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But then I remember that I'm the first man she's kissed in five years and that it was a fucking amazing kiss.
11
Lilly
"Morning, gorgeous." A hand comes to rest on my shoulder and I can't stop the flinch it causes. I’ve been dreading this since my eyes opened and I replayed our conversation last night. I said too much. And letting him kiss me only made it worse. Now, I can’t get the feel of him out of my head. I'm wearing sunglasses even though the morning sun isn't high or bright enough to really warrant it. He already sees too much. They are my protection from his keen eyes.
He drops into the seat across from me and studies me with a concerned frown on his face. He’s not going to make this easy.
"What's wrong?" His deep, rich, oh so soothing voice travels across the short distance between us and coats me in all of the comfort, desire and camaraderie we shared last night. All of the things I've longed to feel for someone but didn't think I would again.
"Nothing. I'm here, right?" I return curtly before I take a sip of my coffee. I know it’s wrong - the way I'm behaving - but it's for the best. Last night was more than it should have been. This exposure, this trust is dangerous, and the last time I let myself feel it, the consequences were disastrous and life-altering. I haven't even told him the entire truth and yet I wanted to.
"Are you?" he asks me, his voice just as curt.
I let my eyes slide to him and see he's leaning back in his chair. His posture is relaxed, his arms crossed in front of his chest, but he's glaring at me.
"Yes. Look, last night..." I start and trail off. I pluck one of the packets of sugar from the container in front of me and tear it open. I pour it into my already too sweet coffee and stir.
"What about last night?" he says shortly. "I'm not going to fill in the gaps for you. Say it," he says, his tone low and slow. I force myself to meet his eyes and flinch inwardly at the expression of disappointment in them.
I straighten my shoulders and lift my chin in a show of confidence that takes all of my strength to force.
"I'd had too much to drink. I was tired and scared. I don't want anything beyond what I already have."
His eyes shutter, even the anger is gone.
"What do you have?" The mocking sneer in his voice stings.
"My life. My work. My family," I say, counting them out on my fingers, trying to convince myself, as well as him.
"Really? Yesterday, it sounded like you didn't really have much of anything."
My hackles rise.
"One conversation doesn't mean you know me, Harry, and it doesn't give you the right to qualify or define things that you don't understand."
His hand snakes out so fast that I don't see it until it's grasping mine. The fire is back, his dark eyes, the flecks of amber that light a spark in his chocolate brown irises. His grip is tight but not punishing, and I have to stop myself from turning my hand over and linking our fingers.
"I know that I kissed you and you loved it."
I’m grateful for my sunglasses, so I that when my eyes flutter at the memory, he can’t see. Because I did love it. Too much.
"I know you fucking melted into me the minute I touched you."
I shake my head as I feel the betraying sting of frustrated tears behind my eyes.
"And last night, we shared something."
I try to pull my hand back, but he doesn't let me.
"I'm not scared."
"Liar," he whispers. His voice is gentle, but the insult hits me where it hurts.
I bristle at it and hold my ground.
"I don't think any of this is a good idea. I mean, we're going to have to go our separate ways. What's the point of more?" My voice has raised, and the couple at the table next to us stares. I lower my sunglasses down my nose and return their rude stare with a narrowed-eye. They hastily return their focus to their breakfast.
