Eight Ways to Ecstasy (14 page)

“I know. I'm sorry.”

The sincerity in his apology made her pause.

She'd been bracing herself. This was the kind of fight she'd heard her parents hash out over and over. Any time her mother tried to raise a concern, her father would escalate, throwing it back in her face, turning it around as if she'd been the one to do something wrong.
She
made him act the way she did—if she were only better, he wouldn't have to get like this…

As the silence stretched out, Rylan reached across the gap between their seats, taking her hand. The warmth of it, the soft kneading of his thumb against her palm, helped ground her.

“It won't happen again,” he promised.

She wanted to believe him, but she couldn't just accept his assurances like that. She had to be clear.

“Back in Paris,” she said, “it was so easy. It was just the two of us. No work, no classes, no…” She gestured in a broad circle at him, as if to encapsulate all the things he'd been hiding back then. “…companies. Or families. Or friends.”

“It was amazing.” He flashed her a soft, nostalgic smile.

“It wasn't real.” Deep in her chest, something cracked. Because it hadn't been. The whirlwind romance, the foreign locale, the abandon with which they had approached it all. “It was a fantasy.”

A fairy tale.

In the real world, you didn't marry your prince. You threw out your remaining shoe and got back to sweeping your chimney.

Voice gravelly, eyes dark, he asked, “Can't it be both?” She raised an eyebrow at him, and he squeezed her palm, dragging her hand in closer so it rested in the space between their seats. “It may have been a fantasy, but for me. The things I felt. The things I feel. They were real.”

Her heart did something complicated in her chest.

What she'd felt had seemed real enough at the time. But now, she didn't know. She'd loved the version of him she'd been allowed to see. Even that hadn't quite been reality.

“Whatever we feel…” She steeled herself. “Whatever we want to happen here. It has to happen around the rest of our lives. I—” Her words got all twisted up on her tongue, but she had to say this. She couldn't let herself be her mother. She couldn't be the old version of herself. Worrying the inside of her lip with her teeth, she blew out a rough breath. “I can't be getting dragged out of art openings just because my—” And she got tripped up again.
My boyfriend.
Was that even who he was to her now? “Because the guy in my life doesn't like the way other men look at me. All the other people in my program were watching. They were
worried
about me.” God, it was going to be such a mess explaining that on Monday.

“I'll do better,” he swore, swooping in, rescuing her from the mess she was making of what she needed to say. “It just…took me by surprise.” The corner of his mouth twisted, somewhere between a wry smile and a frown. “I knew you had a life. Friends. A career. I didn't realize how it would make me feel to see it, though.”

“How's that?” Jealous, obviously.

But instead, he answered, “Proud. And terrified.”

She let that sit on her chest for a moment. “I like the proud part.”

“Well, that part never goes away.” With that, he brought her hand up to his lips and pressed a soft kiss there.

Swallowing, she curled her fingers around his. “We'll see what we can do about the terrified part.”

“I'd like that.”

He let her go, and she returned her hand to her lap to unzip her bag and pulled her keys out. By all rights, this was the point in the evening when she invited him in, and she wanted to. For the first time since their reunion, the idea of sleeping tangled up beside him, of letting him get that close, didn't scare her.

But she wasn't quite sure if she could do it, either.

Apparently, his thoughts had gone to the same place. “Would it be cliché to ask if I could come up and see your etchings?”

Her art was one thing she definitely wasn't ready for him to see, despite the confidence he'd expressed in her before. And that alone told her it wasn't time yet to ask him to stay. “No etchings, sadly.”

“A cup of coffee.”

Her heart was heavy as she said, “Not tonight.”

“Ah.” He set his hand back on the gearshift and glanced away.

She wasn't going to apologize for not being ready. “Maybe next time.”

“All right,” he said, still not quite smiling.

“Rylan…”

He turned to her again, looking over at her side of the car.

And she'd just said no to him. So if she wanted more…She didn't have to wait for him to start everything.

Screwing up her confidence, she undid her seat belt, then leaned over across the space between them. The slight rasp of stubble on his cheek bit into her palm as she cupped his face. Their lips met, and he let her direct the kiss. Let her keep it soft and sweet.

Exactly the way she wanted it, after everything else.

She pulled away after a long minute. “Good night.”

His lips curled up, small but real this time. “Good night.”

He waited until she'd made it into the entryway of her building before he pulled away. At the last second, she very nearly called him back. But in the end, she let him go. It was easier that way. Safer.

It was a reminder that she was really still her own.

Kate scrunched her face up at her phone, neatly dodging another pedestrian on the sidewalk. She was coming off a six-hour shift and heading straight to campus to see if she couldn't get some work done.

And because she needed to rip the Band-Aid off.

The temptation to paint in the comfort of her own apartment had been especially hard to ignore today. But she hadn't seen Liam or any of the other people from her program since Friday night at the gallery opening, and if she didn't face them soon, how was she ever supposed to be able to?

In the back of her mind, she kept picturing the look Liam had given her as Rylan had ushered her out. The worry that had furrowed his brow. She was still trying to figure out how the hell she was going to explain the whole thing to him.

Keeping half an eye on where she was going, she hit the button to reply.

It was a minor miracle, actually. She never had class on Friday, and somehow or other she'd managed to end up with the entire long weekend off from work. It meant the rest of her week was going to be hell, but it might almost be worth it. She'd really be able to dig into this portfolio project, maybe. Get some space in her head at last.

