Page 50 of Not a Strong Enough Word

I don’t resist. How could I possibly, when every hope and word and dream I’ve ever had has always been so wrapped up in him that I don’t know where I end and he begins? I melt into him, open for him, grab the front of his shirt and desperately angle my head for more.

He breaks away from me, panting, before I’ve gotten nearly enough. Without thinking, I follow his retreat. I’ve gone without him for far too long—a woman on a diet, trying to convince myself that apples are a good substitute for chocolate, and now that I’ve tasted his decadence again, I doubt I’ll ever get enough.

On a moan, he indulges me, meeting my lips with his again, and any concern I may have had about whether or not he has been just as starved as I have is washed away with his kiss.

A whoop sounds from a group of guys passing by us on the sidewalk. Ryan and I both breathe out a laugh. He presses his forehead to mine, and when I open my eyes to look at him, his are still closed, his face calm and happy.

“I’ve never been better off without you,” he says quietly. “I’m going to need you to delete that thought from your storyline and never bring it back.”

I hum, rubbing my forehead gently against his. “Only if you admit you came here because you were jealous.”

Ryan pulls away from me to run a hand through his hair. He rubs it against the back of his neck sheepishly. “Not only did I come here looking for you, I went to two other places beforehand.”

“You what?” I tip my head back and cackle incredulously. “Ryan Whitlock, you are unhinged.”

“I have a lot of tapas in my back seat. I could use some help eating it?” His voice tips up hopefully.

I half laugh, half groan. “I’m starving, and that sounds amazing, but Charles is still waiting for me. He probably thinks he’s important enough to ruin the life of the poor little debut author-girl who left him hanging.”

“Tell him it’s an editorial emergency,” he suggests.

“There’s no such thing.”

“Don’t underestimate me, Scarlett.” Ryan’s eyes darken as he drags them over my face. “When I have editorial notes, the world stops for them.”

I cock an eyebrow, unimpressed. “I’ve dealt with enough toxic male egos for the night, thank you. I don’t need yours, too. I’ll just…tell him I don’t feel well. Hang on.”

As much as it pains me to leave Ryan’s side, I walk back into the restaurant to say my goodbyes. I don’t get more than two steps before I can see the bar where Charles is currently dragging his finger lightly over the arm of a giggling twentysomething. He leans in and whispers something into her ear that makes her practically turn into a puddle on the spot.

I walk right back outside. It seems we’re both going home with someone else, which feels appropriate.

“That was fast,” Ryan says as I grab his hand and interlace our fingers.

“He was occupied. Let’s go.” I tug him toward his car.

It doesn’t take long to get to my apartment, but the whole way there, Ryan clutches my hand like it’s a lifeline. We only let go to get out of the car, then we snap right back together again for the elevator ride up to my floor.

As he clings to me and I to him, I tell myself that I do deserve this. That, sometimes, people do get second chances. And even if there is more to say, now we have time to say it.

Chapter 24

Ryan

We’re silent the whole way to her apartment. Scarlett fumbles with the lock on her door. She laughs at herself, but her hands are shaking as she brings the key back to the lock. I set the bags of food on the floor and gently take the keys from her. Those big blue eyes I fell in love with so many years ago lift to watch my face through her thick eyelashes as I put the key into the lock and turn.

The door pops open, but we remain where we are. Scarlett leans back against the doorframe, her eyelids hooded and her mouth parted.

“If I kiss you again, I’m not going to stop.” My voice is low and rasping. My own heartbeat whooshes in my ears.

Scarlett licks her lips, leaving a shiny coating over the pink of them. “Okay,” she breathes.

“The food will get cold,” I warn.

“I have an oven.” She flashes a lazy smile. “I’m pretty sure it even works.”

I huff and rest my forearm above her head, unable to resist leaning into her and smelling her black-tea scent. God, it has been so long since I’ve smelled her, tasted her. I can barely concentrate. “You make a good point.”

Her eyes trail over my skin, leaving warmth in their wake. “I know,” she says. “Now kiss me.”