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"You don't remember at all?"
Now I was the one shaking my head at him. His careful hedging of the topic had me worrying more and more with each passing second. "I told you I don't remember anything after we left the ER. Look, I'm very sorry if I did some—"
"How about I just show you what you did?"
I swallowed hard. "What did I do?" I asked again, but this time the words came out of me in a fearful whisper…I might not really want him to tell me. Please, God, don't let it have been sex. It would be tragically cruel to have been with James and then have no memory of the experience.
He snaked a hand behind my neck and tugged me in toward him. "You did this," he said just before his lips found mine and took possession of any last scrap of resistance I might've still owned. Didn't matter, because I didn't want to resist him any more than I wanted him to stop.
James was kissing me, and it was real. It wasn't some sexy dream fantasy I'd feel guilty about later, but the real man. The same man who took possession of my heart years ago.
Soft lips framed with just enough stubble to make sure I felt every tiny prick as his mouth came demandingly alive against mine, caressing with a heat that shot straight between my legs. When I felt the press of his tongue at my lips, I opened for him. I wanted him inside me. He thrust past my lips with a forceful tongue that swirled and swept over every place he could reach with it. I loved it all.
James kissed me as if he'd done it before. I believed him, even though I didn't remember what must have been a beautiful experience. My erotic dream made more sense now, but was still infuriatingly void of details.
None of that mattered though. I was lost the instant our mouths connected. Lost and so very busted, because this meant I'd kissed him last night—and not the other way around. Had I done more than kiss him? Did I say or do anything that'd let the genie out of the bottle? There was no putting her back in if I had. Could James know how I felt about him? There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but that time was not now. Right now, I wanted to be kissed by James, and let him take us wherever he might want to go. I wouldn't do a thing to stop him. I wanted this. I wanted him.
I heard myself moan in protest when he slowly pulled away with my bottom lip tugged between his teeth. "Open your eyes and look at me, beautiful," he said with his lips so close I could feel the tiny puffs of air against mine as he formed his words.
Our eyes met, and what I saw in those brown-green orbs told me he wanted this—every bit as much as me.
We stared at each other, both of us probably thinking about how we'd just crossed a line that separated a lifelong friendship from…something with the potential to be a lot more if we were both on the same page. All signs seemed to be pointing that we were indeed reading the same book. Thank God. I didn't think I could take his rejection right now.
I waited for him to make the first move toward talking about it, because that's how James operated. If he wanted to talk, he would.
But he didn't get the chance to say anything because one very distinctive ringtone—the Imperial March from Star Wars—crashed into our magical moment.
"My mom."
"I figured"—his beautiful mouth stretched into a cocky grin as he smirked at me—"and it's a nice ringtone, Win. And before you ask, I already spoke to Caleb about your accident this morning while you were sleeping. He knows, so there's a good chance your mom knows too."
I shut my eyes in frustration, prepping myself to endure my mother's interrogation. The fact she was miles away in Charleston wouldn't help smooth over her worry, either. "Awesome," I said sarcastically.
"They're just concerned about you, Win." He reached for my phone on my bedside table and handed it to me.
I took it from him and tapped the green button, steeling my voice with as much "everything is fine" as I could muster. My mood wasn't helped by James seeming to find the whole thing amusing as hell. Bastard.
"Hi, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving. How are things in Charleston?"
"Well, not very good when I've just been told my daughter has nearly cut her thumb from her hand," she replied with abundant tearful drama—just as I expected.
I counted to five before I said a word.
Calming my mother down from her panic involved James speaking to her for clarification on everything the doctor had said about my injury—none of which I could remember. The idea that it was probably a good thing she wasn't around for the ER trip wasn't lost on either of us. My mom could bring the drama when she wanted to. Still, I knew she loved me and was understandably worried if I'd be okay, and have the full range of movement and nerve function restored. I really hoped for that too when I listened to James's detailed explanations. I had done a number on myself, and the ramifications were startling when absorbing them with a clear head. I remembered virtually nothing of the treatment at the ER—not the diagnosis of the damage to the nerve that served my hand, or the suggested treatment. James had been my savior in so many ways.
"Yes, Madelaine. I'll take care of her today. You don't have to worry, it's already done." James and I shared eye contact as he patiently dealt with my mother. He was so good with people—confident and reassuring. If I didn't already love him after last night, and how he was gently controlling my mother, I would now. "And I was grateful to be here for her. Please don't worry, and enjoy your time in Charleston with your family," he said patiently before handing the phone back to me.
After a final goodbye with promises to speak again tomorrow from Lucas's in a group call, I ended it. There were texts from Caleb, Lucas, and Willow, and a missed call from Wyatt blowing up my phone, so I quickly dealt with those. I texted Wyatt to say it was sweet of him to call me when he was so far away, and that he'd better be home for Christmas or else. Then I sent a group text to the other three and told them I was fine and would see them all tomorrow morning like we'd planned.
Our eyes gravitated back to staring at each other after that. I was grateful he'd been able to deflect my mom so nicely. The alternative wouldn't have been easy or fun.
But my mother wasn't my biggest worry at the moment.
This thing going on between James and me needed to be addressed in some way at least. A kiss to the cheek or forehead is one thing—the kiss he'd just laid on me was entirely another. He'd given me an "I want you" kiss—a "let's get naked and make each other feel good" kiss.
"James, we need to talk about it—"
"But let's not just yet." His answer surprised me. He kept his eyes on me and brushed the back of his index finger up my cheek. I didn't sense any panic or urgency in him—just calm.
