Pushing the Limits (Pushing the Limits, #1)(53)

Fifteen minutes. Fuck it. She wasn’t coming and I wasn’t going to continue to stand here in the freezing cold like a moron. I had a party to go to. A party where there would be plenty of girls willing to give themselves to me and plenty of shit to smoke and enough alcohol to help me forget.

I pushed off the brick wall of the gym, shoving my hands in my jeans pocket for my keys. The door flew open, almost smacking me in the face. I opened my mouth to yell at the * busting out the door, but stopped the moment I came face-to-face with my own personal siren, my nymph—Echo. This time, she wouldn’t walk away.

Wrapping my arms around her, I walked her backward into the brick. “Tell me you chose me, Echo.”

She licked her lips. Those green eyes smoldered, calling me to her. “I chose you.”

For the first time in three years, the coil forever tightened in my gut relaxed. “You will never regret it. I promise.” Letting my hands skim the curve of her waist, I leaned into her soft body.

I wanted her. All of her, but Echo deserved more than a quick thrill and better than a guy like me. Everything needed to be slow and deliberate. I wanted to blow her mind with every touch and every kiss so her every thought always came back to me. I would never touch anyone else again without thinking about her.

I’d promised she would be more and I needed to keep that promise. Tearing myself away, I took her delicate hand in mine and headed toward my car. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

I opened the passenger door and turned to face her. Echo’s innocent eyes were wide with confusion. She shouldn’t be with me. We’d both been through hell, but Echo deserved better. Still, I wasn’t all bad. I used to be good, like her. She needed to know that. “Someplace special.”

“I’M BUYING YOU A COAT.” And I meant it. I opened the car door and slung my leather jacket around her shoulders. “It’s February. Why don’t you ever have a damn jacket on?”

Echo slid her arms through my coat, closing her eyes as she inhaled. When she finally opened them, she fluttered her eyelashes, giving me a look of pure seduction. “Maybe I like wearing yours instead.”

I swallowed. I had plans, and those plans did not involve kissing her against my car. Dammit, she was going to kill me. “Congratulations, it’s yours.”

Her laughter warmed me in ways a jacket couldn’t. “Are you going to be a big pushover now?”

Appeared so. I entwined my fingers with Echo’s and walked her across the empty street, toward the fountain. Red and pink lights lit up the water trickling from the three flowered tiers.

“It’s beautiful.” Echo stared at the fountain, her eyes darting to the different flowers etched in the metal. No, she was beautiful.

“I helped build this.”

“What?”

I motioned toward the houses that encircled the fountain. “The houses. I helped build these houses. My mom and dad were involved with Habitat for Humanity. It’s how they met. Instead of partying in Cancun for spring break, they went to eastern Kentucky and built houses. They got married and kept doing it.”

Echo let go of my hand and stared at the small vinyl houses with porches and swings. My dad had made sure every house had a swing. As she turned completely around, she caught sight of the plaque on the side of the fountain: In memory of David and Sarah Hutchins.

“Your parents?”

My throat tightened, leaving me unable to answer. I nodded.

“Every time I think I’ve got you figured out, Noah, you surprise me.”

Which was why I brought her here. “We didn’t finish that dance.”

Her anxious gaze went to the windows of the small neighborhood. All the shades were drawn. Some had lights on, some didn’t, but no one watched. “Here?”

“Why not?”

Echo’s high heel tapped against the sidewalk, the telltale sign of nerves. I took a deliberate step forward and caught her waist before she could back away from me. My siren had sung to me for way too long, capturing my heart, tempting me with her body, driving me slowly insane. Now, I expected her to pay up.

“Do you hear that?” I asked.

Echo raised an eyebrow when she heard nothing but the sound of water trickling in the fountain. “Hear what?”

I slid my right hand down her arm, cradled her hand against my chest and swayed us from side to side. “The music.”

Her eyes danced. “Maybe you could tell me what I’m supposed to be hearing.”

“Slow drum beat.” With one finger I tapped the beat into the small of her back. “Acoustic guitar.” I leaned down and hummed my favorite song in her ear. Her sweet cinnamon smell intoxicated me.

She relaxed, fitting perfectly into my body. In the crisp, cold February air, we swayed together, moving to our own personal beat. For one moment, we escaped hell. No teachers, no therapist, no well-meaning friends, no nightmares—just the two of us, dancing.

My song ended, my finger stopped tapping the beat, and we ceased swaying from side to side. She held perfectly still, keeping her hand in mine, her head resting on my shoulder. I nuzzled into the warmth of her silky curls, tightening my hold on her. Echo was becoming essential, like air.

I eased my hand to her chin, lifting her face toward me. My thumb caressed her warm, smooth cheek. My heart beat faster. A ghost of that siren smile graced her lips as she tilted her head closer to mine, creating the undeniable pull of the sailor lost at sea to the beautiful goddess calling him home.