Page 29 of The Breakup

“Thank you,” I murmured, because I felt like he meant it as a compliment, not a slam.

Then he kissed me. It was a soft, light kiss, a teasing brush of his lips over mine. It was a whisper. Like he was afraid to startle me or break me.

The numbness I had been feeling, then the white-hot anger, both faded. I felt an eerie sense of calm settle over me. Christian’s kiss was like warm honey, slow and sweet. I sighed, feeling relief. Just pure and instant relief.

“It’s like I just lost ten pounds of worry,” I said. “I had no idea how stressed I was.” Well, I had. I just hadn’t realized how amazing it would feel to make a decision to move on. “I feel like I just saved myself from the devil. That sounds so dramatic, but it’s true.”

“Let me rub your shoulders. Sit down at the table.”

I stared at Christian, unsure. “Is that like a code for something kinky?” I needed buildup. Yes, I had flirted with Christian, indicated I wanted to have sex with him, and I did. But maybe not right now.

He let out a crack of laughter. “What? My God, we need to get you the Urban Dictionary app. No, that’s not a code for sex. I’m going to massage the tension out of your shoulders. Sit down.” He pushed me toward the table.

“Really?” I was touched. In my experience men liked to receive massages, not give them. And usually they wanted their head rubbed, as in their penis, not their shoulders.

I sat down, crushing the back of my dress. Not that it mattered. If I didn’t think it had resale value I would set the thing on fire. But my father had paid some serious money for it and I could post it for sale online. So I smoothed the skirt and tried not to fantasize about burning it in a blazing bonfire while I danced naked around it.

Christian had firm, strong hands, yet he didn’t go in and just aggressively knead my muscles. His touch was slow, sensual. I sighed in pleasure. “That feels really good.” I could sense his body behind me, hear his breathing in the quiet cabin.

Another sigh escaped before I could stop it. I hadn’t realized how completely tense the muscles in my neck and shoulders were. They were like steel rods. He bent over and shifted my hair out of the way. When he kissed the back of my neck, I shivered, not from surprise, but because it felt good. For a second I thought he was going to drop his hands down onto my breasts, and I was shocked that I felt a sliver of excited anticipation. I didn’t feel nervous at all.

But he just kept massaging me until I felt like a limp noodle. My head was lobbing to the side.

My dress was the only thing preventing me from totally relaxing. It felt as suffocating as the idea of marrying Bradley had. The corset was crushing my rib cage and the skirt was heavy. “Can you help me take my dress off?” I murmured. “It’s really hot.”

“I would love to.”

I wasn’t trying to be seductive, but I wasn’t unaware of what it would imply. I liked the idea of Christian sweeping me off my feet, making me forget the reality of my life. Even if it wasn’t mind-blowing sex, it would serve its purpose. Yet I had mixed feelings about it. Like revenge sex, it wasn’t really my style.

But it shouldn’t be about Bradley. Nothing should be about Bradley anymore.

I stood up. I wasn’t nervous about Christian seeing me in my underwear. I wore very tiny bikinis on the beach and have decent body confidence. I should, after all the years of low carbs and Pilates and spray tanning. Not to mention ripping hair off where it wasn’t wanted and adding it where it was, with eyelash and hair extensions.

So when Christian started to unlace the corset on the back of my dress, I held the bodice against my breasts so it didn’t fall right away, not out of modesty, but because I couldn’t stand the thought of crushing the dress. I wanted to both destroy the gown and savor it. Maybe that was my life in a nutshell.

“It’s undone. Now what?” Christian said. “I feel like I have to haul you up and out of it or something.”

“It needs to come off over my head, not down my hips. You need to lift it up and over.” I raised my arms straight up.

Christian pulled from the neckline up, but it got stuck around my chin. “Ah,” I said. “Something’s wrong.”

He tugged harder, making me rock on my heels.

“What’s wrong is that this thing is tighter than a straitjacket. What the fuck, how were you even breathing?” Christian sounded genuinely bewildered. “I have to go from the bottom I think.”

He shifted and I felt him gathering the skirt from the hem, his hands brushing over my ankles and calves. He made a sound like he was spitting. “Holy shit, I think I just inhaled a rhinestone.”

I started to laugh, the fabric still enveloping my face. “Swarovski crystals, not rhinestones.” My voice was muffled behind the bodice. “Help, it’s getting hot in here!” Plus I definitely had the giggles from the pure ridiculousness of the whole situation. It was like being slaphappy.

Christian lifted the entire skirt up, gathering it around my waist. Fresh air wafted over my legs and my bare butt. I momentarily worried because I was wearing a thong and that was a teeny bit awkward, but there were gobs of fabric between his face and my ass so I didn’t think he could see a damn thing. I certainly couldn’t. His hands went under the fabric then, without warning, and slid up over my hips.

My laughter choked off. He went up, up, over the sides of my breasts, his forearms holding up the skirt of my dress. I shivered, but then his touch went higher, brushing my cheeks and ears as he lifted the bodice up off my head. The skirt dragged over my face, but the constriction of the corset being gone was a sweet relief. Another second and I was completely free, the only thing obstructing my view and breathing my disheveled hair. I brushed it back. “Oh geez, thanks.”

When I finally shook my hair fully out of my way and blinked, I turned around and held my hands out to take the dress. I wanted to drape it over the chair to preserve it as much as possible. But I forgot how to speak when I saw the look on Christian’s face. He had the dress in his hands but his eyes were on me. His nostrils were flaring, his eyes sweeping over me. He was backing up, taking slow steps away from me.

“What are you doing?” I asked. Was he running away from me? He looked turned on, but where the hell was he going? This was where I was a sexual failure. I couldn’t get a read on him.

“I’m stepping back to get a better view. I want to fully appreciate the perfection that I’m seeing.”

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