When Stars Collide (Light in the Dark #2) (15 page)

We’re so lost in each other that we don’t even realize someone’s knocking on the window of the truck. It takes a loud smack of their hand and for them to yell, “Hey!” before we notice them.

The McDonald’s employee glares at us like we’re ruining her day. I wonder if it’s the same one that was scared by my use of the word
vagina
.

Xander reluctantly rolls down the window.

“You guys need to go.” She glares. “Or we’re going to call the cops,” she warns.

Xander nods. “We’ll go.”

She stands there, waiting for us to do just that, and Xander lifts me off his lap onto the other seat, looks pointedly at the McDonald’s employee, and puts the truck in reverse.

Once we’re out of the parking lot I dissolve into laughter. “That was
the
best. I thought she might throw a rock or something at us.”

“Rock throwing amuses you?” He glances at me with a smile.

“Not actual rock throwing, just the figurative kind.”

He chuckles. “Uh-huh,” he says, tightening his hand on the wheel. I can’t help but notice the vein running up his arm and the firm set of his jaw, and suddenly I’m completely turned on again.

“I want to kiss you again,” I whisper. I want to do a lot more than kiss him, but I’m scared to say the words out loud—terrified of his reaction, which is stupid, I know. 

He glances at me and the heat in his eyes is unmistakable. “I better drive faster then,” he says, and his eyes flick quickly over my face, zeroing in on my lips, before he glances back at the road. 

I wiggle uncomfortably in the seat, my bare legs sticking to the ice-cream-covered seats. 

When we arrive home, we tumble from the car and into the house. I drop the bag with Prue’s stuff on the counter and before I can turn around, I feel Xander’s hand on my waist. He flips me around and his other hand delves into my hair

 His lips latch onto mine and he kisses me slow, but deep. We’re not in a mad rush like we were in the car and that turns me on even more.

He backs me up until my butt hits the counter and then he lifts me up and I sit on the edge of it. The added height puts me closer to his and he doesn’t have to stretch down as far. I wrap my arms around his neck and my breasts push into his chest. A small moan leaves me when his hands edge slightly up my thighs where my dress has ridden up. 

He moves his lips down my neck and my whole body arches, giving him further access. “Shower,” I pant. “We should shower.”

He stops what he’s doing and pulls away, his body language suddenly cold. I’m surprised by the sudden change. “Oh,” he says solemnly, and from that one word alone, I know he thinks I’ve used that as an excuse to stop things. He goes to step back but I grab ahold of his shirt and tug. He looks at me with a raised brow, waiting for me to explain.

“Together,” I breathe, my eyes reluctantly meeting his. “I meant we should shower together.” 

Immediately, his eyes flood with relief and the coldness leaves his stance. “Fuck, yes,” he growls, and kisses me quickly and slightly rough. He grabs the bone from the bag on the counter beside me and tosses it at Prue where she lies on the floor. “Have fun, girl.” 

And then he picks me up and tosses me over his shoulder caveman style, running up the stairs with me.

My laughter echoes around the stairwell and I swat at his butt. “Put me down!” I try in vain to get out of his arms.

“Not until you’re wet.” He chuckles, and I don’t think he means it sound dirty but it does and I kind of love it.

He pushes open the door to my room and heads straight for the bathroom. Without putting me down, he turns on the shower and we end up inside, fully-clothed. The water beats against me, coursing down my bare legs. 

“Now I can put you down.” He lowers me from his shoulder but keeps his hands on my waist so I don’t slip. I kick off my heels and reach down to toss them out of the tub. Next he gets rid of his shoes. He turns us so his back is to the water and I’m shielded from the spray. His eyes linger on mine as he reaches for the top button of his shirt and slowly slips it through the hole. He moves to the next one, and the next, and all the way down until his shirt is completely undone and the shirt hangs limply from his shoulders. The shower is small, and with the space his large body takes up I don’t have to stretch my arms far to grab ahold of each side of his shirt and push it down his arms. It falls to the floor of the shower with a wet thump. His hair is plastered to his head and I watch the rivulets of water slide down his torso, getting lost in the fabric of his pants. 

