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Yeah.
Maybe if I keep repeating it enough, eventually I’ll start to believe it.
But every time that vow we made to let this go echoes in my memory, it feels like the feeblest promise I’ve ever sworn.
I have to forget Chris and the way he burned me down, broken heart and all.
Later, by the time I collapse, sad and exhausted in my lonely bed, I’m too numb to think about anything at all.
* * *
Bam!Bam! Bam!
It’s always bad news when you wake up to a hammering sound in the dead of night.
I sit up, breathless, and peer toward my balcony door, the source of the sound.
Am I dreaming?
Knock-knock-knock!
Nope.
I race to the door, too shocked to worry about the t-shirt and jeans I’ve fallen asleep in.
For a second, the tall, dark figure outside sends fear slashing through me. My fingers are shaking as I reach for the switch that activates the light outside.
There’s no mistaking those shoulders or that crooked grin.
“What are you doing here?” I rush out, pushing the door open.
Chris smiles in the darkness and steps past me, into my room.
He doesn’t say anything with words.
His hands just lock around my waist, pulling me to his slab of a chest, and his mouth lands on mine like a meteor.
The hunger is insatiable.
It’s like our Vegas fling happened years ago.
My whole body vibrates with need.
We stumble toward the bed and he pushes me down, hovering on top of me, pressing his awesome weight into me while twirling my tongue in his.
This kiss could rival a novel, a hundred thousand ways to share the same vicious feelings.
Hunger.
Hurt.
Need.
“Fucking shit, Delia. How can I miss your taste this much when it’s barely been two days?” He breaks away with a guttural rasp.
God, I could ask the same question a thousand times over.
The summer sweat shimmers on his brow, giving his face a polished glow.
