Take This Regret (35 page)

Instead, I glanced over at her and smiled and found an excuse to keep her for a few minutes more. “Tel me about tonight?”

I watched the movement of her mouth as she told me about her party, her friends, family, the things that were said, and the things that were done. I watched as she brought the glass to her lips again and again. Time ticked on, topics changed, drifted to old col ege stories, the places we’d been, the fun we had shared. We laughed, we teased. I refil ed her glass, refil ed mine, opened another bottle, listened as her words began to slur just as my mind became slack.

I was too relaxed, felt too good—loved the sound of her voice. I was drawn and edged closer, wanting more.

I found myself facing her and standing between her legs. I set my wine aside and pressed my palms onto the countertop. My thumbs gently brushed the outside of her thighs, her calves grazing my jeans as they slowly swished back and forth. Her mouth was seductive, her eyes dark.

Needing to see her, I reached out and pushed away the veil of hair obstructing her beautiful face. She leaned her head into the movement, inviting the contact. I ran the back of my hand down her cheek, over her lips, and breathed her name. “Elizabeth.”

She trembled as she hesitantly lifted her fingertips to touch my face and then cupped my jaw. Our breaths fil ed the room, heavy and hungry. Her eyes flickered over my face, resting on where she touched me. Under her touch, my skin burned like fire. She looked back at me almost in awe as if she’d forgotten the power of our connection—

forgotten that together we felt like
this
.

We’d have been fools to think it could ever be contained.

“Elizabeth?” I asked, this time a petition.

Please.

I needed her and was desperate to feel her.

Don’t be afraid.

She brought her other hand to my other jaw, held my She brought her other hand to my other jaw, held my face, and wet her lips.

As she leaned in, I inched closer, tilted my head, and gently brushed my lips against hers, kissing my girl for the first time in over six years. Her lips were soft, just as I remembered, tasted like wine and the potent sweetness of Elizabeth’s spirit. My heart leapt, tangled with hers as her fingers tangled in my hair. Our lips were tentative, cautious, and slow.

I wanted more.

My tongue tested, and I groaned into her mouth as the tip of Elizabeth’s tongue brushed across mine.

Yes.

Hit with a wave of lust, I sank my fingers into the bare skin of her thighs and tugged her to the edge of the counter, my mouth aggressive against hers.

Mine. Finally she was mine.

Her hands created the worst kind of desire as they roamed my body, over my shoulders and down my back.

She drove me to the edge of sanity as she pressed her palms into my chest and down my stomach, then snaked her hands under my shirt as she wrapped her legs around my waist.

I was gone, losing al control in a fog of alcohol and lust and pent-up desire, my body starved for hers for far too long. Her flimsy skirt was bunched over her hips and her black lace panties pressed against my jeans as my mouth sought out every exposed inch of her heated skin.

Stil , I wanted more.

I yanked at the top of her blouse, exposed the rosy bud of her perfect breast, and took it in my mouth.

More.

My hands rushed up over the silky smoothness of her legs, my thumbs running desperate circles on her inner thighs as my fingers dug into her supple skin.

Elizabeth moaned and tore my shirt over my head.

More.

I panted into her mouth as I slipped two fingers under the edge of her panties and into the warmth of her body.

She gasped, bracing herself on my shoulders. I pul ed back just a fraction, searching her face while my fingers searched her body.

Do you want this?

She answered by attacking my belt and rushing through my button fly.

I found enough sensibility to whisper against her mouth, “Not here.” My mouth crashed back to hers as I pul ed her from the counter. She wobbled as I set her feet on the floor. I held her up, my hands on her hips as I pushed her backward and pressed her against the opposite wal , kissing her hard. She ground out my name, strung it along, and sent my heart crashing in my chest. “
Christian
. . .

please.”

I spun her again. Frantical y I kissed her as I backed her through the family room. I fumbled through the buttons of her blouse as we stumbled up the stairs and toppled to her bedroom floor.

