Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

I rested my chin on his shoulder and tightened my embrace, soaking in his warm strength and hoping he was soaking in mine. I was kind of awkwardly sprawled across him, but I didn’t care.

His voice was hoarse in my ear. “What’s this for?”

I pulled back so I could look deep into his beautiful eyes. “Because you deserve so much better. I hope you know that.”

Michael’s breathing stuttered, and he looked so young all of a sudden. He loosened his right arm but only to cup my cheek. Heat flooded me, and I realized that my impulsiveness had once again gotten me in trouble. “So do you,” he whispered. “You deserve everything.”

His eyes had dropped to my mouth, and his thumb was caressing my skin, drawing closer and closer to my lips.

My own eyes, with a will of their own, lowered to his beautiful mouth.

At the hitch of my breath, I knew when we both became completely aware of every inch of each other. My breasts were crushed against his chest and if I swung my right leg over, I could straddle him in seconds, so every part of us was touching.

I was suddenly so hot, I was burning up.

His mouth was millimeters away from mine. All I had to do was move a tiny bit …

Our lips brushed, and Michael’s arm tightened around me as we both let out a little gasp.

My lower belly flipped, deep, low, and there was a rush of slickness between my legs. I was desperate for his kiss, for his tongue against mine, but it was more. Never had I been so needful of someone. I wanted Michael inside me. I wanted to ride him while he touched me and kissed me.

I wanted that more than I’d ever wanted anything. The want became a red haze over my mind.

Our lips brushed again as I swayed into him.

“Dahlia,” he panted.

We were out of breath, and we’d barely touched each other.

And then Michael’s words from earlier whispered in the back of my mind. “Gary said the same thing. At least I have him. He’s the one person who has always had my back.”

I couldn’t do this! Not to Michael. Not to Gary. But mostly not to Michael. He’d never forgive himself.

Pull back, Dahlia. Pull back before you can’t ever go back.

With every ounce of will inside me, I wrenched myself away from Michael, falling against the passenger side door. “I’m sorry.” I panted hard. “I can’t.”

Michael blinked rapidly as if he was coming out of some kind of spell. Realization dawned, and he squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, Dahlia, I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t.” I didn’t want him to feel guilty about something that hadn’t happened. “We didn’t do anything. We talked, we hugged. End of story.”

He looked like he wanted to argue but whatever he saw in my face made him stop. Instead, he nodded and put on his seat belt. “I’ll take you home.”

I flushed from the memory of that night. Michael had driven me home, the atmosphere between us thick with sexual tension that refused to abate, and I dove out of the car to get away from it. It hadn’t taken long for us to get back on track as friends. I think mostly because we were addicted to each other’s company. Neither of us would admit it, so neither of us knew at the time how the other felt.

But he was my safe haven from the bad blood between my mom and me.

Bad blood I didn’t understand then, and I still didn’t understand now.

Dillon’s death had been the end of whatever possibility my mother and I had of finding our way together. I understood that. I just didn’t understand everything that had come before.

Maybe if I could, I’d find a little bit of peace. And perhaps if I could mend the hurt between Michael and me, I’d get closer to that peace. Facing my mom was the scariest thing to happen to me since returning to Boston.

Facing Michael for the second time, knowing how much he despised me, was just as terrifying. However, I’d faced Mom and survived.

I could survive Michael.

I hoped.