Broken Juliet(33)

The curtain pulls back and he’s standing there—jacket open, bare chest, pants half buttoned. His eyes widen when he registers how low cut my dress is.

“Uh … you want me to…?” He gestures with his finger, obviously trying to drag his focus up to my face. He’s successful for about half a second before he drops back to my cleavage. “Uh … help with the … uh…”

“Zipper?”

“Yeah. That. I’ll help you if you help me.”

I turn around and feel him step behind me. He tugs the zipper up to the middle of my back, then warm fingertips brush across my neck as he sweeps my hair over my shoulder. I think I hear him swallow. The zipper protests as he pulls it all the way up, but he gets it done. The bodice is so tight, I can barely breathe. Taking shallow breaths, I turn and press my hands against my waist.

“Jeez, how did women wear these things every day? I feel like my internal organs are going to merge together in a giant blancmange of gross.”

There’s silence.

When I look up, Ethan is staring. The lust in his expression makes a shiver run through me.

“Uh-huh.”

He steps closer, and now it’s not the dress that’s making it hard to breathe. I stare at his neck because I really can’t look at his face. I study the pattern of his scruff and how it gives way to smooth skin. Even now, after all these months, I remember so clearly how that skin tastes. How he used to moan when I nibbled it.

“Cassie?”

“Hmmm?”

“The buttons? Your fingers might be more dexterous than mine.”

“Oh. Right.”

I take the edges of the jacket and pull them together. His chest is too broad, so it’s not easy, and he’s right, the buttons do seem too large for the holes. I struggle with the thick fabric but have success with the bottom few buttons before running into problems.

“Have you put on weight?”

“A bit. I’ve been working out.”

“Boxing?”

He pauses. “Yes. How did you know that?”

I shrug. “Lucky guess.”

I pull again but the button’s not cooperating.

“I can’t get it.”

“Leave it then,” he says, his voice tight. “It’s fine.”

Once more the button pops out. “Dammit!”

“Taylor…” He closes his hand over both of mine. “For God’s sake, just f*cking … stop.”

I freeze. Time slows down.

He’s touching me.

The effect is instantaneous and debilitating. My heart skips into overdrive when he lets out a ragged breath. I stare at his hand covering mine. So alien. So familiar. Wrong and right twisting around each other and into my stomach.

I watch in sick fascination as he rubs his thumb across my knuckles in slow motion. I want to step away, but I’m frozen. I can’t look up at him, afraid of what I’ll do. Or what he’ll do. Even through the thick leather of the jacket I can feel his heart pounding, faster than mine. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, and I know that whatever happens in the next few seconds could very well undo the past eight months of cultivated aloofness.

“Cassie … he groans.”

He presses my hands more firmly against his chest, and my resolve fails. I want to pull the jacket open and press my mouth to his skin. Taste the warmth there before moving up to his neck. He seems to want it, too, because he grips my hands and pushes them beneath the fabric. When my palms press into his bare chest, he inhales so sharply, it’s like he’s in pain.

I close my eyes and seek the strength to stop. I have to. I can’t be like this again. Desperate and needy. The obstacles keeping us apart haven’t changed. Especially not him.

I open my eyes to meet his gaze. It’s searing. Dark and intense and way too compelling.

Resolve, where are you when I need you?

This isn’t him wanting me back. It’s just him wanting me. And me wanting him. Pounding hearts and hormones screaming at us.

I move my hands over his chest and feel the fast pulse beneath it, looking for an excuse to let this happen. To allow me to have his body without needing anything more. To relieve the aching sexual frustration that’s haunted me since the day we broke up.

But there’s no excuse. No alternate reality in which this would make things anything but immeasurably worse.

I curl my fingers into his muscles before I snap back to reality. Finding strength I didn’t know I had, I pull away, embarrassed and irritated. I hate that I’m practically boneless with desire. That one fleeting touch from him can still affect me so completely.

I stare at him and try to find my voice.

He stares back, apparently just as shocked.

“What the hell was that?” Adrenaline is storming through my veins, making me hot and shaky.

He blinks and shakes his head. Angry. With himself or me?

“I have no idea.” His jaw flexes, and he drops his head. “That was f*cking stupid. I … I shouldn’t have—”

“No, you shouldn’t.”

He snaps his head up to look at me. Definitely angry with me this time. “I didn’t see you stepping back too quickly. You were breathing just as hard as I was.”

“That doesn’t mean you can … that we should—” I rake my fingers through my hair. “Goddammit, Ethan, we’re supposed to be past this by now! I shouldn’t feel this way when—”