Somewhere inside of me, I knew it should be different from this. I knew I shouldn’t be pushing her panties down her legs and her skirt up her waist. I knew her blouse shouldn’t be left hanging open, her bra stretched beneath just one breast, my jeans shoved down to my thighs.

I knew I shouldn’t thrust inside of her, frenzied, moaning at how good she felt.

I should have heard something in her smal cries of pleasure, buried somewhere below the surface. Even in the shadows of her darkened room, I should have read it in her face as she came, found it in the horror in her eyes that fol owed.

I
knew
the beauty of Elizabeth shouldn’t be wasted, that she should be savored and cherished.

But I was too distracted, too consumed by her skin, by her softness, by her heat—by everything she final y was giving me—what I could no longer live without. I drove into her fast and hard, a quick release. I cried out into the darkness of her room and col apsed on top of her, gasping for air.

I kissed her closed mouth, ran my hand through her knotted hair, and wished I had thought to tel her I loved her long before now.

I murmured it against her mouth.

She silently nodded in return.

I opened my eyes and squinted against the low rays of early morning light streaming in through the slatted blinds in the otherwise darkened room. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed the heel of my hand into my left one in defense of the sharp, stabbing pain that felt as if it were splitting my head in two.

I tried to sit up but the room spun and pinned me back down. Blinking, I tried to orient myself. Memories of last night flooded in and swept over me in waves of nausea and shame—the kitchen counter, the bedroom floor.

Oh, my God
came as a cry from deep within my soul.

Heat blistered my skin, his bare chest scorching my back where we touched, his arm slung over my waist.

Deep, heavy breaths sounded against my ear and spread out over my face, his pulse a steady thrum.

Oh, my God
. I pressed my hand harder to my mouth to stifle a cry.

I tried to untangle myself from his grip without waking him. I froze when he tightened his hold. Unintel igible mutterings spil ed from his mouth, and I held my breath as I slipped from his grasp and stood from the bed. I held my head in my hands to combat another rush of dizziness.

Christian groaned and mumbled, rol ed to his stomach, and buried his head in my pil ow. The sheet covered him to his waist, dipping to reveal the edge of his black boxer briefs and exposing the defined contours of his broad shoulders that tapered to his narrow back.

Oh, my God
.

With weak knees, I steadied myself with my arm against the wal . I looked down at myself in disgust, unable to remember how I’d ended up in a tank top and underwear, unable to remember how I’d made it into my bed.

How could I have al owed this happen, al owed him to treat me this way? I should have known he was just the same and that he would never change.

In my shame, I stumbled to the bathroom, shaking as I wrapped my trembling body in a black robe that covered my legs to my knees. I knotted the belt, and then clung to the bathroom doorway as I stared back out at the beautiful man sleeping in my bed.

I felt my heart break again.

Why? Why did he have to ruin everything? I’d seen this coming like a storm churning out in the middle of the sea, only days until landfal . He’d turned us upside down, smiled with dishonest intentions, pushed until I’d fal en over the edge, waiting to strike until I trusted again.

I’d known al along where that trust would lead, that he’d laugh in my face as he threw it away.

Was it al just a game?

I looked over at the spot where he’d treated me like trash, where he’d fucked me on my bedroom floor. Like garbage to be tossed aside, he’d spil ed into me without a second thought.

Just like years before. We’d been out at a col ege bar, drank until we’d staggered back to his apartment laughing, kissing, reckless. We hadn’t even thought about what we’d forgotten until it was over. Christian had shrugged it off as if it was nothing, and I’d pushed it to the back of mind until I could ignore it no longer.

He’d leave me
, just like he had before.

And once again, I’d be alone.

I’d trusted him implicitly right up until the moment he’d driven me away, and I knew I could expect nothing different this time.

