Page 18 of Bewitched By the Siren (The Bewitching Hour #1)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Hali
I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my entire life.
Brendan was perfect with Mom during dinner. A lot of people end up treating her like she has a mental disability rather than a physical one, but Brendan behaved like she has neither. Like he was just trying to charm the mother of the girl he likes. That girl being me .
And damn if it didn’t work.
Mom raved about him as I helped her to bed, ordering me to explore the connection we have and not use her illness, my dual nature, or any other excuse to keep that, and I quote, “hot piece of man meat” at an arm’s length.
I pretended to brush off her advice, but it rings in my ears as I sit here with him, talking and drinking wine that’s making me a little too relaxed for my own good.
Brendan has been a true gentleman, and he hasn’t brought up my singing or his work once tonight. It should be illegal to be this handsome and this nice at the same time.
Could he be playing me just get what he wants––a signed contract? Maybe. But that doesn’t really matter, does it?
It’s not like we have a chance at something long-term, either way. He lives on the other side of the country. Anything we start would have an expiration date, regardless of his motives.
And, fuck, I want to kiss him.
I should just go for it. What’s the worst that could happen? He could reject my advances, sure, but what would be worse? The rejection? Or the regret I’d feel if I didn’t at least try?
I’m not stupid. I’ve seen the interest in Brendan’s eyes when he looks at me. An interest that’s not one hundred percent professional. Of that, I’m sure.
Sucking in a deep breath, I lean forward and set my wine glass on the coffee table. Brendan watches me as I move, his blue eyes glinting in the dim light. Leaning toward him, I take his own glass from his fingers and set it down beside mine before sliding closer to him.
“What are you doing?” he murmurs, and I cock my head as I hold his gaze.
“Do you want to kiss me, Brendan Howser?”
Surprise twists his features for a moment, then his face smooths out as he nods. “I do, but I don’t think I should.”
“Why not?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I lean in the tiniest bit closer.
“Because if you sign with me, you’ll be my client. Kissing isn’t very professional.”
There’s no conviction in his words. He’s saying them because he thinks he should, not because he means them. Standing, I pull the skirt of my dress up to my knees so I can straddle his lap. I know I’m being extremely forward, but YOLO, as the kids used to say.
“I’m not going to sign with you,” I say, my whisper thick and husky.
His hands moves to my knees, his fingertips sliding just beneath the hem of my hiked-up dress. “Are you sure about that?”
“Positive,” I breathe, bringing my lips within an inch of his.
This is it. I think I’ve made it pretty damn clear what I want, and the ball is in his court. He can take what I’m offering, or he can ask me to kindly remove myself from his personal space. I hold my breath as I wait to see which option he’ll choose.
He hesitates for the briefest of seconds, then his lips are on mine, soft and strong and as demanding as I’d hoped they be.
His hands find their way into my hair, tugging until I tilt my head where he wants it.
When his tongue swipes across my lower lip, I open my mouth in invitation.
A low groan vibrates in his chest as his tongue dips inside to taste me.
It’s not lost on me that my actions are a complete one-eighty from my usual behavior. I don’t let people get this close. I certainly don’t kiss people who aren’t strangers I’m sure I’ll never see again. People I can’t make forget me completely with a few words.
Maybe it’s the wine.
Maybe it’s my mother’s encouragement.
Or maybe Brendan Howser is just that fucking irresistible.
Whatever it is, there is no place I’d rather be and nothing more I’d rather be doing. He’s a great kisser, and my body is reacting. My blood is heating. My core is throbbing.
Lifting my hands to his hair, I sift my fingers through the soft strands as my tongue chases Brendan’s back into his mouth.
He groans again, and like the sound is some kind of starting pistol, I roll my hips and bear down.
I can feel the ridge of his erection against my most sensitive bits, and bursts of light flare behind my closed eyelids.
I want this.
I want him .
Fuck tomorrow and the complications it might bring.
Brendan’s grip on my hair tightens, and the pressure of his mouth against mine lightens. I want to groan and scream as he slows our kiss to a few playful nibbles, but I manage to hold onto my composure as I pull back to meet his eyes.
“I should probably get going,” he whispers, and my heart sinks.
I hide my disappointment behind a gentle smile, then nod before climbing off his lap. He pushes to his feet, taking a moment to not-so-subtly adjust himself while blowing out a harsh breath. My mind screams at him to stay, but my body leads the way to the front door before pulling it open.
We start and stop like dysfunctional robots as we both go in for a hug, then pull back like we’re not sure if it’s appropriate.
Heaving a sigh, Brendan takes over, pulling me into his arms and holding me tightly against him for several long moments.
I sink into the embrace, listening to his heart pound against my ear at an elevated rate.
He releases me and leaves without a word, and I watch him go before slowly closing the door.
Leaning back against it, I heave a sigh.
I could tell Brendan didn’t really want to leave.
That he wanted to stay and experience all the things our kisses promised.
I don’t know what his internal reason was for leaving, be it some chivalrous instinct or a healthy respect for the fact that my mother lay sleeping in the other room, but I wish he’d ignored it and taken everything I was offering.
Of course, he wouldn’t be the man I know him to be if he’d done that.
Blowing out another harsh breath, I push myself off the door and head for my room.
Stripping naked, I pull on a pair of satin sleep shorts and the matching camisole before heading into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth.
I smooth some moisturizer onto my face, chest and arms before flicking off the light and walking toward my bed.
I throw myself down onto it before rolling onto my back and staring up at the shadowed ceiling.
My skin still feels hot, and there’s a throbbing in my core that won’t go away. I consider grabbing one of the toys from my nightstand and taking matters into my own hands, but the prospect doesn’t appeal to me. At all.
I want Brendan.
I want to feel him moving over me. Inside me. I want to feel his breath skate across my skin and hear his breathy moans in my ear.
But he made his choice, didn’t he? He didn’t say no, verbally, but his actions proved he’s not interested in taking me to bed despite his hungry kisses. Was he pretending? Faking it when I all but attacked him so my feelings wouldn’t get hurt?
No. I don’t believe that. His erection was proof-positive that he was into it. As was his harsh breathing and elevated heartrate. But for whatever reason, he didn’t want to go any further than we did.
And I have to respect that.
But I’m still burning with need, and there’s no way I can fall asleep like this. I reconsider using my battery-operated boyfriend to take care of the problem, but when it still holds no appeal, I climb out of bed with a huff.
Padding through the house on bare feet, I open the back door and step outside. The November wind is cool and crisp coming off the ocean. I brace my hands against the porch railing and let it cool my heated skin.
Maybe I should go for a swim. The cold water will certainly douse the fire burning inside me.
The possible dangers scroll through my mind at the idea, and I disregard it. I don’t need to swim again so soon, and I shouldn’t take the risk. Besides, I can already feel my nerves settling and my need ebbing.
Stepping back, I sit in one of the chairs and pull my feet up into the seat. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I prop my chin on one knee and stare out at the dark, vast waters.
I gave it a shot, and Brendan didn’t want to go there. It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything is fine.
He’ll be gone, soon, anyway. And then he’ll be nothing but a fond memory.
Yeah. I’m completely fine.