Page 33 of Hidden With You

I realize I’m holding my breath. I swallow and look at my legs and torso, hidden under the sheet. At this body of mine that is craving. Wanting. “To feel,” I say. “There’s a sizzle with you. Electricity. I think you feel it, too, and I crave it. I really do.” I draw in a breath but then rush on, afraid he’ll say something before I can get it all out. “I want to feel that. I want the burn. I go out into the world, and everyone thinks that I’m so sparkly and full of sunshine, but I’m not. I’m dark and I’m alone, and I want to feel loved.”

He closes his eyes, and I’m afraid I’ve gone too far.

“Sex isn’t love.”

“Maybe it’s as close as I can get.”

“Don’t say that.”

“Believe me. I wish I hadn’t.” I want to hit myself. I sound like I’m on a goddamn psychiatrist’s couch. But there’s something about this man that makes me want to share my secrets. And not just secrets, my angst. My trauma. My psychosis.

“I’m messed up,” I continue. “Obviously. I put on a good show, but you came into my room to say goodnight, and I start spewing off about sleeping with you. Clearly, I’m a basket case.”

“Would it help if I said that I think you’re incredible?”

His words catch my attention, but his tone fills my soul. “You have very poor judgment.”

“No, I don’t. Say ‘Thank you, Jasper.’”

I swallow. “Thank you, Jasper.”

He comes and sits on the side of my bed, so close that his hip brushes my covered thigh. “What do you want, Zelda? Right now, what do you want?”

My heart pounds, my skin tingles, and my nipples are so tight he can probably see them even under the tank and the sheet.

“What I don’t want is a relationship,” I say, speaking rapid-fire fast. “Not that it matters, because nothing’s going to happen between us, because I’m too young, and you’re too old, and I’m hiring the company you work for. All of which are valid reasons even if they are stupid.”

He laughs.

“What?”

“For someone who tries so hard to tell me she’s not young, that sounded pretty much like a teenager.”

I reach over for one of the small pillows that decorate the bed, then smack him lightly on the head. “Do you want to have a real conversation or not?”

“Not if you’re going to assault me. Why don’t you want a relationship?”

“Why don’t you?”

His mouth curves into a grin. “I asked you first.”

“Now who’s acting like a teenager?”

He stares me down.

“Fine. I don’t want one because they’re not real. They don’t last. People die or they leave.” I think about Mark, my first boyfriend. I’d been twelve years old and we’d been best friends and so in love. At least, what passed for love at twelve, and I’d thought that being with him would fix everything that was bad about being in my house.

Then one day, he died. Turned out he had a defect in his heart, and he was just gone. I never trusted life again. It was too cavalier. Life had taken Mark and left me broken.

The only good thing that came out of it was Twisted Destiny, the series he inspired. I pumped that out of me over the course of several months of pain and loss and loneliness and do-it-yourself therapy with my fingers on a keyboard.

I’d said none of that aloud, but Jasper’s looking at me like he heard it all. “Some relationships last,” he says, and I snort, thinking of every failed date, every friend that moved away. And thinking of my mom and Carter, who just didn’t give a crap.

“Look at Ryan and Jamie.”

I shrug.

“Or Nikki and Damien Stark. They’ve been through hell, at least according to everything I’ve read in the newspapers. And they seem to be going strong. I know a lot of people with strong relationships.”