Heroic Measures (Blackbridge Security 6)

“You’re here,” she whispers a couple of minutes after she shows the police out of her apartment.

“Where else would I be?”

Her tear-stained face searches mine, and I have honestly no idea what she’s searching for.

I swallow thickly, shoving down all the things I want to say to her. Using this event for my own gain to get closer to her would be a super shitty thing to do, but I’m desperate and consider it.

“Are you going to be okay?” I ask, stepping closer to the closed front door.

“I’m—are you leaving?”

“I think it’s best if—”

“Please don’t go.” She sounds completely broken, but is it even my place to be the one to attempt to pick up all of those pieces and put her back together again?

Unable to resist the pain in her eyes, I reach for her, sighing when she allows me to pull her against my chest. I hold her like that for as long as I can manage, my heart pounding in my chest.

I press my lips to the top of her head before taking a step back.

“You called earlier,” I begin. “What did you want to say?”

She shakes her head. “I can’t even think right now.”

Her hand skates up my chest, and of course my body betrays me by reacting. My breathing grows erratic, my heart pumping more blood south, not leaving enough in my head to think straight.

“Parker,” I whisper. It’s a warning, a plea, letting her know if she pushes this, she’s going to get exactly what she wants.

I also know I’m going to be the one hurting in the morning. It’s just a new rotation of the same vicious circle.

“I just want to get lost, only for a little while.” Her words are barely a whisper, but they seem to bounce off the walls until they repeat themselves over and over like an echo.

“I want a lot of things,” I say with a sigh. “I don’t want you disappearing. I want you to acknowledge me in front of our friends instead of acting as if I don’t exist. Are you ashamed of me? Is that what it is?”

She presses soft fingers to my lips. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

She replaces those fingers with her lips, and I cave. I fold like a shitty hand of cards, like a paper bag trying to hold water.

I’m just done. Done avoiding her. Done keeping distance. Done not giving into base needs even though I know it’s all I’ll ever get from her.

I deepen the kiss, my fingers tangling in her hair as I angle her head to the perfect position. I grip her ass, my fingers clenching the silk of her bridesmaid dress soft against my palm.

Her fingers tug up the hem of my t-shirt, trailing down my quivering abdomen in search of the zipper on my jeans. I release her, taking a step back and watch her shaking hands work. I don’t know if they tremble because she’s still scared or eager to get me naked, but I don’t stop long enough to ask. I rip my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor as the rasp of my zipper fills the heated air around us.

I kick off my shoes just in time for her to shove my jeans down, and those disappear along with my boxers. I’m left standing in the middle of her apartment completely naked with her breathing heavily in front of me still in her dress from the wedding. Her own breathing has changed as well, her breasts swelling and falling with each inhale, and watching her for a few minutes is all the restraint I can manage.

I rip at her dress, snapping the thin straps at her shoulders before tearing the bodice down the middle. It’s an absolute disparity of how she makes me feel, split right down the middle, a constant battle in my head where she’s concerned, the imbalance now leaning toward making the wrong decision in this moment.

“So fucking pretty,” I say as my finger trails over her naked breast, teasing at the furled nipple. She gasps, leaning into my touch, and another war wages inside of me. Do I make love to her like I’ve been longing to do, or do I punish her for breaking my fucking heart?

When I lift her and carry her to her bedroom, I still haven’t made up my mind.

When I lie her back on her sheets, watching her gorgeous blonde hair fan out like a halo around her head, I’m still struggling with the choice.

She looks like an angel, but I know better. She’s the devil, a little minx batting me around like a mouse she hasn’t put out of its misery yet.

I know where I land in her life, and I know nothing of us exists outside of this bedroom. Not that she’s all that I see or all that I want, but that sex is all it ever was and all it will ever be.