I know he’s waiting for me to go next—he won’t push this, won’t push
me
. He wants me to know the power is in my hands, and while I appreciate the gesture, he should know by now that I’m powerless when it comes to him. 

I turn around and tug my hair to the side, exposing the zipper in the back of my dress. I look at him over my shoulder and take pleasure in the darkening in his eyes and the way he bites his lip. He reaches out a tentative hand to the zipper and slowly—oh so slowly—lowers it. My heart races in my chest and I crave his touch more than I ever have anything else. The dress begins to slip from my body and I let it fall, leaving me only in my lacy bra and underwear. 

The dress pools on the floor along with his shirt, and before I can turn around to face him, he cages me in with his large body. The tile wall of the shower is right in front of me, and I brace my hands against it as he towers behind me. He rubs his hands up and down my sides before settling one hand on my stomach and pulling me more firmly against him. I gasp at the feel of him pressing against me and a moan leaves my throat. 

God, I want this. I want him. This isn’t like the frantic night we shared in Vegas. This is raw and real and us. 

I reach my hands up behind me and wrap them around his neck, tugging on the strands of his hair. I tilt my head back and the look on his face nearly undoes me. He looks at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted in the world. 

He moves his hands up my sides and cups my breast. I shiver against him. 

“Please,” I beg. His fingers find the strap of my bra and he undoes the hooks. It goes slack, and I let it fall down my arms. I move aside the shower curtain and toss it out and then do the same with my underwear. 

I turn, facing him, and he eyes me up and down. Maybe I should feel shy beneath his gaze, but the only thing I feel at the moment is beautiful. 

I move forward, pressing my hands to his solid chest and relishing in the slight twitch in his muscles. He’s just as affected by this as I am. 

“Please, tell me you want this,” I breathe the words above the sounds of the water beating against the floor. A drop of water slides down my nose and onto my lip and I lick it away. Xander watches the movement and his Adam’s apple bobs.

“You know I do,” he whispers. “I want
you
so much.”

Hearing those words … They feel surreal. For so long, I thought I was just another girl crushing on her brother’s best friend, but to know that he’s always felt the same feels pretty damn good.

“Good.” I take his face between my hands and kiss him. The spray of the shower covers us both, the water coursing down our bodies. 

Xander pushes me away slightly and removes the last of his clothes.

I stare at him, overwhelmed by the feelings coursing through me. 

This is …
intense
. I never knew it was possible to feel so many things at once.

Fear.

Lust. 

Worry. 

Hope.

Love.

Yes, even love.

“Turn around,” he says gruffly.

I do as he asks and then feel the water wet my hair more fully—since he’d been blocking most of the spray with his Viking-sized body. 

When my hair is soaked, he steps in front of the spray once more and then I hear the sound of him squirting shampoo into his hands. He lathers the shampoo into my hair, working it into my scalp. I’m pretty sure having your hair washed—or brushed—by someone else is one of the best feelings in the world. 

He moves aside and guides me back so he can rinse the soap from my hair. When it’s out, he moves on to conditioner. I feel relaxed, but somehow excited at the same time.

When my hair is clean he moves on to washing my body. He doesn’t try to use it to his advantage to tease me, but it works nevertheless. By the time the soap swirls down the drain, I’m a panting, wanton mess.

He washes his hair next—there’s no way I could reach his head to do it—and the whole time his eyes are locked on mine. Even though he’s not touching me and there’s nothing sexual about what we’re doing, I still think it’s the most erotic moment of my life. There’s something about the waiting and the
knowing
that this person is special. 

It’s not like I have the most colorful sexual history in the world—only a few random fumblings here and there—but somehow I
know
that this is different.

The bond we have is unique, and while I might try to play it off, I honestly can’t deny its potency. 

When we’re both clean he turns off the water and neither of us move, locked in a silent stare down. I think he’s still waiting for me to get scared and blurt an excuse to keep this from happening. But I can’t. I’m tired of running. For years I’ve been running from this and in the last two weeks I’ve been flat out sprinting—and yet somehow, no matter how far or fast I run, I always end up back here with him. That has to tell me something.