Forcing myself down the hal , I slid my palm across the wal for support. I closed Lizzie’s door with a soft click and felt something splintering inside as old wounds ripped wide open. I could barely stand under the deluge of memories, the burden I’d carried, every internal injury meted out at Christian’s wil .

Everything spun as I clutched the railing and slowly Everything spun as I clutched the railing and slowly took each step downstairs. My head throbbed with the pulsing and pounding of blood in my ears. It turned my stomach and soured my mouth.

I raced across the family room and purged my guilt and hangover into the downstairs toilet as I berated myself for being such a fool to have given in.

I shouldn’t have expected anything different or anything better.

On unsteady feet, I stood and held onto the basin as I splashed cold water on my face and rinsed my mouth. I tied my matted, tangled hair back with a band before I hunted through the medicine cabinet for a bottle of ibuprofen.

Shaking, I placed four tablets in my mouth and cupped my hands under the running faucet to chase them down.

Tears stung my eyes as I looked back up into the mirror and wiped my mouth with a towel, unsure if I’d survive this time.

I lumbered out and was met with the remnants of the night before—two empty wine bottles, two glasses left half ful , Christian’s shirt discarded on the floor.

Bending down, I picked the shirt up and closed my eyes as I pressed it to my mouth, to my nose, inhaling the sweet of the man who would
never stop
breaking my heart.

I stiffened when I
felt
his presence, and then heard the heavy release of air that sounded something like relief from across the room. His movements were subdued as he moved across the kitchen floor.

I flinched when he wrapped his arms around me from behind, buried his nose in my neck, and whispered, “Good morning.” It felt like a caress on my skin.

I whimpered, my mouth trembling as I made a decision before it was much, much too late, forcing out a barely audible
don’t touch me
. The old pain was fresh, tormenting my weakness, insulting the mistake I’d made in al owing him into my home and back into my life, mocking how easily I’d handed over my heart.

He stiffened but didn’t back away. I felt him shake, swal ow, understand. “Please, Elizabeth,
don’t
do this.” My hair brushed across his bare chest as I slowly shook my head. For the briefest moment, my desire confused my resolve, the continuous fire that roiled between us, a reminder of just how badly this was going to hurt.

But I would be strong enough to end
this
now before he completely destroyed Lizzie and me, while Lizzie stil had a chance to recover. In time she would heal, though I knew I would not. No amount of time could undo the devastation I felt as I turned on him and wrenched myself from his grip, spitting venomous words as I inched back toward him and slammed his shirt against his chest.

“I want you out of my house . . . out of our lives.” He seemed to sway, to lose his balance. His face contorted in agony as he first looked at the wadded up shirt fisted in his hand and then back at me. Is that what I’d looked like when he’d cast me aside? Is that what the shock of heartbreak looked like? Could he
ever
feel the way he had made
me
feel? Could he ever understand?

His expression shifted and set in determination as he clenched his jaw. “No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere, Elizabeth.”

I closed my eyes, refusing to see the commitment on his face as I wheezed the words
get out
.

I opened my eyes, dragging to the forefront the memories of what he had done. I remembered the cal used expression on his face when he’d told me to choose him or my daughter. I remembered how it had felt to be alone, sick, and scared; remembered what it felt like to fight for my child’s life.

I’d given up my goals, not because of my daughter, but because he had been too much of a coward to stand up for what was right, because he had refused to take responsibility for his family. I clung to long suppressed secrets of shame. I’d hidden from my family just how bad off Lizzie and I had gotten. When I’d already asked my family for far too much, I’d gone hungry because I couldn’t afford to feed both of us. The time Lizzie and I had been evicted from our smal apartment and I’d driven through the night, feeling too ashamed to tel my mother and Matthew that I’d failed again, and I’d stil ended up at Matthew’s house at four in the morning. It was then that Matthew and Natalie had taken us in to live with them. I held fast to the memories of their sacrifice—a sacrifice Christian hadn’t been man enough to make.