Chapter 3

3

Skylar

"No." I shake my head. "No, I don’t." My heart feels like it’s splitting in two. He doesn’t have a steady girlfriend, but he has candidates lined up for the role. Why had I thought a man as handsome, as virile, as sensual, as good-looking, and sexy—gah!—a man who is so everything as Nathan would not have someone special—or many special women—in his life?

My throat closes. A telling heaviness knocks behind my eyes, but I swallow hard and will my emotions away. It’s fine. It’s going to be fine. He still hasn’t met the one, has he? Because I'm the one. I’m his one. I’m not going to just sit around twiddling my thumbs while someone else decides to walk away with my man, not at all. Before I can say anything, there’s a buzzing sound.

Nathan pulls his phone from his pocket, a look of such relief on his features, I almost laugh. Whoa, was he that uncomfortable by the turn the conversation took?

"Ben, yes." He listens for a second. "I’m with Skylar. "

He glances away, as if to ensure he doesn’t look at me by mistake.

"We were talking." He listens again, then shakes his head. "No, nothing important."

And did he just say that what he was talking to me about was nothing important? Grr, how dare he?

"Yes, we’ll be there." He disconnects, slides the phone inside his pocket, and turns to me. "We have to go?—"

"Yes, yes, my friends are waiting. I know that. But you need to apologize first."

He seems taken aback. "Apologize?" He frowns.

"What we were talking about wasn’t 'nothing important.'" I make air quotes with my fingers.

He has the grace to look embarrassed. "Sorry"—he rubs the back of his neck—"I didn’t mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?" I narrow my gaze on his features. I could let him off the hook, but I’m not going to. Sure, I have a thing for this man. I’ve been half in love with him since I was fourteen. Doesn’t mean he can just brush me off like that in a conversation!

"I, uh…" He shuffles his feet and looks like he wishes he were anywhere else but here. I’ve never seen him look anything less than confident. That he seems so uncomfortable is surprising and gives me pause for thought.

I wait, realizing it’s best to let him speak.

He finally meets my gaze and squares his shoulders like he’s made up his mind about something. "I didn’t want Ben to mistake the reason I was in your bedroom, with you."

"Oh." I blink rapidly. I hadn’t expected him to nail the truth in such a straightforward fashion. But he’s a Marine. Of course, he doesn’t muck around. Of course, he calls it like it is.

"But we’re not doing anything wrong." I look around the room, more so he doesn’t spot the little flare of guilt that ignited inside me at his words. Of course, I wanted him in my space. I’m not sure I thought anything would come of it. It's not like he was going to profess he's spent the last few years thinking of me, then throw me down on the bed and ravish me… But I’d hoped, in the privacy of my own space, I’d feel confident enough to tell him a little bit about how I feel about him. "You’re in my bedroom. So what? I've had friends in my room in the past."

"Have you?" He looks at me with disbelief. "You said you don’t have that many friends."

I flush. "Uh, yeah. It doesn’t mean I don’t have any friends. I have enough, and I've even invited a couple of them to my room."

"Including boys?" He looks at me closely.

My stomach flutters. He’s asking about boys. Does that mean he’s jealous? Does that mean he wants to find out if I have a boyfriend? That’s why I asked him if he has a girlfriend, after all. "Of course, that includes boys." I toss my head. "But you can rest assured, I don’t have a boyfriend, at the moment."

"Huh?" He seems taken aback by my freely-offered information. Is it wrong I told him that? I mentally slap my forehead. Damn, I should have held back that particular piece of info. I shouldn’t have laid it all out like that. When am I going to learn to restrain myself?

"You don’t have a boyfriend, at the moment? " he asks slowly.

"Umm, I… I don’t." I begin to play with my hair, then realize it’s a dead giveaway of how uncomfortable I’m feeling. And this, despite telling him the truth. Once again, I can’t help but wish I had a little more life experience. Compared to him, I feel so gauche. Ugh.

"Well, you should."

"Eh?" I stare.

"You’re eighteen. And beautiful. And smart. And well-read." He gestures to all the books in the room. "Some boy is going to come along and fall head over heels for you." A strange look crosses his face as he says that.

Then he wipes it from his features, his expression turning aloof, and somewhat impersonal.

I’ve never seen him use that expression with me before, but instinct tells me, this is how he comes across with his team-members. Without a shadow of a doubt, I know that it’s his game face. And he’s using it with me. It’s a brush off. A polite one. But a brush off, nevertheless.

My cheeks flame. Heat flushes my skin. "I…don’t want a boy," I say through gritted teeth. I don’t want anyone else. I want you. I say that silently. But he might as well have heard it, for his features grow even more remote.

"Ben is waiting for me." He draws himself up to his full height. "It’s best I leave." He turns and heads out of the room.

Why…that… That wanker! I all but came out and told him I feel something for him, and he didn’t even acknowledge it. He pretended he didn’t understand what I was hinting at, when I have no doubt that someone as sharp as him would know exactly what I was trying to say.

