admit it, the sudden sense of danger, of wondering if maybe I’d pushed him a little too far, sparked a thrill through me.
“You’re smiling.” He wasn’t. “Do you like to play games, Elle? Is that it?”
Some men like to use their size or their fists to intimidate women. Dan looked angry, but he didn’t touch me. I didn’t move, didn’t retreat. He put a hand on the door frame next to my head.
“I didn’t get you off good enough?”
“That’s not it. You were very good.”
He didn’t look pleased at the compliment. “Not good enough for another round?”
“You didn’t ask me if I wanted to fuck you again,” I said matter-of-factly. “You asked me if I wanted to see you again.”
“You can’t do the first without the second, Elle.”
He was fast. Clever, without being arrogant about it. I liked that. Liked him.
“If you want to fuck—” I began.
“Is that what you want?” His voice dipped lower. “Just a quick fuck?”
“No,” I said. “Sometimes I like them to be slow.”
He put his other hand on my hip, pulling me step by reluctant step against him. “I can give you that.”
He was hard again. I felt him on my belly. I put my arms around his neck and let him press me close along his body.
“Can you?”
He nodded, solemn, hands cupping my ass now to rub me against his erection. “I told you. Whatever you want.”
“It won’t work, you know. It never does. People get attached—”
He laughed. “I won’t get attached.”
I smiled. His bare skin was warm beneath my hands. “Nobody thinks they will. But they always do.”
“And that’s why you don’t date.”
“That’s why.”
He rocked me against him, slowly. “Because men get attached to you.”
“Some have, yes.”
“And you don’t?”
I splayed my fingers on his shoulders, my thumbs stroking the ridge of his collarbone. “I did once.”
He bent his head to run his mouth along my neck. “But other than that, you’ve broken the hearts of scores of fools who got attached to you.”
“I don’t like to think so, no. I’ve tried to avoid it.”
“Why? It doesn’t get you hot, thinking of all those broken hearts in your wake?”
“No.”
“Because…you’d feel guilty.”
“Yes…” The word became a hiss as his tongue stroked my skin.
“And that’s why you don’t date.”
“Haven’t we gone over this?” I looked at him, pushing him away a little to see his face.
“Don’t worry, Elle,” he whispered, pulling me closer again. “I won’t get too attached.”
How can I explain exactly how he made me feel? Even now, looking back, I can remember everything about that moment. The feeling of his hands on me. The scent of him, cologne and sex. The way his mouth curved at the corners and the way the first hint of stubble glinted on his cheeks. I hold a perfect picture of him in my mind: Dan in that moment. The moment he convinced me to stay.
Chapter 05
I had time to regret my decision the next day when I got out of the cab in front of my house wearing the same clothes I’d worn the night before. I’d showered, brushed my teeth, washed my face. But there could be no mistaking the crumples for anything other than the sort of wrinkles your clothes get when they’ve been tossed without ceremony on the floor because you’re about to get well and thoroughly fucked.
“Hi, Miss Kavanagh.” Gavin waited on his own porch steps this time, but as they were scant inches from mine it made little difference. “I thought you might need some more help today with the dining room.”
What I really wanted was to fall face-first into my pillows and go back to sleep. I gave Gavin a narrow smile as I put my key in the lock. He was already behind me.
“It’s so early,” I told him. “Don’t you have anything else you’d like to be doing today? It’s a gorgeous Saturday.”
“Nah.” He watched me fumble with my lock, which sometimes stuck on humid days. “Need some help with that?”
“I got it.” I didn’t. I was tired and he was crowding me, peering over my shoulder to look at the stubborn lock.
“Gavin!”
We both turned. Mrs. Ossley came out onto their front porch, her hands on her hips and a frown contorting what would have otherwise been a pretty face. She stopped when she saw me with her son. Her gaze swept me up and down. I owed her no explanation for my clothes or early-morning return, but that didn’t stop me from feeling I wanted to give her one. Her frown gave way to an insincere smile.
“Gavin,” she said, her voice sweet enough to rot teeth. “Leave Miss Kavanagh alone. You have to get ready to go.”
Gavin backed away from me a step, but didn’t go next door. “I don’t want to go.”
Her smile didn’t waver. “I don’t care what you want to do. Dennis has been talking about this all week.”
Gavin didn’t move toward her, though his entire body seemed to shrink in on itself. “I hate the Civil War, I don’t want to go to the Civil War Museum. It’s going to be boring.” He looked at me. “Besides, I promised Miss Kavanagh I’d help her paint her dining room.”
“Miss Kavanagh,” his mother said through her teeth, “is perfectly capable of painting her own dining room.”
“Yes, Gavin,” I said quietly, meeting her gaze without looking away. “I am. You should do what your mother says. You can help me after I get home from work this week. I’ll be taping off the moldings.”
He muttered and grumbled but hopped down my two concrete steps and took the ones to his house in one stride. He pushed past his mother without a word. She didn’t look at him as he went inside.
We looked across the narrow gap between our porches. She didn’t seem much older than I, despite having a fifteen-year-old son. She still smiled, and at last I relented and smiled at her with as much sincerity as she’d given me.
“Have a good time at the museum,” I told her, finally fitting my key into the lock and opening
