Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

ZANE

The first time, she thrusts her hand against the windows, banging, banging, banging. Like she's begging one of the trucks outside for help.

But help isn't coming.

There's no Prince Charming with blonde hair galloping around to save her.

There's only me.

The villain. The one who demands complete surrender. Who offers no mercy in return.

In the end, her fists flatten out. Her fingers scrape the smooth glass for purchase, sliding down and making long, alien-type strokes through the fog on the surface.

The sounds she makes are alien too. Some, thinly whimpering. Some, passionately guttural. Some, raw and sensual, like they belong to no particular auditory category. A music all her own. A song made for me.

The second time, she's… well, not ready.

But at least she's not as surprised. Her body zings, back making a perfect arch as she stares at the roof of the car, with her mouth forming a small o. Her hands are gripping my neck and mine are nowhere to be found, disappearing as they are between her thighs.

The third time, I don't give her a break and it turns into a fight. She's grabbing fistfuls of my hair and scratching my shoulders. Biting and kissing are interwoven, one mistaken for the other. She's working her hips like she has a one-woman vendetta against me.

And maybe she does.

Her smile, at least the bit of it I can see while my eyes roll back, is accomplished. As if she'd made it her mission to please me.

I groan her name and she joins me there like she understood the command.

After, Grey withers against me, her face fitted in the crook of my neck. Hot, heavy breaths hit my skin like a drumbeat. I smile lazily as her fingers run through my hair, mindlessly massaging my scalp.

I turn my face a smidge and kiss her temple. "Talk to me."

"Let me… catch my breath first," she pants, easing back.

"I'll take that as a good sign."

"Don't be smug."

"Being smug is a skill of mine, tiger. Among others. But you know that. Obviously."

"You are…" she whispers.

"The best you've ever had?"

"Really annoying."

"Is that code for ‘best you've ever had?'"

I'm relieved when she smiles at me. Relieved when she closes her eyes and lets out a long, satisfied exhale. Her breath is cool, clashing against the hot sweat running down my skin and sticking to my shirt.

I kept my T-shirt on, having learned my lesson from the other night. But Grey seemed to like groping my chest, so I'll have to buy some shirts that are easier to manage with a sling.

She closes her legs and sits sideways on my lap. I bundle her closer, not to get inside her again. Just to feel her skin on mine. Her heat. The way her long, tight curls tickle my bicep.

I never knew a human being could be so precious. If I could, I'd carry her in my back pocket like a drumstick. Take her with me everywhere I go.

"Zane?" she whispers.

"Hm?" I stroke her hair and nuzzle my cheek against the top of her head.

"Thank you."

A thousand suns explode in me all at once.

I didn't know I had a heart.

But the black coal in my chest is melting at those two measly words from Grace Jamieson.

The silence stretches.

Did she fall sleep?

I peer down at her, pushing away the curls that I used to tug her around and maneuver her into position.

She's not sleeping. Yet.

My skin buzzes with adrenaline.

I feel jumpy and Grey must sense it because she swats at me. "Stop moving."

I go still.

Biting down on my bottom lip, I stare out the window. It's impossible to see when the glass is thick with fog, but I can just make out the traffic that's getting heavier on the road.

Grey breathes easy again. Her chest rises and falls on top of mine.

Nerves tie my stomach into knots.

I wasn't worried about this part of my husband duties. Making a woman groan in ecstasy is easy for me. After screwing tons of girls, I've refined my skills through sheer practice. Get off and get going. That was my thing. No cuddles. No kisses. No strings attached.

But this time was different.

Everything is different with this woman.

Grey's been intentionally overlooking how I feel about her. I want her to know I'm serious about us. About our marriage.

This moment seems as perfect as any to tell my wife I love her.

It should be pretty obvious. Given the circumstances. But nothing beats saying the words out loud.

"Grey, actually… I have something I want to tell you."

"‘You're welcome?'"

"Uh… no. I?—"

"I bet this isn't the first time a woman has thanked you for your service," she mumbles sleepily. "No wonder girls are always giggling about you in class."

I freeze and look down at her.

What the hell?

Her saying thank you… I thought she was being vulnerable and admitting that she feels safe with me. What in the Ringo Starr is this?

"You're thanking me… for my service?"

Her eyes burst open and she flings herself backward, face tinged with guilt. "I'm sorry. That sounded so transactional. I didn't mean it like you were a prostitute or… I mean?—"

"Not a prostitute. Just a man-whore, right?" I snap.

"Zane, I didn't mean it like that."

No, she did mean it like that.

I set her not-so-gently off my lap and pull my boxers back up. My body protests immediately, demanding I put Grey and her perfect thighs right back on top of me, but I pull my zipper up instead.

"Why are you so upset?" Her eyes follow me as I move.

"I'm not upset."

"You're sulking like a child."

Every muscle in my body pulls taut. There she goes, calling me a child again.

Before I can think it through, I blurt, "If I'm a child, what does that make you, Miss Jamieson? "

Her expression shuts down immediately. She's like those flowers that close up when you touch them. Except I didn't just touch her where she's sensitive. I trampled her.

Regret floods me instantly.

I know I'm wrong for that.

I know that isn't what we are.

I know it's a gut-punch to even compare us to something that heinous when our relationship is already so hard for her.

And I wish I could take it back.

"Grey…"

Before I can apologize, she blinks a couple times and this stupid mask comes over her face. I can almost taste the plastic.

Shakily, she forces a smile. "Can you step out of the car for a moment, Mr. Cross? I need to change."

There's an entire drum kit pressing into my chest. The words ‘I'm sorry' dangle on the tip of my tongue, but she's probably not going to receive them if I give those words to her now.

"Mr. Cross?"

I'm ‘Mr. Cross' again. Took forever for this woman to call me Zane and now we're back to that cold language.

You started it first, calling her Miss Jamieson.

I blink rapidly.

Even so, I wish she'd scream at me. Throw punches. Slam my face into the window.

I'd deserve it.

But I mean… what is this false composure? What is this wall she's building, that's climbing ten times higher than it was before we slept together?

Running my good hand through my hair a couple times, I step outside the car. I hear Grey shuffling around in there. Putting her panties back on. Her bra. Her pencil skirt. Her Redwood Prep teacher's blouse.

Leaning my head back against the foggy window, I flip my imaginary drumstick around and around.

Damn.

I messed up.

And I don't know how to fix it.