Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(33)

She tentatively places her hands on my hips, her fingers curling into the waistband of my jeans. Having her hands on me sends little darts of fire throughout my insides, making me harden in an instant. She has no idea what sort of effect she has on me. How much restraint I’m using at this very moment not to throw her over my shoulder like an oversexed caveman and cart her off to my bedroom.

“But it can be no more than friendship with added . . . benefits.” I lift my head so I can look into her troubled gaze. She doesn’t like what I have to say and I don’t like it either, but I have to be honest. Stringing her along and making her believe this is something more is a mistake.

The two of us together would never work. I’m too damn selfish. I’d disappoint her. I’d hold her back when she needs her freedom. I’m not worthy of her. She’s everything sweet and good in my life, where there’s little sweet and good remaining.

I’ve kept her—and our relationship—as pure as possible even after all of these years. With the realization that she’s leaving me, that we’ll never be together again, I need to take my opportunities where I can.

Jen bites her lip and drops her gaze. “I can handle that.”

Her body language is more than telling me she doesn’t really want to handle that, but I can’t worry about it now.

I want her too damn much.

Chapter 11

Jen

What Colin is offering me is exactly what he offers every other woman who’s flitted in and out of his life. A temporary affair, something meaningless and conveniently disposable, since that’s all he can handle.

I’m the one who offered first. I have no one to blame but myself. So for once, I’ll take what I can get and screw the consequences. I want him, any way I can get him. The constant fight, the push-pull between us, has grown old.

My new mantra floats through my mind again and again.

Be free. Let go.

Bracing my hands on his hips, I lift up on tiptoe and brush my mouth against his. The kiss is soft, as chaste as can be, and he holds himself completely still. Almost as if he fears I’ll pull away from him if he makes a sudden move.

But that’s exactly what I want him to do. Make a move. Show that he wants me, anything to get this started between us. It’s been building for so long I’m not quite sure how to approach it.

I sometimes wonder if he pushes me away because I was a stripper. And that’s not even the worst of it. So I must work my hardest to keep my secret to myself. Even Fable doesn’t know the worst of it. No one ever will if I have my choice.

I push all negative thoughts of my recent past aside and kiss him again, my lips moving over his in gentle exploration. They’re soft, full, and damp, and he tastes like absolute heaven. He grabs hold of my waist when I wobble toward him, our chests brushing, and I hear his quick intake of breath. That tiny sound, the way his body tightens completely beneath my grip, fills me with a rush of power that’s positively heady.

He reacts to me. He wants me. Maybe just as bad as I want him.

Without saying a word he grabs hold of my waist, and I gasp when he picks me up and deposits me on the countertop. I’m above him now, though not by much considering he’s so tall. I stare into his eyes, winding my arms around his neck, my fingers sliding into his silky, soft hair. Those gorgeous blue eyes look back at me and I lean down, kissing him again. Groaning when his tongue swipes along my bottom lip, then nips at it with the edge of his teeth. A jolt moves through me at the deliciously sensual contact and I’m instantly hungry for more.

So much more. More than he’ll ever be able to give me. But I can deal with that.

“Open up, Jenny,” he whispers against my mouth, his voice husky and full of promise. No one calls me Jenny anymore. I put a stop to it when I was in the eighth grade, but hearing him say it sends a thrill running down my spine. “Let me in.”

I part my lips at his command and he slides his tongue against mine, the kiss turning instantly hot. Deep. I cling to him as he steps closer to the counter, my knees bracketing his hips, his arms circling around my middle. He splays his big hands across my back, holding me firm as his mouth consumes mine.

This is exactly how I imagined it would be between us. Hot. All-consuming. Overwhelming. I hear muffled whimpers and realize I’m the one who’s making them. An ache has started between my legs while he skims his hands all over me, his mouth fused with mine. I want more. More touching, more kissing, more skin-on-skin contact. We’re trying to get close, closer and closer, and I slide my hand down the wide expanse of his back, slipping my fingers beneath his shirt so I can touch bare, smooth skin.

He tears his mouth away to break the kiss, panting against my cheek as if he needs the break. I know I do. My emotions, my everything, are a jumble in my head, though I wouldn’t have it any other way. “Tell me to stop right now,” he says, his voice harsh. He’s out of breath, looking so completely worked up I can’t help but be pleased knowing I’m the one who did that to him. “And I’ll walk away.”

If he walks away I’ll kill him . . .

God, look at me. The man toys with my emotions so bad he’s pushing me to violence. “I don’t want you to stop,” I say, shaking my head.

His hands shift so they’re in front of me, his fingers toying with the tiny pearl buttons of my shirt. “I’ve waited for this moment for what feels like forever.”