by Roni Loren
Will didn’t look pleased with the order, but he complied. Foster watched Cela as the cop went to work on the cuffs. She was so beautiful standing there, cheeks pink, eyes wild. As his gaze drifted downward over the clothes she’d put on for bed and her bare legs, he caught sight of a glint of silver in the glare of the streetlight. His anklet. Even after everything, she was wearing his gift. Something turned over inside him. He lifted his gaze to hers, and he knew she was aware of what he’d seen. Heartbreak sat there heavy in her eyes, taking the breath from his chest.
Foster rolled his wrists once they were out of the cuffs and stepped onto the sidewalk but didn’t take his eyes off Cela. Behind her, he could see other neighbors drifting out now, gawking. And a lady he assumed to be her mother was standing out on the porch of the house directly across from Cela’s. He shook his head. “I’m really sorry about all this.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, why? all over her face, then sighed. “Come on.”
Before he could ask her what she meant, she spun on her heel, walked around to the passenger side of Pike’s car, and opened the door.
“Marcela, you can’t mean to go somewhere with this man,” her father sputtered as he moved forward. “It’s past midnight and look how you’re dressed.”
She glanced down at her T-shirt and boxers and laughed mirthlessly. Foster had a feeling she was thinking, If you only knew. “Good night, Papá.”
She climbed in the car and slammed the door. Dr. Medina sent Foster a touch-my-daughter-and-die glare his way, but Foster wasn’t going to wait around for the man to grab his shotgun again. He snagged the car registration off the top of the hood and pulled open his door. “Sorry for the trouble.”
Without waiting for a response, he got into the car and shut the door. He gripped the wheel, still trying to process how he’d gone from saying good-bye to Cela for good to having her in his car. He turned her way. “What now, angel?”
“Just drive,” she said, staring out the front window.
“Yes, ma’am.”
THIRTY-SIX
I must be hallucinating. That was my first thought as I rode away from my shotgun-wielding father and realized I was now sitting next to Foster—Foster, who lived hours away from here and hadn’t spoken to me in over a month. Maybe someone had slipped something into my drink at the bar, and I was now passed out in the parking lot of the Rusty Wheel.
“So, you’re here,” I said, showing my penchant for brilliant conversation starters. Not that one really knew how to start a conversation when you found your ex-boyfriend being arrested in your front yard.
He gave me a sidelong glance, as if he were half-worried I’d come to my senses and jump out of the moving vehicle. “I am.”
“And my father almost shot you,” I said, going down the list of things I needed to establish before processing anything else.
“Well, I don’t think he would’ve really shot me. But yes, he threatened me with a gun, which I can respect—he thought I was a danger to you.”
I turned to him then, allowing myself to fully drink in his presence there. God, even my imagination hadn’t done him justice. He looked tired and his stubble was way past five o’clock, but every muscle fiber in me seemed to strain toward him, wanting to wrap myself around him. But that’s not who we were to each other anymore.
I glanced away, staring out at the reflective yellow line at the center of the road. “Are you a danger to me?”
“Cela.” He said my name with an ache in it.
“No, I’m serious,” I said, pulling my self-preservation armor around me, locking out the part of me that only wanted to remember the good stuff, the part that didn’t want to remember how mean he’d been the last time I’d seen him, how much he’d hurt me. “Why are you here? What were you doing on my street at midnight?”
He blew out a long breath and took a turn into an empty Home Depot parking lot, cutting off the engine. He focused on the empty, orange building in front of us. “I was here to see if you were doing okay, to make sure that when you told me you were happy here, that you really were.”
I frowned. “When I told you I was happy here? Foster we haven’t talked since—”
“It wasn’t Pike who texted you.”
I stared at his profile, not even sure what to do with that information. “Why would you do that?”
He faced me finally, his blue eyes almost black in the dark interior of the car, but I could see the remorse there. “I needed you to know that nothing happened with Bret. And I had to hear from you that you were okay. You had decided to stay in Dallas for more reasons than to be with me, and I felt responsible for chasing you back here.”
I sighed. “You didn’t chase me back here—at least, not totally. They gave the job to someone else. I didn’t have anything to stay for anymore.”
He leaned back in his seat, running a hand over his face. “I fucked everything up. I’m sorry. I told you from the start that you could slow down or back out at any time, and then when you did, I acted like an asshole. You didn’t deserve that.”
I pulled my legs onto the seat and sat my chin on my knees, feeling cold despite the warm night. “No, I didn’t. And when I saw that blonde walk into your building, I wanted to throw up, Foster.” I turned my head to face him. “All I wanted was time to think, and you called up another girl before I was even out the door.”
He looked my way, expression pained. “I can’t even tell you how sorry I am for that. Nothing happened with her. I promise you. Bret is the private investigator I hired to keep digging up leads on my sister’s case. We’re friends. That’s it.”
“Friends who’ve slept together,” I said flatly.
He grimaced.
The wordless answer was like a two-by-four swinging right into my gut. I looked away, clenching my jaw to keep stupid tears from appearing.
