Chapter Seven

I stand from the bench to face Grace, annoyed that she’s so damn determined to dismiss the obvious attraction between us. Does she really think I’m like those assholes she knew in high school? That hurts and pisses me off in equal measure. She’s staring up at me with that defiant glint in her eye again and I flex my fingers at my sides, fighting the urge to grab her and kiss the ever-living shit out of her.

“You can’t seriously think what happened between us was just a fling,” I insist. “Grace, come on! We meet again after all this time by pure chance? You don’t think there’s a little bit of fate at play here?”

Personally, I’m not the kind of guy who usually gives much credence to things like fate or destiny, but seeing her again and finding out she’s Carson’s sister can’t be just a coincidence. It’s too crazy and I’m not going to just pretend it isn’t.

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “Oh, come on, Jensen. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” I growl. “Grace, I have thought about you nearly every day since Miami. That week with you left more of an impact on me than any other experience I’ve ever had with a woman. I’ve never gotten over you.”

Her mouth pops open in surprise, her eyes widening at my admission. I can't tell if she's shocked or horrified, but it’s probably a bit of both. I hadn’t really meant to confess all that to her at this moment in time, but I’m also not willing to let her just walk away from this because she’s got it in her mind that I’m going to treat her like those stupid boys she grew up with.

"That's… Jensen, you're just playing with me," she stammers. "You don't really mean that."

"I've never meant anything more," I assure her, moving closer.

She takes a step back, shaking her head. “I’m not an idiot, Jensen.”

She sounds nervous. Almost afraid. Of me? No, no, that’s not it. Maybe she’s afraid of what she’s feeling right now. If that’s the case, I need to convince her to let go of that fear.

“No,” I reply, closing the distance between us. “You’re not an idiot.”

She puts her hands up and presses them against my chest, but she doesn’t push me away.

“Miami was a fantasy,” she murmurs, gazing up at me with wide eyes. “This is the real world, Jensen. We wouldn’t work in the real world.”

Frustrated, I decide I’m done with words. I take hold of her shoulders and lean down to press my lips against hers in a firm, insistent kiss. I need to remind her just how good we are together and how strong our chemistry really is.

She gasps and goes rigid for a moment, but then she’s melting into me, sliding her hands up my chest to loop around my neck. Moving my hands to her waist, I back her up to the car and set her up on the hood, never breaking our kiss. I step between her legs while sweeping my tongue into her mouth, needing to claim as much of her as I possibly can.

“Jensen,” she gasps against my lips. “This… we shouldn’t…”

“Yes, we should,” I tell her as I move to undo the button and zipper of her pants. “You can’t tell me you didn’t get wet thinking about our time together in Miami. I know you did. Tell me to stop or let me remind you just how good we are.”

She doesn’t stop me as I get her pants loose and I slip my hand inside, past her panties, and touch her slick folds between her legs.

She lets out a hiss of breath and her head falls back. I run my lips along her exposed throat, licking and nibbling as my fingers work her wet folds. She lets out a series of moans and whimpers as she begins to undulate against my hand. She’s just as luscious and eager as she was when we were together in Miami. How many men has she been with since?

I banish the unwelcome thought, not wanting to know. The thought of someone else touching her like this, giving her this pleasure… infuriates me. I focus on her and her reactions to my touch. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips parted, and her eyes closed.

She grips my shoulders, nails punching through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"Jensen," she whispers hoarsely. It's a plea, an accusation, and a sigh all rolled into one.

The sight of her, the sound of her voice saying my name with such aching need, ignites a fire in me. I know this isn’t going to be enough. It’ll never be enough. Never was. Not with her.

"Grace," I murmur as I pull away from her lips to look at her. She blinks at me, her eyes glazed over with desire. "You're mine."

She lets out another soft whimper at my words and buckles against me as an orgasm ripples through her body. Her back arches off the hood of the car as she climaxes against my hand. I don’t stop stroking her, drawing out her orgasm for as long as she lets me. It’s only when she starts to push at my hand and tries to wiggle free that I relent.

Chest heaving, she gazes up at me with a dazed expression and I grin, as I take in her flushed and satisfied appearance. She looks just like she did in Miami. Relaxed, satiated, and peaceful.

“God,” I murmur, “Lynn, you’re beautiful.”

Instantly, the air around us goes cold. She gasps. It takes me a second to realize my mistake, but before I can apologize, she’s already scrambling off the hood of my car, fumbling to get her pants buttoned again. I’m such a goddamn idiot.

“That… that shouldn’t have happened,” she murmurs.

I try to ignore the crushing disappointment settling on my chest.

“Why not?” I ask, stepping closer. She steps back again, tripping slightly over a crack in the pavement. I reach out to steady her but she shrugs off my hand.

“Because…” she starts, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Because this isn’t Miami. This isn’t some beach vacation where we can just…just…”

“Just what?” I press, stepping closer again. This time she doesn’t move away.

“Just…just take me back to the arena,” she insists. “I need to go home.”

My hands clench at my sides. I can still feel the heat of her body seared into my skin, the taste of her lingering on my lips. My chest tightens with a feeling I don’t quite recognize. Is it frustration? Anger? Desperation? Or is it something deeper, something raw and resolute?

"Fine," I mutter, reaching for the car door. "I'll take you back."

The drive to the arena is fraught with tension, the silence in the car heavy and oppressive. I can see her from the corner of my eye, her posture stiff, arms crossed over her chest as if she’s trying to shield herself from me.

When we finally pull up in front of the arena, she’s out of the car before I can say a word. The moment she closes the door behind her, a sense of cold settles over me. I watch as she walks away without a backward glance.

I sit there in the car for what seems like ages, staring at her retreating form until she gets into her own car. A bitter smile tugs at my lips. She’s right; this isn’t Miami. This is real life, where actions have consequences and feelings aren’t so easy to unravel.

One thing is clear: I still want her – need her – despite everything.

Her memory has haunted me. She’s the only woman who’s ever had such a lasting impact on me. She’s gorgeous, but it’s more than that. That week in Miami, she made me laugh and she made me feel things I’ve never experienced before. I felt whole when I was with her, and I hadn’t even realized any part of me was missing before.

With a growl of frustration, I slam my hand against the steering wheel and pull away from the curb, tires screeching against the asphalt.

Grace might not be ready to face our past or admit to what burns between us, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to step aside so easily. We are far from being done with each other.