Page 23

IT WAS RIGHT AFTER MY MUM LEFT to go back to London after Christmas, and Tessa had looked up at me with worried eyes. “Hardin?”
“Yeah?” I had asked, speaking through the pen between my teeth.
“Will you help me take this tree down when you’re finished working?”
I wasn’t actually working; I was writing, but she didn’t know that. We had had a long and interesting day. I had caught her coming back from lunch with fucking Trevor, and then I’d bent her over her desk and fucked her senseless.
“Yes, just give me a minute.” I tucked the pages away, afraid that she would see them while cleaning up, and stood to help her take down the tiny tree she’d decorated with my mum.
“What are you working on anyway? Is it anything good?” She reached for the tattered binder she constantly complained about my leaving around the house. The coffee-cup rings and pen marks covering the weathered leather drove her insane.
“Nothing.” I jerked it from her hands before she could open it.
She pulled back, obviously surprised and a little hurt by my actions. “Sorry,” she said quietly. A deep frown set across her beautiful face, and I tossed the binder on the couch and reached for her hands. “I was just asking. I didn’t mean to pry or upset you.”
Fuck, I was such a prick.
I still am.
“It’s fine, just don’t mess with my work shit. I don’t . . .” I couldn’t come up with an excuse as to why, because I hadn’t stopped her in the past. Whenever I came across a draft that I knew she would like, I would share it with her. She loved when I did that, and there I was scolding her for doing it now.
“Okay.” She turned away from me and started to pull the ornaments off the hideous tree.
I stared at her back for a few minutes, wondering why I was so angry. If she read what I was writing, how would she feel? Would she like it? Or would she be appalled and throw a fit? I didn’t know, and I still don’t, which is why she still has no clue about it to this day.
“Okay? That’s all you have to say?” I picked at her, wanting a fight. Fighting was better than ignoring; shouts were better than silence.
“I won’t mess with your things anymore,” she said without turning to look at me. “I didn’t know you would be so upset.”
“I . . .” I struggled to find something to fight about. Then I just went for the bone. “Why are you even with me?” I asked roughly. “After everything that happened—is it the drama that you like?”
“What?” She spun around, a small snowflake ornament in her hands. “Why are you starting a fight with me? I said I wouldn’t touch your things anymore.”
“I’m not starting a fight,” I lied. “I just want to know, because it seems like you are addicted to the drama and ups and downs more than anything.” I knew it wasn’t fair to say, but I said it anyway. I was in a mood and wanted her to join me.
She stepped toward me, dropping the ornament into the box next to the tree. “You know that isn’t true. I love you, even when you are looking for a fight with me. I hate the drama; you know that. I love you for you, end of story.” She leaned up on her toes to kiss my cheek, and I wrapped my arms around her.
“Why do you love me, then? I do nothing for you,” I argued weakly. The scene I’d caused at Vance’s earlier that day was fresh in my mind.
She took a patient breath and rested her head against my chest. “This”—she tapped her index finger over my heart—“that’s why. Now please stop trying to fight me. I have a paper to work on, and this tree won’t put itself away.”
She was so gentle with me, so understanding, even when I didn’t deserve it.
“I love you,” I said into her hair and moved my hands to her hips. She molded into me, letting me lift her into my arms, and she wrapped her legs around my waist as I carried her across the living room to the couch.
“I love you, always. Don’t doubt me, I will always love you,” she assured me, her mouth against mine.
I undressed her slowly, savoring every inch of her sexy curves. I loved the way her eyes went wide as I rolled the condom on. That same afternoon she had been nervous about fucking while on her period, but her chest was moving up and down with rapid jerks as I began to stroke myself in front of her. Impatient breaths and a small whine was all it took for me to stop teasing her. I moved between her thighs and pushed into her slowly. She was so wet and tight, I lost myself in her and I still can’t remember how that damn tree got stored away.
I HAVE BEEN DOING THIS too much lately, dwelling on happy memories from my time with her. My hands are shaking, gripping the steering wheel as I pull myself from my mind; her moans and whimpers fade away as I force myself back to the present.
I’m waiting in a slow line of traffic, only a few miles away from Tessa. I need to solidify my plan and make sure her ass is on that plane tonight. It’s a late flight, not departing until nine, so she will have plenty of time to make it to Heathrow. Kimberly will take her there; I know she will. My head still hurts—the liquor is making a slow departure from my body, and I still feel a little tipsy. Not so much so that I can’t drive, but my mind isn’t all there.
“Hardin!” a familiar voice says. The voice is muffled by my window, so I quickly roll it down. Every time I turn around, someone from my past is there, calling my name.
“Holy shit!” I yell to the car next to me. My old friend Mark is in the next lane. If this isn’t a sign from above, I don’t know what is.