He reaches for my cheek, his touch light and tentative, and I relax into him. “I’m scared I’m going to push you away,” he whispers.

“You won’t,” I whisper back. 

He brushes a wet piece of hair from my forehead and searches my eyes to see if my words are true. 

“I don’t know why my heart’s beating so fast,” he murmurs, and grabs my hand placing it over his heart. I can feel it thumping madly and I know mine echoes the same beat in my chest. 

“Because,” I whisper, “this is different than Vegas. This is … This is …”

He places a finger over my lips. “I know.”

We climb out of the shower and he reaches for a towel and hands it to me. I quickly dry my body and he does the same.

We’re not rushed, even though we both know what’s coming. I think we both purposely want to take our time unlike the night in Vegas. I want to remember every second of this, and I never want to forget the way I feel.

I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest as he stares back at me. 

I reach for him first and he picks me up, carrying me swiftly into his room. A moment later the soft feel of the cotton of his sheets presses against my back. 

He releases me and looks down reverently. “We don’t have to—”

I sit up and place my hands on his hips. “Just shut up already.”

He chuckles huskily and lowers his head to kiss me. It starts out slow, just a gentle sweep of his lips, but it quickly grows in intensity. We’re both desperate and aching for the touch of one another. I hold onto his broad shoulders and he angles his large body over mine like a protective shield. 

He pulls his lips from mine with a gasp and presses his nose to my cheek, his lips a breath away from my neck, and whispers, “You have no fucking clue what you do to me.”

I want to tell him that I think I do because he has the same effect on me, but I can’t find the words. 

I lie back on his soft sheets and he rubs his hands along my hips and down the sides of my thighs. My legs fall open and his eyes flash. His face is bathed mostly in shadow, but there’s enough light in the room that I can’t mistake the look on his face and it rocks me to my core. It’s the kind of look you see a man give a woman in the movies—you know, the look where he’s desperate for her and she’s oblivious to the way he sees her, but I’m not oblivious, at least, not now. But in the back of my mind, I recall flashes of this same look he’s given me over the years—a look I’ve ignored or chalked up to something else—but there’s no denying it now. 

I want to yell at myself, and him, for being so stupid for so long—for delaying the inevitable. 

Xander and I are like two stars colliding—I always thought we’d turn into a black hole, but right now, in this moment, I see that’s not it at all. No, we’ve simply merged into one, making a larger, more magnificent star.

We’ve both listened to the voices of others for far too long—denying what we wanted, what we
needed
to not rock the boat. 

Xander came to his senses sooner than I did, because if it was up to me, I would’ve gotten a divorce the morning we woke up in Vegas.

I’m selfishly glad now that he asked me to give him a chance, because what we have isn’t something you find every day. 

I know we still have the whole summer left, and things might change, but right now I’m happy and I think … I think I’m
in
love with him. When you already love someone so deeply it doesn’t take long to take that plunge. It still scares me, though. Loving someone this much is only setting you up to be destroyed.

Xander’s hands move back up my sides and he cups my breasts.

All thoughts leave my mind in that moment, and all that exists is him, me, and the emotion welling in my chest.

He lowers his body over mine and kisses me. The pressure of his lips is nearly bruising, but I love it. 

His hands make a slow journey down my sides and one hand moves dangerously close to the point where I ache for his touch the most. He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine, and I beg silently for him to touch me. 

His tongue slides out to moisten his lips and he swallows thickly, looking me over as I lie across his bed. I wonder if he’s thinking the same thing I am—that I thought we’d never end up at this point. I know we had sex in Vegas but that was far different. Here, where we live, where the reminder will cling to the sheets not just in the morning but
always
, it means more.

My hips buck, seeking his fingers that are still
right there
but impossibly far away at the same time. My whole body is tight with the need for release. I haven’t ever felt this worked up before, and he’s not even touching me yet. I’m terrified that as soon as he does I might go off.