Erasing Faith(59)

Because, as thoroughly as I enjoyed those man-parts, I was in the midst of a rage blackout. Self-restraint had left the building and all bets were off.

He took two more steps toward the door and I realized he wasn’t going to stop. He was actually going to walk away from me again, after everything that had happened between us last night. And that was just… bullshit.

Before I could stop myself, I’d hurled my body — naked as the day I was born — from the bed, scurried around him, and planted myself in front of my closed bedroom door with my hands thrown out to either side, effectively barricading the entire frame. I was panting and glaring and steaming mad, but I didn’t budge, even when Wes stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me like I was a few Fruit Loops short of a box.

“Red, what are—”

“No.”

His eyebrows lifted in question and I could tell he wasn’t sure what to say or where to look. His eyes dilated as they flickered down to take in the sight of my naked body splayed across the doorway like a human blockade. When his gaze returned to mine, it was dark with lust, despite the confusion still pinching his expression.

“I have to—”

“No,” I repeated. “You’re not leaving.”

“Red—”

“Don’t Red me, Wes.” My eyes shot daggers at him. “You’re not doing this again.”

His eyebrows went even higher on his forehead. “Doing what?”

“Running. Throwing up the damn wall.”

“You’re being a little crazy right now,” he said lightly, as though I was fabricating this distance he’d created between us.

He. Did. Not. Just. Call. Me. Crazy.

Whatever expression flashed across my face evidently showed him just how infuriated those words made me. I saw his eyes widen slightly, and he opened his mouth — maybe to apologize, maybe to defend himself, maybe to dig himself into an even deeper hole. I didn’t wait to find out.

“Crazy? Crazy?” I breathed, staring murderously at him. I almost laughed when I saw the semi-terrified look on his face, but managed to contain myself.

Hands planted on my hips, I hauled in a deep breath. His eyes dropped involuntarily to my chest, watching as my breasts heaved up and down. I was tempted to throw my hands up to block his view, but that would’ve showed weakness. Instead, I moved away from the door and sidled closer to him, so only a foot or so separated us. His eyes snapped back to my face.

“You think I’m crazy? Well, maybe I am. You make me crazy, you big idiot.” I glared at him. “Every single time I manage to knock down one of those goddamn walls you’ve constructed, you pull this crap and take a step back from me. Why?”

He opened his mouth to speak but I didn’t let him — I spoke on, answering my own question.

“Because you’re a big idiot. And because there’s something in that big, idiotic brain of yours that tells you to never get close to someone. But that’s too damn bad, Wes, because it’s too late. We’re close. We’re freaking married!” I let out a frustrated scream.

I saw a little of the warmth return to his eyes and I knew I was getting through to him.

“Guess what, Wes?” I whispered fiercely. “You’re mine, and I’m yours. You hear me?”

I took a step closer, so our bodies were flush together — thigh to thigh, chest to chest. The crisp leather of his jacket was cool against my bare flesh, the faint stubble on his jawline was directly before my eyes. When I spoke again, my voice was gentle.

“You can try to run; I’ll chase you. You can try to push me away; I’m not going anywhere.” I leaned toward him and my lips brushed against his as I breathed the words across his mouth. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

He stared at my face for what seemed like forever. The long, breathless moment dragged on as we stood eye to eye, chin to chin — the two stubbornest people to ever walk the earth. Neither willing to cave, neither wanting to admit defeat. I watched his nostrils flare, saw the muscle twitching in his cheek as he clenched his jaw over and over.

When he finally responded, his voice held none of the anger I’d been anticipating. It was soft, full of astonishment and affection — even if his words didn’t match his tone. “You really are pretty f*cking pigheaded, you know that?”

I considered this for a moment, accepted it to be true, and felt a smile twitch my lips up. “Well, you’re pretty f*cking slow on the uptake,” I countered, my voice equally gentle. “But I’m willing to overlook it if you kiss me right this instant.”

“Tell me something, first?” That crooked smile I loved so much was back, and I knew I’d won this round.

“Name it.”

“If there was one place in the world you could go, where would it be?” he teased, calling back memories of our first date.

I grinned against his mouth. “Here. In your arms.”

“Good answer.”

And then, he kissed me.

His arms circled my body and pulled me against him, all gentleness absent from his impatient touch. His grip was rough, nearly bruising, as his hands slid down my spine to the back of my thighs, lifting me off the ground and carrying me backwards toward the bed. My legs wrapped around his waist, my hands found their way into his hair, and — mouths still fused together — we fell back onto the mattress, more than ready to stop bickering and do the only thing we ever seemed to be perfectly in sync on.