Or she could while it away with Rylan. She mentally rolled her eyes at herself. The man seemed to have a sixth sense about the time she'd budgeted to spend with her sketchbooks and canvases. It was a tension that had plagued them since their first days together in Paris, and it showed no sign of going away any time soon.

Yet another thing they were going to have to figure out if he wanted to try to make a go of it. Be a couple, here in the real world, navigating all the people and things and commitments their lives were filled with.

She was really starting to believe he did.

His reply came through a few seconds later.

Her brows rose about an inch. Did he expect her to believe he'd be doing the move himself?

She'd scarcely thought it before her phone pinged again.

At least she appreciated the honesty.

Will there be beer and pizza?
she asked. Even if he'd hired guys to do the hard work, that was a tradition that transcended social class. Right?

It wasn't exactly what she'd had in mind for her weekend, but it might be sort of fun. She'd never gotten to see the actual place where he lived in Paris, and he hadn't invited her over while he'd been staying at his sister's apartment.

She couldn't decide if that bothered her or not.

Another text came through as she was crossing the street toward the art building.

She considered that for a second.
Your sister?

Her heart beat a little harder. He was really inviting her into his life here. For the very first time, he was asking her to peer behind the curtain. The whole point of this second chance had been for him to prove to her that he was the man she'd fallen for back in Paris—before she'd known the reality of his life. So far, she hadn't gotten to see much beyond what he wanted her to see. Maybe this was her chance.

Before she could second-guess herself, she messaged back,
It's a date
.

Their fourth date, in fact. Officially halfway through the seven he had begged of her. And it felt like they'd barely cracked the surface.

Putting her phone away, she headed in and up the stairs. As she crossed the threshold of the painting studio, she shed her jacket and pulled her bag over her head.

And then came to a screeching halt to find Liam right on the other side of the door.

He looked the same as ever, sandy hair disheveled and tight jeans paint-streaked, but the
way
he looked at her was different. Not quite accusing but…

Disappointed.

Something turned over in her chest. She had plenty of experience with that particular look, thank you very much.

“Hey.” He paused with his own jacket halfway on. “I was just about to go do a coffee run.” He gave her a pointed look. “You want to come with?”

Dammit, she'd just gotten here. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself:
Band-Aid
. “Sure.”

She got her own stuff tugged back on as she turned around. It was a short walk right across the street, and yet it felt like it took about a year. The whole way over, he held his tongue—possibly literally, based on the pinched expression on his face. When they finally had their drinks in hand, he nodded toward an open table in the corner.

He settled into the seat across from her and turned his cup around between his palms. Bracing herself, she sat there, ready to defend Rylan. He wasn't usually so possessive or so antisocial. He was usually charming and insightful and—

“I didn't know you had a boyfriend.”

Oh. Or they could start with that.

She shrugged, fiddling with the cardboard sleeve around her cup. “It's new. Sort of.” She frowned. How much did she really want to get into this? “We had a—a fling, over the summer. We ran into each other a couple of weeks ago and decided to see if there was anything more to it.”

He paused for a second, and then his voice dropped. “You could have told me.”

She'd felt like shit every time she hadn't. “I wasn't sure how much there was to tell.” She hadn't really thought it would last even this long.

“Anything would've been nice. Here I was, thinking…” He trailed off. There was a bitter, wry slant to his mouth.

They hadn't exactly spoken about Liam's interest in her out loud, but there it was, on the table between them now. They'd might as well get it all out.

“I thought so, too. Maybe.” She took a deep breath. She'd resisted putting a label on what was going on between her and Rylan, or apparently even acknowledging it at all. But she couldn't lead Liam on. Even if she had seen some potential between them, Rylan had walked back into her life and reclaimed this piece of her heart she hadn't even realized was waiting for him. The piece he'd crushed, but which had started to beat again the second she'd seen his face. She was working to guard herself harder this time, but there were some things she couldn't deny. “But I'm with Rylan.”

If it fell apart again tomorrow, it still wouldn't leave any room for anyone else. Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.

They sat there in silence for a minute.

Finally, he sighed. “He seems…intense.”

With a half laugh, she agreed, “You have no idea.” It was hard to believe their original affair had been as brief as it was. She'd fallen in with him so quickly, had been swept under by his looks and his charm and the way he touched her. The things he taught her body it could do.

But for all of that intensity, he'd never acted quite the way he had the other night.

She chose her words carefully.
He's not usually like that
had abuse victim written all over it, and she didn't want to paint this in the wrong light. “For what it's worth, he didn't really know about you, either.”

“I may have gotten that,” he said, desert-dry. “Guy has a jealous streak a mile wide, huh?”

“Apparently.” She took a sip of her coffee. Rylan's possessiveness had taken her by surprise, opening her eyes. He'd always been so in control of himself before. Seeing him wild like that…It'd been sexy. And concerning. “I told him after that I wasn't going to stop being friends with you.”

“Well, thank goodness for small favors.” And there was that same wryness again.

Her stomach squirmed. She was being presumptuous, wasn't she? Looking up to meet his gaze, she forced a smile. “If you still want to be, that is.”

He regarded her evenly for a beat, and the uneasiness in her gut went harder. But then one corner of his mouth twitched up. It wasn't as natural as it might have been a few days ago, but when he reached out and mock-punched her on the arm, it felt like pure relief. “Come on. Like I'd ever get through seminar if I didn't have you to joke around with.”

She exhaled out all the breath in her lungs. Okay. She could work with this.

“True story,” she said, voice quiet.

She didn't have all that many people in her life right now. Knowing she had a friend, a guy even, who would stick by her without conditions. Without the promise of sex.

It just meant a lot to her, somehow.