Lost In Us (Lost 1)

"Then how did you know where I was?"

He hesitates, then flutters his hand as if saying it doesn't matter. But his eyes betray him. They slip sideways. Just for a fraction of a second, but it's enough for me to identify the person the conspiratorial look was meant for. Jess. She doesn't try to hide her part in this conspiracy as she raises her glass in our direction, entangled in her latest victim's arms. My drink is probably long forgotten, as everything usually is when there's a guy involved.

So that's why she was so calm this morning when I told her James had stopped calling, the traitor. I realize on the spot what her siding with him means. I will never see the end of this unless I do talk to him. Or at least pretend to.

"Let's go outside," I say, making sure Jess sees us heading to the staircase.

The line in front of the club is twice as long as when Jess and I were waiting. A bunch of giggling girls stare at James, taking him in from head to toe when we pass them, my existence not deterring them in the slightest.

I walk around the corner, and except for a few garbage cans, it's just us.

"Your minutes are ticking so start talking," I say, folding my arms over my chest, determinedly watching my feet.

"I'm sorry for what happened back at the apartment."

"Not more than I am," I say. Coming out here was a bad idea.

"I didn't know you were… I would've never—"

"Look," I cut him short because every word he utters stings my already shattering heart, "I really don't want to hear any explanations, okay? So if we're done, I'm just going to head back inside."

I step forward and run right into his arm, as he raises it to stop me. The current fizzing through me takes my breath away. I leap back. I can't bear it. His touch. It's electrifying and torturous.

Dangerous.

"We're not done."

I raise my eyes and stare directly into his for the first time tonight. His gaze is no less dangerous than his touch. "Let me go.”

"I want you," he says in a broken voice, and it takes all I have not to melt. Not to forget the tears and pain and let him have what he wishes. What I wish.

"Why, you already got tired of Sophie?" I ask bitterly. "I'm sure Natalie will be happy to take her place."

"Don't do this," he pleads.

"I'm not doing anything. This is how your life is." My voice is getting stronger. "And I don't want to be part of it. It would drive me crazy to wonder who you are with every second we're not together. What am I supposed to do? Go out and try to forget my misery by letting some random guy run his hands all over me?” I recoil at the memory. ”That's not me. I don't want that for me."

He frowns. "I don't want that, either." I can't escape him this time. In a blink of an eye, his arms are around my waist; his body presses me against the cold wall. My arms lay motionless at my side. If I raise them, it'll only be to bring him even closer to me. "I don't want anyone to touch you or dance with you like that," he says in a low voice, his lips inches away from mine. He raises one of his hands and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His hand has a slight tremor to it. His whole body has. "I want you to be mine. Only mine."

It's here again. The illusion. It takes over my mind, my heart, my everything. But there’s something else that keeps me from asking the question. Something that's almost as powerful as the illusion. Fear. When the words finally come out of my mouth, I can barely hear myself.

"Does that mean you also want to be . . . only mine?"

He smiles and leans in, muttering against my cheek. "I do."

Life burns through my veins again as his lips touch mine in a kiss so fierce my whole body responds to it with a frantic desire to touch and kiss every inch of him. So does his. His lips prove it in their furious descent on my neck and my chest. He reaches the neckline of my dress and pulls it down in one swift move, revealing one of my breasts. His tongue around my nipple sends me over the edge with a loud moan.

"No, James, please," I beg, pulling him up and rearranging my dress. Then I launch into another kiss, fiercer than the first one. My hands find their way under his shirt and he's the one moaning when my fingers almost scratch his skin in desperation for more.

We break off gasping, our foreheads together. He pushes away my hands from under his shirt, saying, "Stop, or I'll have you right here."

He takes a step back, putting one finger against his lips, now curled into an uneven smile. Not conceited, the way it usually is. There's something different about it, although I can't say what. This reminds me of the other thing that’s supposed to be different—our newly defined relationship—and my craving for him transforms to excruciating agony again.

"You said you couldn't do commitment," I say.

His smile melts into an aggravated frown. "You think I lied to you just now? Why?"

"To get me in your bed," I whisper, hating myself for how weak I sound. Never show vulnerability. That's one of the few rules on Jess's dating list that I agree with. I cried and sobbed in his arms but that was different. This… this shouldn't be.