"Oh my god, I’m so stupid!" I throw myself on my bed. Aargh! Why did I say that? Why could I not be all mysterious and sophisticated like the other women he must meet? Why could I not stay quiet instead of blabbing out what was on my mind? And why did I have to stare at him like I’ve never seen him before? To be fair, I haven’t seen him for a while—and I certainly haven’t spent so much time with him in such close quarters. I got one chance to make an impression with him and I blew it. I punch my fist into the bed. "I’m so naive. So. So. Naive."

"Yes, you are…but in a good way."

I freeze. Was that— I jackknife into a sitting position to find he’s watching me from the foot of the bed.

"What the—" I scrabble back, until my back is pressed into the headboard. I grab a pillow and hug it to my chest—as if that’s going to hide me from him. It’s bad enough I was having a meltdown, but that he witnessed it is mortifying.

He sees the panic on my face and throws up his hands palms facing me. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I, uh… I realized I shouldn’t have walked away from you like that and decided to come back, only you—" His lips quirk. "You were…talking to yourself."

The heat under my skin turns into a tsunami of embarrassment that crashes over me. I wish I could sink through the bed and through the floor so I wouldn’t have to witness my own humiliation.

"Kill me already." I squeeze my eyes shut. "I am so, so mortified." I hold my pillow up in front of my face so he can’t see it.

"Hey, it’s okay. "

I sense him drawing closer and hug my pillow harder. "It’s not okay, it’s never going to be okay," I moan.

"I can tell you from experience that things are never as bad as they seem." That hint of amusement in his voice is gone. In its place is earnestness.

It’s what makes me raise my head and scowl at him. "I hate it when people older than me say that. It’s not much consolation to hear that because it doesn’t help me at all right now."

His features soften, then he sits down on the bed. My heart kicks into my ribcage. Okay. Okay. Breathe, Bitch. It’s only the man you’ve hero-worshipped from afar, the man who's your brother’s best friend, and fifteen years older than you, and who you haven’t stopped thinking of since you first saw him, who’s not only in your room but also sitting on your bed. My breath comes in short huffs. No, no, I am not going to hyperventilate. I’m not.

"Are you okay?" He scans my features. "You look like you’re about to have another melt down."

I try to answer in the negative, but my voice comes out in a squeak.

His features grow worried. He glances around, spots the jug and glass of water on my nightstand, and moves toward it. He pours me a glass of water and holds it out. "Drink."

My eyebrows shoot up at his bossy tone. Of course, that might be because he’s used to issuing orders. But somehow… I think it’s more than that. I want to protest and tell him I don’t care for his domineering tone, but my body seems to think otherwise. I've already extended my arm. I take the glass from him and take a few sips.

"Drink it all." His stance implies he’ll be happy to stand over me all day, until I obey.

His persistence has nothing to do with how I lift the glass and proceed to drink down the water. I hand the empty glass over to him.

"Good girl."

A flurry of delight courses up my spine. Why is it that praise from him means so much to me? I gulp. My nipples tighten into little spots of delight. My chest rises and falls, and I’m unable to stop the soft hiss of pleasure that escapes me .

His gaze widens. He scrutinizes my features and must realize I’m turned on, for a flicker of awareness flashes in his eyes. He inclines his head, the gesture sharp, and so primal. For a second, he’s the predator and I’m the prey as he watches me carefully. Then once more, that mask descends over his features. He takes a step back. "I came to apologize for walking out on you without an explanation, but my instinct tells me I did the right thing."

"What do you mean?" I rise to my knees.

That causes his expression to turn wary. He puts more distance between us and glances at the door. I know then, if he walks out on me now, I’ll never get the chance to tell him how I feel. So, I burst out, "I want you."

Surprise flashes across his features, followed by what seems like panic. "I’m not sure you know what you’re saying."

"I’m eighteen. I’m an adult. I know what I’m saying."

"My point exactly." He nods. "You’re eighteen. Only eighteen. Still a teen. And I’m?—"

"Ben’s age. You’re thirty-three."

"I’m fifteen years older than you, Skye. And I understand you think you want me."

"I do want you." I release the hold on my pillow, then jump up on my feet on the bed. Even now, I’m not at eye-level with this man. That’s how freakin’ tall he is. And broad. The way his T-shirt clings to the planes of his chest and outlines the musculature of his abs, not to mention how the veins of his arm pop when he raises his arm and runs his fingers through his hair, sparks fireflies in my belly. "And I know my mind. It’s not something I just came up with. It’s… I’ve had a crush on you for years."

"Years?" His eyebrows knit. He looks disturbed. "You were… are a child, Skylar."

"Not anymore. I’ve always been older than my years. Losing a father early can do that to you, Nathan."

He draws in a sharp breath.

"I’m so sorry for your loss, Skye. Truly, I am. But perhaps that’s why you feel so drawn to a man much older than you?"

I recoil like he’s slapped me. "Are you… Are you implying I have Daddy issues?"