Her Wicked Heart (8 page)

“I’m not going to keep you from doing what you think you need to do,” he says. “But I’m also not going to sit by if I think you’re hurting yourself.”

I don’t respond. I don’t know if he’s agreeing to accept my decision or warning me that he’s not about to let this go. He signals to the waitress for the checks, and we pay for our food in silence.

I feel cold and empty as we walk back out to my car. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. Deep down, I thought Ian would know exactly what to say, exactly how to make me feel better. Now I’m only more convinced that I’m a complete and utter mess.

“Is there a motel near here?” he asks as we climb into the car.

We hadn’t discussed where he was going to stay. But it’s probably not a good idea to invite him back to my room at Huntington Manor.

“There’s one near the highway,” I say. Neither of us says another word as I drive us over to the rundown little Barberville Inn just off the main interstate. Fortunately, Ian’s able to get a room without any trouble. I stand next to the driver’s side of my car while he pulls his suitcase from the trunk. I feel like I should apologize again—for letting him come here, for being awkward all evening. For everything in Thailand, too, because I can’t say it enough. But I’m tongue-tied. Or just scared, as usual.

Ian comes over to me, his suitcase in one hand. He rubs the back of his neck with the other.

“Would you…” His eyes, warm but uncertain, lift to mine. “Would you like to come upstairs for a little while? Maybe watch some TV or something?”

I could say no. I could get back in my car and drive back to Huntington Manor and pretend this never happened. But I don’t want things to end like this between us—all awkward, with so many things unspoken. And in spite of how things have gone this evening, I find that I’m not ready to leave him just yet.

I nod.

He smiles again, and there’s such genuine pleasure in the expression that I feel a little better. I follow him up the stairs to his room.

I’ve never been in a cheap motel before, but it looks exactly like all the movies led me to expect. The walls are a nondescript beige color (though there are a few strange stains of indeterminable origin). The only decor is a pastel beachscape over the bed—though if I’m being generous, the raggedy-looking fake tree in the far corner adds a few points to the ambiance as well. The colors of the bedspread match the painting, and the pillows are salmon pink. The whole place smells faintly of cigarette smoke.

I sink down on the edge of the bed, trying not to look too closely for unusual stains. Ian sets his suitcase by the closet and grabs the TV controller before sitting down beside me.

The room only gets four channels, and he settles on a game show. I stare at the screen, but I don’t really have the presence of mind to pay attention.

Neither does Ian, apparently. He shifts beside me, and I hear the long breath he takes before he speaks again.

“I just want you to be happy, Lou,” he says softly.

I turn and look at him. He’s staring back at me, and my heart swells. He was always too good for me. Too generous. Too giving.

“I’m trying,” I whisper. And then, “I’m happy to see you again.” Even if I’m bad for him, even if I can’t return his feelings, I want him to know that all those nights in Chiang Mai made a difference. That all those whispered comforts in the darkness helped me survive. That he means something to me—even if that
something
isn’t close to the something he wants.

But it’s enough for now.

The corner of his mouth tilts up. “Me too.”

For a moment, we just keep looking at each other. And then his arm comes up around me. I should pull away, but then I remember the words from his email.
It’s okay to need someone, Lou.
It’s okay to need a friend. A gentle reassurance. I lean into him, and we’re nestled together once more.

His fingers move up and down my back. Once or twice they brush past the bottom hem of my shirt and touch the strip of skin above my jeans. His curls tickle my temple, and I can see the pulse at his throat.

I just want to stay like this. Safe in his arms.
No talk of feelings. No worry about how I
should
be dealing with things. Just a few moments of silence without judgment or guilt. Just the knowledge that in spite of everything, another human being wants to be near me. To help me.

I tilt my head, pressing my cheek against his neck. I feel more than hear the intake of his breath. His fingers press against my back. When I lift my face, I find his eyes have darkened. My stomach tightens, but either I’m drunk on the easy familiarity of it all or just cursed with perpetual weakness, because I can’t move.

He raises his hands to my cheeks, his thumbs against my throat, and for a long time he just gazes at me.

He moves slowly, as if afraid he might frighten me. And to be honest—I am frightened. I’m scared of what I can tell he wants to do. I’m scared of what will happen if he
doesn’t
do it. I’m afraid of wandering back out into the darkness.

But he makes the decision for me. His lips come down gently upon my own, and I can taste the sweet tea he had with his dinner. My mouth falls open slightly beneath his, as if it has a mind of its own, and his hands tighten gently on my face.

My heart thumps. I should stop this.

“Never again,” I whisper against his mouth, echoing the words he used to tell me every night in Thailand. The words we used to promise each other that every time would be our last.

They were a lie then, and they’re a lie now.

For a moment he pulls back and looks at me again. I know, like me, he’s questioning the wisdom of our decision to see each other again. To kiss each other again. But the decision has already been made, and we both know it.

“Never again,” he murmurs in agreement before dipping his head and tasting my lips once more.

“Never again.” His hands drift down my body, skimming over my breasts and gliding to my hips.

“Never again.” His fingers slip beneath the fabric of my blouse and press against the bare skin of my stomach.

His tongue dances along my bottom lip, and mine moves to meet it. And that’s all it takes—the moment they touch, all hesitation leaves him. He pulls me against him, pressing his mouth hard against my own. I lean into him, molding my body to his, drowning in the refuge of his arms. All of my doubts disappear in the simple pleasures of his touch, and my body takes over, my instincts flaring to life. My arms loop around his neck, and I slide my leg across him, straddling his lap.

“Lou,” he says against my mouth.

