The Fortunate Ones

“I thought I had gotten to know the real you, but if you’re actually choosing to be with someone like Lacy, I don’t know what to believe.”

He leans forward so there’s no chance I miss his next words. “You know what I don’t believe? I don’t believe you want to go to Spain half as badly as you say you do.”

“Are you really with her?”

“Are you really moving to Spain? The thing is, I don’t think this is about Lacy or Spain. I think you came here looking for a fight.” Then he goes one step further. “I think you like it.”

“I don’t need you playing shrink,” I groan, turning away and breaking eye contact. It feels good to regain some composure, though it doesn’t last long.

“You’re the one who came to my house,” he points out with a haughty tone.

“To drop off the bike!”

“Yeah, that’s done,” he tells me with a knowing gleam in his eyes. It’s like he sees right through my motives, which is infuriating considering I can hardly see them for myself. “So why are you still standing here?”

“Because you’re pissing me off,” I reply without missing a beat.

A slow-spreading smirk transforms his steely features.

“Then it’s probably best that you go,” he says, rounding the side of the island toward me. “I’m sure you have a lot of packing to do.”

HE’S KICKING ME OUT!

I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin in self-preservation. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Looks like I’ll be going to Spain with a shitload of baggage.”

“Good. I’ll walk you out,” he says, wrapping his hand around my elbow in an unyielding grip and all but dragging me down the hallway after him. I try to yank my arm away but he’s doesn’t budge.

“I can walk out by myself!”

And to think I actually once liked this man.

At the door, he holds my handwritten note out for me. “Don’t forget this.”

I snatch it out of his hand and crinkle it into a tiny ball. “I can’t stand you.”

“Good.” My angry outburst bounces off him. “How are you getting home?”

“I’ll walk,” I snap.

“Right, well make sure to take main roads,” he says with a tone of bored disinterest.

It’s the last straw. I curse under my breath and turn to perform a frustrated walk-run down his front path. I have visions of inflicting property damage on the way out, maybe dropkicking the mailbox or shredding a few of his precious hedges. I’m halfway to the road when he reaches me with his long strides. I’m not even aware he’s chasing after me until he spins me around and captures my wrists in a vice-like grip. With one hard tug, he draws me against him until our bodies are flush.

My mouth is open to shout at him yet again, but his lips crash down against mine in a punishing kiss. I struggle against him and his mouth turns merciless. I’m angry—livid, in fact. Tears of exhaustion and rage slide down my cheeks. I want my freedom, and I’m prepared to get it by any means possible. I even try one well-placed stomp on his foot, but he evades my assault and I grow still, defeated, allowing his lips to move over mine with fierce tenderness. Eventually, sick of my games, he pulls back and cradles my face between his hands. I’m trembling, and his stormy eyes are seeking honesty in mine. I refuse to give it to him. My gaze narrows, focusing all the anger my mouth refuses to produce.

His mouth descends toward mine again, and this time, he kisses me with such gentle affection that I can feel my heart breaking. My competing emotions riot inside of me at the precise moment he coaxes my lips apart. Wild sparks jolt through my body as his tongue slides over mine, forcing me into perfect compliance for fear that he’ll pull back and end the kiss at any moment.

He doesn’t drag me back inside, but I wish he had, because when the front door closes behind me, I have no one to blame but myself.

James takes my hand and leads me wordlessly through his house. We pass empty room after empty room, and then we step into his bedroom and he lets go of my hand to close the door behind us. It feels like a pointed move on his part, as if by shutting the door, he might be able to block out the problems of the past and future for just a little longer. In this room, it’s just him and me, just now.

I’m shocked to see furniture in this room—well, just a bed, but it’s better than nothing. I wouldn’t put it past James to sleep on a mattress he tossed onto the ground in his palatial mansion.

Sitting in the center of the large room, there’s a dark four-poster bed with a fluffy white duvet cover that sits slightly askew. I can’t help but laugh.