“But that was in the past, a long time ago. And nothing was ever like . . .”
“Like what, Foster?” I asked, needing him to finish that sentence, needing to know why he was here, tearing open this wound again.
“Are you happy, Cela?” he asked abruptly.
The question caught me off guard. “What?”
“The last thing I want to do is make this worse. And even though it was killing me not to talk to you, I was going to leave you alone, let you move on with your life. But then I got an email telling me you’d activated my anklet, and . . . I just needed to know for sure. Needed to see. Are you happy? Is this where you want to be? Work? Is that dentist who was kissing you tonight the kind of guy you want to be with?”
“The dentist . . .” My jaw went slack. “You followed me on my date?”
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Yes. And I’m not going to make excuses to justify that. It was completely out of line. I know that. I’m acting like a crazy person. But my questions still stand. Are you happy here? Is this what you want?”
“Why do you care?” I asked, still in shock that he’d followed me. That he’d watched me kiss another guy.
He reached out and grasped my chin with gentle fingers, drawing my gaze to his intense one. “I care because if you’re happy, if this is what you want, I will drive you right back home and never bother you again. I will let you go.”
I blinked, the tears blurring my vision now.
“But if you’re not, if there’s even part of you that misses me half as much as I miss you, a part that lies awake at night and can’t stop thinking about how things were with us, then please God, tell me. Because I’m fucking miserable, Cela.”
I closed my eyes, unable to bear the weight of his stare, his words. My airway seemed to narrow to a pinhole. “Foster . . .”
“And I wish I could tell you that I’ll change everything. Especially after tonight, I can see how the dominant stuff would scare you of
f. I know I can be overbearing and high-handed. And I can be fucked up and paranoid about stuff sometimes. It’s a lot. And I would fix it if I could, but I don’t know how to be any other way.”
I couldn’t look at him. It was all too much. Having him here, hearing his voice, the sharp edge of sadness in his words.
“All I can tell you is that I never intended to lock you down or take away your independence. Your strength and stubbornness are part of what draws me to you. Even with the whole anklet thing, it was never a desire to keep tabs on you or intrude on your privacy. I just . . . I was falling in love with you, and it inspired every ounce of my protective streak.”
My eyes snapped open, my heart jumping right into my throat and the word love getting tangled in my synapses.
“I couldn’t bear the thought of something bad happening to you, of losing you.” He cradled my face in his palms, every line in his expression etched with regret. “And I lost you anyway. Because I’m an idiot. I chased you away before we even got a real chance.”
Moisture tracked along my cheeks. I said his name again, unable to put my thoughts in the right order.
“Are you happy, Cela?” he asked again, his own voice knotted with emotion now. “That’s all I need to know.”
I leaned forward, letting my forehead press to his. Everything felt so heavy all of a sudden—the move, my job, leaving Foster, dating again, trying to figure out what the hell I wanted out of my life. I wanted to curl in a ball and be back in my dorm freshman year when everything was simple and laid out and obvious. All possibility. No reality. “I don’t know what I am anymore. I’m lost.”
“Oh, angel,” he said softly. “I know what you mean.”
I pulled back and rested against my seat, the nearness of him too much to take for my wrung-out system. All I wanted to do was crawl into his lap and let him tell me everything was going to be okay. And that was exactly what always freaked me out with Foster. I didn’t want to be weak and need someone else like that. “I’m scared of how I feel when I’m with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Did I ever tell you that my mom used to be a painter?”
He shook his head, leaning back in his own seat, giving me space.
“She was. She had a lot of talent and even got a scholarship to a school in New York. But she was already dating my dad, and he had a full ride to UT in Austin. She couldn’t get into the university because, though she was a brilliant artist, she sucked at things like math and science and didn’t have high enough scores. So she just gave it up for him, got a receptionist job in Austin and dedicated her life to being his wife. And they love each other, I know that. But she isn’t her own person anymore. He makes the decisions. She follows them. I know it tore her to pieces when he kicked my sister out, and she didn’t stand up to him. She didn’t stand up for her own daughter. I love her with all my heart, but I cannot become her.”
Foster’s mouth curved downward. “Baby, I hear what you’re saying, but you have to realize that you are so far from being at risk of that happening, it’s not even funny. You are tough and independent and hardheaded.”
“But when I’m with you, all I want to do is give in,” I fired back. “I fall to my knees willingly, I step past lines I never would’ve considered walking over, and I have this thing, this desire to please you, that scares the living shit out of me. I haven’t gone a day without thinking about you, Foster. And tonight, even after I told Mike not to walk me out, I found myself annoyed that he didn’t. I missed your crazy overprotectiveness. How messed up is that?”
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Did you just say you missed my crazy?”
I stared at him for a long second and then laughed some weird, tear-clogged laugh. I put my hands over my face. “Goddammit. I do miss it. What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Cela,” he said, tugging one of my hands away from my face. “There’s nothing wrong with you. All of that stuff doesn’t mean you want to turn into some robot wife. You have a submissive side to you—a beautiful, dead-sexy desire to please. But the only time that’s dangerous or wrong is if you put it in the hands of someone who is going to exploit it. I would never want to change you or get in the way of your career or dreams. And it’s okay to want to be taken care of or protected sometimes. No one should have to take on the world all alone all the time.”
