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When his big hands settled on the part of my legs where my skirt grazed my thighs, everything inside of me coiled tight with anticipation.
Gerard’s eyes blazed with heat. “Is that so?”
A delicious throbbing ache settled low in my belly, encouraged every time his fingertips danced under the hem of my skirt.
Do it, I mentally begged. Touch me everywhere.
“I am so fucking scared of breaking this,” he surprised me by saying. “Of wrecking what we have.” He shook his head and exhaled a pained breath before saying, “I could sit on the fence for the rest of my life and still be nervous.”
His admission curled around my heart like a blanket of warmth, and I shivered. Because this was his truth. He was lifting the veil inch by tiny inch and giving me an insight into his thought process. “You shouldn’t be afraid to strike out, Gerard.” Reaching down, I stroked his cheek to reassure him. “I would much rather live my life with mistakes under my belt than regrets chipping away at my heart.”
“See, that’s the thing, Claire,” he urged in a pained tone. “I don’t want to be your mistake or your regret.” He pulled up on his elbows, gray eyes burning with sincerity and heat. “I can’t fucking bear the thought of it.”
“You’re not, Gerard,” I replied, holding his beautiful face in my hands. He looked so vulnerable in this moment that it made me physically ache. I wanted to soothe the fear in him. I wanted to chase his demons away. The ones that had been put there from witnessing the breakdown of his parents’ marriage. “You could never be either one of those to me.”
“This past week was fucking horrible,” he admitted in a gruff tone. “Fighting with you puts me in a bad place in my head.” He reached up and tapped his temple for emphasis. “When I’m not with you, it feels like I’ve misplaced a limb. It feels bad, Claire.”
“I know, Gerard,” I replied, desperately trying to ignore the tremor of doom that was building up inside of me. “It’s the same for me.”
“Please don’t let me break this,” he begged, gray eyes locked on mine. “I can’t lose you, Claire.”
“You won’t.” Leaning in close, I touched my forehead to his and whispered, “You couldn’t lose me if you tried, Gerard Gibson.”
A tremor racked through his big body. “That’s really good to hear, Claire Biggs.”
“I’m so with you.” I pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and then pulled back to take his measure. “Are you with me?”
“Yeah,” he replied gruffly, gray eyes locked on mine. “I’m with you.”
“Don’t go again, okay?” I kissed his cheek and reveled in the feel of his arm tightening around me. “Don’t leave me.”
“I won’t,” came his quiet reply.
“I’m serious.” I knotted my fingers in the front of his T-shirt and released a shaky breath. “I need you to stay.”
“And I need to stay,” he agreed, pushing me deeper into the mattress. “So, don’t stop needing me.”
“Never,” I vowed. “You’re my best friend.”
“I know.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re supposed to say it back.”
He smirked. “But what about Cap?”
Snatching up his hand, I placed it on my chest and said, “Does Cap let you touch his boobs?”
“Okay.” Nodding vigorously, he pressed a kiss to my neck. “You’re my number one best friend.”
I closed my eyes and smiled. “That’s better.”
51
You Missed the Clown
CLAIRE
“What the hell, guys?” Shannon exclaimed when we barreled into the kitchen of the manor, laden down with presents, plastered into PVC leather, and about three hours late. “You missed the entire party. We cut the cake hours ago.”
