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Chapter Twenty-Two
Nala
I knew before accepting Colton’s invitation to dinner that I didn’t want to be here.
But he asked me at the end of the day, and I’d been thinking about Malcolm. Since I seemed to be doing that too much, I said yes, to prove to myself and maybe to Malcolm that I had a life outside of him.
After almost two hours sitting in an Applebee’s with Colton’s arm around me because he’s the kind of date that sits next to you in the booth and not across, I have done the opposite of forgetting Malcolm. While Colton filled any available airtime with stories and jokes, and questions, I spent most of the evening wondering what Mal would say about everyone around us. We wouldn’t have been in an Applebee’s if he had been there, that much I know. But wherever we would have been, we would have laughed and people watched, talked about something together rather than the rapid-fire question and answer Colton was using as an icebreaker.
It wasn’t fair to compare them, but I couldn’t help myself. Which is why, when I close the door to Colton’s car, I’m almost relieved to see Malcolm walking straight for me.
“Isn’t that your friend?”
Colton puts his hand on the small of my back the same way he did when we were leaving, and I feel the proprietary claim he’s trying to stake. I also know from the way Mal’s eyes narrow that he won’t be stopped.
The thrill that runs through me should make me ashamed, but it doesn’t.
“Nala.”
“Malcolm,” I say. When Colton steps forward and holds out his hand, I roll my eyes at Mal because he just inclines his chin. Never a problem being a dick. “Did you need something?” I ask. “We were just heading up. I have an early class.”
“I need you,” he says, a pointed look at Colton. “For a second,” he adds, but it’s just slow enough we all note the emphasis.
“We’re actually just finishing up a date, man.”
“Great, then you won’t mind.”
Before Colton can protest, I turn to him and smile. “Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you in class?”
It’s a brush-off, and an effective one. I hope the hand I put on his arm softens the blow. “You sure you’re good to get upstairs alone? I can wait.”
I keep smiling. “I’m not the one with a broken leg.”
He hesitates a second longer, and then he leans in and brushes his lips against my cheek. I swear to god Malcolm growls behind me, and it might make me a small person, but I enjoy the sound of it.
Colton leaves, throwing one more look at Mal before heading up the walk and to the stairs. I turn, ready to ask Malcolm what he wants, but I don’t get words out, because he’s lifted me, pulling me against his chest and turning me so my back is pressed against a car. And then, before I can recover from the contact, his lips are swooping down to cover mine, and I can’t think, let alone speak.
I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was a twelve-year-old girl who thought love was as easy as feeling something for someone else. What I felt for Malcolm was bigger than normal crushes, because he was also my friend, one I hurt for, and worried for—one I waited for, even after I lost him.
Now, I’ve just gotten that friend back, and this kiss, as long as I’ve wanted it, terrifies me. Because it consumes me, much like I know my feelings for this man can do.
“Mal,” I say against his lips.
He changes the angle of the kiss, his tongue sweeping out and lapping at my lips until they part, dragging a moan from both of us when he dips inside my mouth to taste. Without prompting, my body trembles, and then it arches against his, seeking the feel of his hands, his hardness, everywhere. Mal hisses, and then bites down on my bottom lip.
“He wouldn’t have made you feel like this.”
My brain is fogged enough that his words take a moment to penetrate. His lips go from my jaw to my neck, hands sliding up my back to meet the skin revealed by my jumper.
Pulling away, I turn my head when he tries to draw me back. “What did you say?”
Undeterred, he uses his tongue on my ear. “He wasn’t strong enough for you, Nalani. He would never have made you tremble like this, or wet like this.” His hand traces down my middle toward my stomach, like he’s headed for the spot between my legs that’s aching, but I shove him away, harder than the first time, and he’s forced to step back or fall.
“Fuck you,” I say, all of the heat zapped from my body. “Is that what this was? A show of machismo? Proof that you could have me if you wanted me?”
“Idowant you.” When he reaches for me, I move back. His eyes darken, and he steps forward again, ignoring my warning shove. That’s Malcolm, always ignoring, bulldozing and lighting things on fire until he gets his way. “And you want me. I know you do,” he says, voice determined. “I could taste it in the way you kissed me, the way you were ready to climb me with just one touch.”
My fist flies out, slamming into his stomach. The contact sings up my arm, and I want to cradle my hand because, shit, that hurt, but I don’t. Instead, I keep my eyes on Mal while he bends down a little to suck in a breath.