I looked at him. How many times had I imagined his face these last few weeks? How many times when I’d curled up at night had I wished he were there next to me? And though I liked Mike, I knew in my gut it was only friendship. When he’d kissed me tonight, there’d been none of that fire that was there when Foster simply brushed his lips over mine. Even just sitting here in the car with him had this hum of electricity moving through me.
But there was so much to think about, so many decisions already made. My job was here, my dad was counting on me. I had a house now. And Foster had said it himself, he was who he was. I either had to embrace his personality and dominance fully and accept what that brought out in me, or it’d never work.
I reached out and took his hand. “I don’t know if I’m going to have all the answers for you tonight. All I can offer you is honesty.”
“That’s all I’m asking, angel,” he said, lacing his fingers with mine.
“I’ve missed you so much, I can barely breathe through it sometimes,” I admitted. “When I lie in bed at night, it’s you who’s on my mind. And I’m wearing this anklet because I wanted to feel close to you again, and I can’t seem to take it off.”
He closed his eyes, his chest expanding with a deep breath, and brought my hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips over our entwined knuckles.
“And I’m not unhappy, but I’m not happy either. I haven’t been happy since that last morning I woke up next to you.”
His gaze met mine, naked emotion swirling in those blue depths. “Ditto.”
“And there’s a lot we need to talk about and consider. But it’s late, and it’s already been a long night for us both.”
He sighed, his expression turning resigned, and let go of my hand. “Right. Plus, I’m sure if I don’t take you home in the next ten minutes, your dad will probably send out a search party. Last thing I want is to cause you more trouble with him.”
Foster lifted his arm to turn the key, but I put my hand over his, stopping him. “I don’t want to talk anymore tonight. But I don’t want to go home either.”
He turned his head, brows knitted. “What?”
I wet my lips, the yearning that’d been building over all these weeks filling every pore of my body. I knew it probably wasn’t fair to ask, but I was done overanalyzing things tonight. Even if I didn’t know what the future would look like, right now I needed this. Him. “I don’t want either of us to face the world alone tonight, Foster. Let me stay with you.”
Awareness flickered over his features, like streetlamps blinking on, and I saw my own yearning reflected back in him. He gave a quiet assent and turned the ignition.
Tonight, we wouldn’t be alone.
THIRTY-SEVEN
We didn’t speak on the drive to his hotel or on the way to his room. We simply held hands, our fingers twined tightly together. And during the climb in the elevator, he watched me, much like he had that first night riding up to that hotel room. But this time I wasn’t trying to hide anything from him. This was me, stripped down to the studs, no walls to protect me.
When the door shut behind us in his room, he flipped the lock and turned to me. Everything was there on his face. He pushed my hair behind my ears, looking at me like he was afraid I wasn’t real, like I’d disintegrate and sift between his fingers like sand. His thumb traced my bottom lip. I shuddered beneath the simple touch, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
Then his fingers were tangling in my hair as he bent my head back and brought his mouth down
to mine. His lips were tender at first, gentle—like an innocent first kiss. But when I parted mine and touched my tongue to his, the wall of the dam broke. He banded an arm around my waist and dragged me against him, his tongue twining with mine and his fingers tightening against my scalp. The roughness of it sent sparks racing along my nerve endings, electrifying every point of contact between us. I moaned into the kiss and wrapped my arms around his neck.
God. This. In the loneliness of the last few weeks, I had tried to talk myself out of how good things had felt with Foster, had tried to convince myself that I’d exaggerated it, that my memories were embellished. But having his body pressed against mine, the command of his kiss liquefying every ounce of me, I realized that, if anything, even my most vivid recollections paled to the reality.
He broke away from the kiss, both of us breathless, and put his hands on my shoulders, his gaze flaring with heat. “If you want me to stop, now’s the time to tell me. Because if I keep kissing you, I’m taking you to that bed and not letting you out of it until tomorrow.”
I curled my fingers into the waistband of his jeans, pulling us together again. “I want this. I want you. And I don’t need some vanilla, PC version. No matter what happens, I would never ask you to change.”
His lips pressed together as he watched me, and something seemed to lift from his expression. Soon, that wicked smile of intent that I loved so much graced his mouth. He slid his hands down my sides, found the hem of my T-shirt and tugged it over my head, then made quick work of my bra. His hands cupped my breasts and teased, cajoling soft, needy sounds from me. “I haven’t been able to think about anything, angel, except you since you left. I’ve tried everything to distract myself, but no matter what, when I close my eyes, there you are.”
He backed me toward the bed, but I put a hand to his chest. “Tried everything to distract yourself or everyone?”
He growled and lifted me off my feet. “Angel, I haven’t even been able to look at another woman. You think I would fuck someone else, then come looking for you?”