Hadn’t I learned that no matter how many changes you make in your life—changing your address, dumping your boyfriend, or calling yourself by a new name,
nothing ever changes.

Grief will always keep me a prisoner.

Still he stood there, his gaze darting around my face as if looking for an answer.

I gave him one. I pivoted and walked back into the house. I clicked the lights off and went to bed. He might be a rock star, but I was Violet St. Lyons and no one kissed me and said it was a mistake.

“Romeo was an idiot. He met Juliet, fell in love, and got hitched two days later.”

—Sebastian Tate

THE NEXT DAY, I stood at the dining room window, watching as V jogged past the front of my house. Walking away from her the night before had been hard, my body screaming for me to take what she’d been offering. Maybe I could have kept it casual, but my gut knew that once I let myself go with her, I wouldn’t be able to control getting in deep. Spider had been right. She
was
the first girl in five years who’d gotten my attention. Sure, I’d dated lots of girls, but none of them had been serious girlfriend quality, and that had been on purpose. V was everything I didn’t need right now. Relationships were all about the timing, and right now sucked.

She came to a stop just outside the gate to our house. I watched as she paced back and forth for a few moments, a little crease of concentration on her face as if she were debating. Finally, she came to a decision, swung her legs over our gate and then proceeded to march straight up our drive. I grinned but then quickly frowned. It wasn’t a good idea to have her here. My resolve was weak. I still remembered how she’d felt pressed against my chest, her tongue in my mouth, her hands clutching me. I groaned.