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Sean walks around the unit, rests his hip and elbow nearer to where I stand. His gaze drops to my hands. “Obviously you’re not ready to talk about the pink elephant in the room.”
I shake my head. We should talk. He’s moved on and found someone new. And Ryder is right. But it’s not about fixing it anymore, it’s about giving each other the closure we need to move forward. But it feels so final. After more than a decade, it just isn’t meant to be.
“Would you mind pretending the purple one never happened for a few weeks?” he asks, and I frown. “Only two,” he corrects, “until Stephi goes back to New York?”
“She’s visiting for real?” A bubble of excitement rushes through my blood on his behalf. That’s amazing. He’s waited so long for Stephi to accept he isn’t going back to New York. I’m about to ask what changed Stephi’s mind when I remember how the teenager glared at me earlier today. It was cold enough to put me six-feet under. The bubble bursts. The biggest and most significant change in his life was my absence. That’s why Stephi has decided to visit.
“That's wonderful, Sean.” I beam a smile at him; what else can I do? His relationship with Stephi had deteriorated over the years, if he had a chance to restore it, then I won’t stand in his way. I don’t hate him that much to take his daughter away from him. “Of course I can wait. Last night never happened.”
“Thanks, Ash.” The smile he returns is reward enough in itself. “We’re good at this negotiating thing, me and you.”
Listen to him, I order myself. Stop, thinking about how that smile brightens his dazzling dark eyes.
“When we're not trying to kill each other, I mean.” He laughs, and the deep rumble unsettles the butterflies in my tummy. “Do you think we'd be pushing it if we tried for one more compromise? Let’s say, we play on the same team and, you know, not ruin the wedding.”
I laugh. A girlie laugh I haven’t heard myself make for a long time. Not even with the doctor who was seriously flirting with me in the rehab clinic. Is Sean flirting with me?
It feels like he’s flirting with me, and my natural response is to flirt back. I’m playing with fire, and if I get too close it’s going to burn. “Sure, no problem.”
“Oh?” Sean raises his eyebrows. “It's that easy, is it?”
“Yeah.” I turn to face him. The tug in my spine makes me regret the swift movement. But I ignore it and sing, “It’s all brushed under the rug.”
“So, you'll make no more digs about showbiz reporting. You know, you've got to control your thoughts.”
“Uh-huh.” I tilt my head to look at him from an angle. “Fiery haired, shallow enough to change her eye color, spoiled, self-centered, egotistical, outrageous... and I don’t mean that in a good way... are there anymore?”
“Plastic siren.” He leans closer. Close enough that his whisper brushes against my cheek. “Diva.”
“Oh, yes.” Anger rushes my blood. It’s hard to push the words through my mouth. My voice is so thick that it’s almost a growl in detest. “My personal favorite.” I hold his stare and his eyes dance with amusement as I wrestle the resentment back under control. “See?” My lips curve like he’s given me the most flattering of compliments and I singsong again, “I can keep control of Krystal. I just choose not to.”
“What the—”
I press my finger against his lips. The touch sends an electrical current through me and has an unexpected response on Sean. He gasps beneath my touch. His gaze catches mine. His eyes darkening, pupils widening with desire.
Anticipation sizzles through my bones. All the things that could have happened if Ryder hadn’t stopped us from kissing a few hours ago flash through my mind. What could happen now if we don’t stop baiting each other like this.
I have every intention of removing my finger, but Sean runs his fingers along my bare forearm. His touch feels like silk. My breath grows shallow, and any level-headed objections are lost when Sean’s free hand slips over my waist. He draws me closer. His name is barely audible as his lips brush across mine.
Suddenly, we’re not playing anymore.
I’m not sure I’m breathing. Not sure if my heart is beating. I’m not sure of anything except the sensual gossamer caress of Sean’s lips against mine. It’s as though he’s trying incredibly hard not to dive headfirst into the madness of us all over again. And yet, the restrained butterfly touch sets my blood on fire!
For a moment, I’m calm. For just one second, I know Sean is playing with me. He wants a story… he wants my compliance… hell, he could be doing it for his own pleasure… I don’t really care. I can handle it. But then, his tongue coaxes my lips apart and slides inside my mouth, dueling with my own and blasting me straight to the heavens. I spiral out of control. It’s Sean. The only man I’ve ever loved. And he’s kissing me!
As if he knows I’m spiraling he pulls me closer, holds me tighter. He keeps me from melting into a puddle at his feet.
Free to roam, my hands slide over his arms, his biceps ripple and bunch beneath my touch. My fingers revel in the familiar curves of his shoulder and neck as they climb to where they want to be. The feeling of his cheeks, the rough texture of stubble, unusual for Sean but still—a staggered groan leaves my lips.
He can play with me for a story. I don’t care what his motives are. As long as he plays with me, he can do whatever he wants.
“Sparkle,” he murmurs into my mouth. “I’m sorry, but I have to tell you this—” His lips slam against mine again. It’s a few more moments before he finishes what he’s saying. “I don’t want you anymore.”
“You want to stop?” I ask. I know he doesn’t. So, I set my mouth to the sensitive curve of his throat. He lets out a long low groan as his fingertips dig into my hips. “No? Well, I don’t want you either.”
His mouth slides over mine. It hits me right in the heart. Exploding outwards in a rush of tingles and rightness. Obliterating all sense and reason and shutting down the protective angry voices inside my head. A sigh escapes from my lips as I sink into the kiss.
My arms slide around his neck. My fingers dive into his hair and revel in the silky feel of each strand between them. His arms come around my waist, pulling me closer, drawing me up on tiptoes, and pressing my soft body against the hardness of his.