I grind against him, and a jolt of pleasure shoots through me at his answering groan. I lose my fingers in his curls, and his hands tug at my shirt, pulling it up my body and over my head. My bra goes next. With a pinch of his fingers, the clasp comes undone, and he pulls the straps down off my arms before tossing it aside.

His gaze drifts down across my throat to my bare chest. My nipples tighten against the cool air, and he reaches up and rolls one breast beneath his warm hand. I tilt my head back as the sensations rush through me. I missed losing myself beneath Ian’s gentle fingers. He had a year to learn how I like to be touched.

His head comes down and his lips brush against my jaw, my throat. He kisses a path downward, worshiping my bare skin with his lips. His mouth traces a line across my collarbone, then dips lower to my breast.

I grind against him again. Beneath my spread legs, I can feel how much he wants me. I shift my body purposefully, pressing against him through our clothes and moving my hips in gentle circles on his lap. He groans deep in his throat and moves his lips more passionately against my breast.

It was always so easy, so beautiful between me and Ian. His touch is soft but deliberate, and I melt like honey beneath his hands and lips. He slides his arms around my waist and rolls me over, pushing my back down on the comforter, and though I’m sure my hair will smell of stale cigarette smoke, I don’t care. His body is warm and solid on top of mine, and I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer. Here, in this room, all of my struggles and confusion are far away. Ian knows how to make them disappear.

Our clothes come off piece by piece. I trace the planes of his stomach with my fingers, reacquaint my bare skin with his. We might as well be back on the other side of the world again.

He draws his face back from mine and gazes down at me. His eyes are cloudy with desire, but it’s the tenderness I see there that makes my insides flip-flop. I reach up and run my finger across his jaw, his cheek, his lips. He lets me explore, closing his eyes and leaning into my touch.

Only when I let my hand drop and he opens his eyes again do I remember the danger. It’s clear in the way he looks at me. In his every caress. He still loves me, as much as he did before. Maybe more, if he let himself come see me after what I pulled in Thailand.

What the heck am I doing?

Didn’t I learn my lesson back in Chiang Mai? How did I let things get this far? How did I end up naked beneath him when I swore to myself that I wouldn’t fall back into my old horrible habits? When I promised myself that I wouldn’t hurt him again?

“We can’t do this,” I say, so quietly that I hardly hear the words myself.

He freezes.

“We can’t do this.” This time my voice is stronger. I wriggle out from beneath him.
This was a mistake. Oh, God, what was I doing?

I leap up out of the bed and scramble around for my clothes. My hands shake as I reach down and grab my panties and bra. Only when the important parts are covered do I dare turn around and look at him again.

The look on his face breaks my heart.

“So that’s it, is it?” His voice is strained.

I grab my shirt off the ground. “This is… This isn’t right, Ian. You know it isn’t.”

“No.” This time he doesn’t bother hiding his anger. “
Fighting this
isn’t right. Letting a guy think you… that you want to…” He growls and rubs his face. “What do you want from me, Lou? What the hell do you want from me?”

I shake my head. I don’t know.

“Was this all just some sick joke, letting me come here?” he says. “Telling me you missed me and all that crap?”

“Of course not,” I say. “I wasn’t lying. I did miss you. I just… My feelings haven’t changed. I didn’t want you to think…” I can’t say it out loud.
I didn’t want you to think that I love you.
I don’t. I don’t have the ability to love anyone right now. Not when I’m so screwed up inside.

He’s still angry, but now there’s pain in his expression, too. I watch the emotions war across his face. Finally he shakes his head.

“I don’t believe it. You can tell me that this doesn’t mean anything to you, that you don’t feel anything for me, but I know the truth.” He looks up at me again. “You’re afraid to admit that you need someone. That you can’t handle this on your own. Tell me, Lou, is it any better on your own? Look around you! You’re lying about who you are, torturing yourself by pretending you never left home. Is that really better?”

I can’t take this.

“I need to go,” I say. I grab my jeans from the floor and slide into them. I don’t look at him, but I hear him moving behind me, probably grabbing his own clothes.

After a moment, I hear him sigh.

“I wish I’d never said those things to you back in Chiang Mai.” All frustration is gone from his voice, and in its place I hear regret.

I risk a glance back at him. He’s back in his boxers, and I can see him struggling, trying to be understanding. I remember his words all too well:
You don’t think of anyone but yourself, Lou. You’ve forgotten why you came out here in the first place. You’ve forgotten that other people can feel pain, too.

I know that now. I try to remember it every day.

But Ian’s not done.

“I hurt you when I should have supported you,” he says. “I made you think you were a terrible person when you were just looking for support.”

I look down at my feet. “Maybe I am a terrible person.” I’m the girl who just jumped into bed with her ex and then changed her mind at the last second. The girl who cares more about her own needs than those of the people who care about her.

Ian’s shaking his head. “Maybe you’re a normal person who just doesn’t want to be alone.”

I give a sad smirk and grab one of my shoes from under the bed. “There’s a word for that. It’s called
needy.
”

“There’s no shame in needing love. You lost the support systems you had in your childhood. You’re on your own for the first time in your entire life. There’s nothing wrong with looking for emotional support.”

But there’s plenty wrong with taking advantage of the only person who’s willing to give it to you.
He’s the one who taught me that in the first place.

I pull on my second shoe. “I need some time to think.”

A fresh wave of anger flashes in his eyes. “You’ve had two months to think!”

And where has that gotten me? I’m just as confused as I ever was.

“Dammit, Lou,” he goes on. “If you didn’t want me to come here, then you should have said so. If you didn’t want to have sex, then maybe you shouldn’t have waited until I was on top of you to fucking say something.”