Page 115 of Shallow

She just stares at me, her mouth hanging open like I’m some freak of nature. I curl my fists by my side, pissed at myself. Girls don’t like guys who say stupid shit like that. They want arrogant football jocks like that dickhead Ross who toss them over their shoulders and fuck them against a wall. Not the skinny geek who writes them love letters and kisses theirhand.

Dumbass.

“Shit.” I run a hand over my forehead. “Never mind. I didn’tmean—”

The rest of my words are knocked out of my chest as Shiloh hurls herself into my arms. I don’t even get the chance to ask what the hell she’s doing before her lips are on me, pressing hard against mine until I can’t do anything but kiss herback.

My world is spinning. I have Shiloh West in my arms. Her legs are wrapped around my waist and we’re kissing. I’ve dreamed of this moment. Jesus, a few kisses and I’m so hard I’m afraid I might come in my pants. Apparently, my response to her is evident, because she reaches between us and strokes me over my tuxedo slacks. I groan, shifting my hips into her hand, needingmore.

Then Istill.

Pulling her hand away, I lower her to her feet and stare at her. “What is this—some kind ofjoke?”

Shiloh shakes her head, her face a little pale. “I’m leaving in two months, Carrick, and I’m not coming back. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m tired of playing by rules.” Taking my hand in hers, she opens my palm and places it against her breast. “Haven’t you ever wondered what it’d be like to touchme?

“Every fuckingnight.”

Taking my hand, she leads me toward the pool house. I’ve seen it lots of times while cutting the grass, even looking in the windows a few times, but never daring to go inside. Shiloh lifts onto her toes and reaches around the ivy on the top molding of the doorframe, producing a key. The only things I can hear are my own heavy breathing and the click of the lock as she opens the door and leads me inside. Grabbing a remote control off a shelf, she hits a button and synthesized music suddenly fills theroom.

“To drown out the noise,” she announces. “I’m kind ofloud.”

“I’m sorry,what?”

“One night,” she says, facing me as water drips off her chin. “No strings. No rules. We both get this out of our systems and never speak of it again.Agreed?”

“Youmean…”

Grabbing the bottom of her tank top, she pulls it over her head and drops it to the floor. “How bad do you want me,Carrick?”

Her breasts glisten in the darkness—full and round, with puckered nipples begging for my mouth. I’m both anxious and nervous. My body is in overdrive, but I can’t disappoint her. Shiloh isn’t a virgin. She knows what she likes and expects it to be doneright.

Stalking forward, I back her up against a wooden table that sits under a huge square mirror. Just as her ass slams into the edge of it, I cup my hands under her breasts and rake both thumbs over the stiff peaks of her nipples. She sucks in a breath just before I lower my head and take one into my mouth, sucking hard. Shiloh cries out, throwing her head back and reaching behind her to brace her hands on thetable.

Giving her no reprieve, I grab the backs of her thighs and pick her up, dropping her on top of the table, her back slamming against the mirror. The sudden move knocks over a metal figurine, the tile making a cracking sound as it hits the floor. Without taking my eyes off her, I fumble for the button on my slacks. The minute I reach for my cock, she grabs myhand.

“Tell me you love me then fuck me like you don’t,” she whispers as Britney Spears’Toxicplays in thebackground.

Forty

Shiloh

In the grandscheme of things, three days isn’t a long time. When all you’ve done is look out your bedroom window and stare at your pool house, it’seternity.

Downstairs, I hear a faint ring for the fourth time in less than an hour. Since my phone has been silent since I walked out on Cary three days ago, the constant ringing is starting to worryme.

“Shiloh, answer your phone!” Bianca calls from the base of the stairs. “If I wanted to be a personal secretary, I wouldn’t have married yourfather.”

I laugh. Partly at the image of my mother working a desk job, but mostly because it’strue.

“I’m coming!” I yell back, taking the steps two at atime.

She’s in the kitchen when I get there, pouring herself a glass of chardonnay. “Good afternoon.” Shesmiles.

“Good morning,” I correct. “What’s theoccasion?”

“It’sWednesday.”

“It’s tena.m.”