Stealing Her (Covet 1)

His eyes darted to mine then locked on like he was afraid to look away. “You’re right. The man who walked out of that hospital isn’t the same man. I told you, I’ve changed. I’m in this, Izzy.” He cupped my face with his hands. “All you need to know is that I’m in this with you. Okay? I won’t abandon you. I won’t leave you. I’m going to fight like hell for you even though I know you don’t deserve the man who went in that hospital or the one who walked out. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

I gulped. “I saw you today. At the hospital.”

His body completely tensed, and then he pressed a heated kiss to my mouth. “Promise me that tonight I can taste you, and tomorrow you can ask your questions?”

“Why?” Tears filled my eyes.

“Because I’m a fucking selfish bastard, and I want you, just you, right now, without secrets, without questions, you.” He dipped his head and kissed me so hard my head spun.

I clung to him because I needed something to be real and true, and when he kissed me it felt like everything was going to be okay.

He growled against my neck then pulled down my silk boy shorts and jerked my legs apart, disappearing under the covers. I let out a surprised gasp when I felt his tongue between my legs, when his hands dug into my skin. My hips bucked with each flick of his tongue. I gripped the sheets in my hands as my body pulsed with each climbing sensation. I was engulfed in emotion as the image of what he was doing burned into my mind and pounded as the aching tension mounted until his agile fingers took over.

“Julian.” I grabbed his hair. “Now, I need you now.” My thighs quivered as he drank from me, sucked and breached every defense or argument I had just thrown at him. My brain wouldn’t focus. All I felt was him, and all I wanted was more as my cry of release filled the entire room, maybe even the building. It was drugging, the way the waves of my climax rolled over and over again as if my body was still trying to relive and squeeze out every minute.

Julian’s tongue slid across my thigh as he pressed one single kiss there and then hovered over me, his biceps muscles bulging in the moonlight.

“I won’t ever deserve you,” he rasped. “Doesn’t mean I won’t try every damn second of every damn day. You’re special, never let anyone tell you any different. You’re a fighter, stronger than you think. No matter what happens, Izzy, remember that.”

He turned on his side while I was still recovering, my breathing heavy.

My heart sad.

Because that was exactly how the old Julian would have solved the argument, by making me forget, by using my own body and love for him against me.

I didn’t let him see the tear that slid down my cheek, I wiped it away too quickly. And I didn’t let him know how badly he’d hurt me by doing something he thought was a favor when I would have taken the truth instead.

Tears burned the back of my throat as I tried to piece it all together, and when I knew he was finally asleep, I walked into his office and stole the piece of paper with Bridge Anderson’s name on it, right along with the number.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

BRIDGE

I woke up feeling like I had done something irrevocable. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t touch her, and I’d done just the opposite. Worse, I’d done it in a way to prove to her my own worth rather than making it about her.

Selfish didn’t even begin to cover it.

And I could feel it in her posture when she lay down and closed her eyes, when she thought I was sleeping and I could hear her softly weeping.

I had done that.

I’d made her sad.

Not Julian.

I, Bridge Anderson, had done that.

And I couldn’t undo it.

And I couldn’t tell her why because then it would all be for nothing, wouldn’t it? I had no recourse other than to march forward and marry her, ask for forgiveness after the fact, and pray that Julian woke up, soon.

Did it make me a horrible person that when I eventually had sex with her, I wanted her to scream my name, not his?

I rose from bed and went over to the walk-in closet and grabbed a pair of trousers. I carried them with me to the bathroom. While I quickly got ready for the day, I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked just like him, didn’t I? But Izzy knew, she knew something wasn’t right, and I wasn’t sure I could keep my lies straight, wasn’t sure I wanted to.

I looked down at the tattoo on my hand. Mom had let me get it when I was sixteen. I had told her I wanted nothing to do with the Tennyson name, and still I wanted it on my body to remind me of who I was, and who I wasn’t.