Tough Enough (Tall, Dark, and Dangerous #2)(34)

The arguments are the same stilted ones I would use if this were the real Rogan talking to the real me, trying to convince me to let go of my hang-ups.

“Liar. You can. And this is something that you—”

“If they ever find out . . . If anyone ever knows . . .”

“It’s too late for that, sweetheart. You’re already mine.”

“I’m not yours yet. There’s still time.”

“No, there’s not. I’m going to kiss you. Kiss you like you need to be kissed. Like you’ve always wanted to be kissed. And in a week’s time, I’ll be back. On that night, you’ll have a decision to make.”

My heartbeat is a tap dance, a clickity-clack against my ribs. My pulse is a song that plays its quickened rhythm just for Rogan. It doesn’t seem to matter that these are just lines from a show. From a single scene. It doesn’t seem to matter that they’re someone else’s words about other people’s lives. Even though I’m not Becca and he’s not Drago, even though they’re not even real, my insides are trembling like loose leaves in the autumn breeze.

“Can I finish?” Rogan’s words are his own, soft whispers carried to me on breath that teases my cheek.

“Finish what?” I ask, equally softly.

“Finish the scene.”

Here in the dark, pretending to be someone I’m not, I can be brave. I can keep hidden that which taunts me every time I look in the mirror. I can taste fearlessly, behave recklessly. Just this once. Only in the dark.

Fight to survive. Fight to live.

Just this once, maybe I can live again.

“Yes,” I breathe.

The syllable has barely left my lips when his mouth drops to cover mine. It dies in the darkness, consumed instantly by the fire of what’s between us. There’s no tentativeness, no hesitation. No wading in slowly after what happened before. There is only heat and want.

His lips move over mine in a moist, hot dance that’s meant to do one thing—incite. And it’s working. Already, my chest is tight with my heaving breath and my body wants to lean into his.

When Rogan tilts his head to one side, deepening the kiss, I wind my arms around his neck and dive in with him, letting go with an abandon that I haven’t felt in years. I part my lips and he enters my mouth with one long lick and a groan that vibrates along my tongue.

With one big hand cupping the back of my head, he slides the other down my back to curl around my waist and hold me to him. I feel every sharp ridge and every hard plane of his body, pressing against mine from nipple to knee, and something inside me melts.

I ease my restless fingers into Rogan’s short, spiky hair. It’s soft and silky, yet prickly enough to tease my palms. When I run my tongue along the side of his, Rogan moves both hands up to cup my face, pulling his mouth away from mine and staring down into my eyes for long, toe-curling seconds.

“God, how you make me want,” he growls, tipping my chin up with his thumbs, holding me still for his delicious torture. “To taste,” he says, licking and sucking at my lips. “To feel.” His fingers thread into my hair, pushing it over my shoulders and moving it away from my neck. I tip my head slightly to the left, exposing only the right side. He strokes the pads of his fingers down my throat, stopping at the edge of my shirt to dip them just inside. Chills radiate from his touch like flame, scorching the skin of my chest and making my breasts throb. “I want to know all your secrets. To strip you down. Lay you bare. Just for me.” His lips trail from the corner of my mouth, across my cheek to my ear. “Would you like that?” he whispers, his hot breath teasing the shell.

His words . . . God! They’re so tempting. He’s so tempting. I’d give anything to be able to just let go and be with him. No worries, no insecurities, just wet kisses and sweaty skin. But he has no idea what he’d be exposing, what he’d be baring if I let him strip me. Because if he did, he wouldn’t want me at all.

“You don’t want to do that,” I mumble, wishing I didn’t have to think or fear or know.

“Darlin’, if you could see inside my head, you wouldn’t doubt it. You’d see. You’d see just how much I do want to do that.”

“Not everyone is Hollywood perfect.”

At that, Rogan stills. With his lips pressed to my pulse and his palm pressed to the swell of my breast, he stops for a second and then raises his head. “There’s no such thing as perfect. Everyone has flaws.”

I’m glad he can’t see the sad smile I offer. “Some worse than others.”

Rogan brings his hands back to my face, his thumbs drawing soothing arcs over my cheekbones. “Show me your worst. It won’t matter. I’ll want you anyway.”

Lies. He can’t possibly know that. Because he can’t possibly know me.

Reality rushes in and the spell is broken. All too soon, I’m reminded that this was just one moment in time. Perfect yet fleeting, which is all it can ever be for someone like me. In the harsh light of actuality, nothing has changed. Not from today or yesterday or two weeks ago. Rogan is still a star and I’m still a ruin.

I take a step back, lowering my face and pulling my hair back around to its customary place, hiding behind the thick wave like I’ve done for so long. “Well, I guess I’d better get going. I think you’ve got this scene mastered.”