Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

As for Michael’s reason for bringing Nina? I nodded reluctantly because I could understand that. Still, he hadn’t answered my previous question. “Why didn’t you try to find me?”

Something I didn’t understand turned his gaze heavy. “I didn’t want to.”

I gasped, the words slicing through me.

Well, I’d asked, hadn’t I?

Feeling numb, or rather wishing I’d feel numb, I moved to walk past him. To leave. To go home to Hartwell where I could lick my wounds in peace.

Before I could, Michael grabbed my upper arm, hauling me against him. His tortured expression was hard to take. “You left me.” His words caught like stinging cuts on my lips. “You left me, and I was so in love with you. I didn’t want to find you because you broke my heart, Dahlia. You broke my fuckin’ heart.”

Tears flooded my eyes as a tsunami of longing and pain filled me.

He’d never told me loved me.

We both knew we felt it—or I hoped, at least—but there had never been a right time to confess it.

Until now, I guess.

“I blame you,” he said, shaking me gently. “Do you get that? I blame you for this empty life you left me with.”

“Stop,” I demanded, trying to pull away. I didn’t want to get sucked into another vortex of unrelenting guilt.

“Why should I stop?” he said, drawing me closer. “I don’t want to stop until you’re out of my blood. Why can’t I get you out of me, huh? I want you out.”

“Then let me go,” I whispered.

His grip on me only tightened, his expression fierce with something else as he watched my tears fall. “There could be another way.”

Seeing the heat in his dark eyes, understanding flooded me. A flush spread across my cheeks and neck, traveling lower. I wanted to shake my head, say no, but I also absolutely did not.

Hadn’t I known this was what would happen if he brought me here?

I think, despite knowing how stupid it was, I’d anticipated this with a thrill I couldn’t deny.

Michael curled his hand around the nape of my neck and drew me tight to him. The fever that crawled through me burned hotter, awakening my body inch by inch in a way only Michael Sullivan’s touch could. His other hand slid down my back to cup my ass. His erection dug into my stomach, and a flush of wet slickened between my thighs. Oh my God. I trembled under his intense study.

“Think about it. We never got a chance to fuck. What if that’s all this is? What if it’s just physical goddamn frustration?”

I shivered in his arms. “You know that’s not true.”

“Yeah? Maybe, maybe not. But we could stand here all night, yelling at each other, trying to find ways to dig out all the pain, or I could throw you on my bed, and we could fuck out all the anger and hurt.”

I lowered my eyes because even though my mind was screaming what a bad idea it was, there was a part of me that wanted to know. To know what it would be like to have Michael inside of me.

If I looked at him, my body, my desire, would win over my good sense.

My breath hitched as Michael took my silence for acquiescence and flicked the button open on the top of my jeans. I froze at the abrupt sexual action as he slid the zipper down and gently slipped his hand beneath my underwear. Surprised and turned on, I made a guttural sound, my hands grabbing onto his upper arms for support as he pushed through my wet to touch my clit.

He grunted and pressed his forehead to my temple and continued to rub my clit. Now he knew that merely arguing with him got me as ready as goddamn foreplay.

I tried to stop undulating against his touch, but the pleasure was tightening between my legs. My fingers bit into his arms. “Mich—”

He covered my mouth with his, hungrily kissing the rest of my resistance out of me. Then I was up in his arms, my legs wrapped around his waist, and he carried me into the bedroom.

In my haze of lust, of need, I was ready to be thrown on the bed and screwed six ways till Sunday. Yet Michael surprised me.

He broke our kiss and lowered me to my feet at the foot of his bed.