That One Moment (Lost in London #2)(35)
She shakes her head and for the first time, I see a look of distress on her face. This bothers me immensely because my characterisation of her was simply a defense mechanism. At that point in time I was trying to get her out of my mind.
Fuck me, I’m a bloody prat.
Her stiff posture causes an ache in my chest. Without thinking, I stand up, strip my gloves off, and stride right over to her. She doesn’t turn to look at me, so I wrench her stool around to face me. When her eyes remain cast downward, I tilt her chin up in an attempt to make her see my sincerity. “I believe I said bright and beautiful if I’m not mistaken.”
She rolls her eyes and purses her lips, still refusing to make eye contact with me. I hate how she’s shutting down because of something daft I said in the moment. I clasp her face, forcing her blues to meet my greys.
“Vi—” I start, attempting to find the perfect words to relay how completely breathtaking she is in so many ways. The wounded vulnerability in her gaze knocks all sense out of my head. When words refuse to come, I lean down and kiss her, willing my lips to do the apologising for me. She groans into my mouth in protest at first. But then she grabs me, holding me tightly against her. Her fingers bite into my tight forearms as her mouth opens, permitting my tongue access to hers.
Actions always did speak louder than words.
Her legs spread and I tuck into the warmth of her, hunching over further to deepen our kiss. My thumbs push back the stray strands of her hair and relish in the suppleness of her round cheeks beneath my touch. Christ, everything about her is so soft. Her lips are smooth and responsive. Plump, pliable, and welcoming me to take every ounce of control I want in this moment. Her submission only excites me more. I press into her knowing that if I wanted to, I could take her…right here, right now. I could yank the straps of her tank down and feast my eyes on the bare beauty of Vi before letting my mouth do the devouring.
But that’s not what this kiss is about. That’s not what she is to me. Vi Harris is so much more than just a potentially soul-altering shag.
Pulling away, I rest my forehead against hers. “Please know, there aren’t enough words for me to describe how utterly intriguing I find you.”
I watch her chest heave at my raw and exposing words. With a sigh, a sweet giggle escapes her moist lips. “Why didn’t you just say so?”
Amused, I drop one final gentle kiss on her lips and then pinch her nose, smirking at how she’s got such an uncanny ability to make my smile grow. I release her and position myself back on my stool. Once I turn away from her, we manage to get back to our task at hand with a charged, heavy silence. My beguilement fades as I realise my grave error. I was so blindly concerned about hurting Vi’s feelings and fixing her misinterpretation that I let my body do the talking instead of my head. She attempts to fill the quietness with mindless chatter, but the entire time, all I can do is chew on my lip and curse myself for being everything I promised I wouldn’t be. When I delivered that speech at the gala, I did it to prove one thing. One universal truth that I wanted to put on public record.
I’m not weak.
I am strong.
Vi Harris has somehow managed to rattle that truth.
Fear seeps into my soul again. If I’m weak with her, what else can get me? Can the darkness swallow me whole again without warning? Can I fall down the tunnel that is my depression? Can I be sucked back into that place I swore I would never return to?
As I walk Vi back to her flat, I feel distracted and distant. I’m not being a complete arse like I was the night of the gala, but I’m definitely different. She looks at me curiously as she stands facing me in the darkened alley. Her eyes are wide and probing…inviting. She wants me to kiss her again and, Christ, do I want to do nothing more. This would be the perfect time to make up for the last kiss I gave her in this very spot, when I left her abruptly with nothing more than a sodding thank you.
But I refrain. I withhold. I find some pittance of restraint and I move back. By the time she steps into the lift, my body is roaring for the bloody doors to close before I crash through them and capture her with my entire body.
Just as she disappears behind the steel, I glance down at my watch and catch it ticking over to 11:11. I exhale a shaky breath and turn to lean against the brick wall. Slamming my eyes shut, I clench my jaw and wish the same wish that I wish I knew how to stop wishing.
DEAR JOHN
The next day at work, I’m shocked when I receive a text from Hayden. I kind of assumed after his rather sudden brush-off last night at my doorstep that he’d go silent on me again. But in fact, he says that he’s wondering if we can get together tonight to continue his countdown. I suggest a coffee shop, but he explained that he’d prefer somewhere more private for what we’ll be discussing.
We settle on meeting at my flat. Wondering what day two of his countdown entails leaves me feeling anxious the entire day at work. He’s obviously keen to get it all out and I’m quite amazed at his tenacity. To re-live, in great detail, the days leading up to an attempted suicide has to be intense for even the most healed survivors. But one thing I’ve learned about Hayden: He doesn’t back down from a challenge.
I would have assumed that learning all of this about him would have tempered my attraction. A cold dose of reality is a sure-fire way to snuff out any sparks. But truth be told, it’s all only adding to the magnetic pull he’s got on me. He’s rich and deep and complicated. So many mysterious layers reside within Hayden Clarke and I’m desperate to reach the centre.