Wild Temptation (24 page)

“Olivia. Is he a dangerous man? With bad connections? You see them all the time on the television.”

“Um, you watch too much TV, Mom.” I cough to disguise my laugh. “No, he’s not a secret mass murderer or something. He’s just… Well, Tyler. Besides, it’s only one date.”

“Only one date? That in itself—”

“Is dangerous, I know. I have a handle on my crap now, okay? I’m not a kid anymore. I’m twenty-five,” I huff. “Like I said, it’s only one date. Plus, it’s to a company party and I can’t turn up there without a date. How silly would I look?”

Silence lingers for a long moment. “I suppose. I do worry about you though, darling. That last man you were seeing wasn’t suitable at all. Perhaps your judgment is skewed. Maybe you should come home this weekend instead.”

I take a deep breath. I understand her worry—I do. I understand her desire to tie me up in bubble wrap and keep me safe. Since they moved farther in-state, her mama bear instincts have gone fucking crazy.

“Momma, listen to me. Tyler is a good guy. I can cope with my
issues.
” The word leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, because really, my addictive personality isn’t an issue in itself. “A year of therapy teaching me to recognize my triggers has me pretty freakin’ sorted out.”

And what bullshit therapy it was. I was forced into it. After they had done a psychiatric exam, they’d determined what my issue was—what my addiction was, is. My doctors decided that I needed to learn my triggers. My weak points. My soft spots.

Of course it was next to impossible, at first. It took me three months to accept that, no, overdosing on pills wasn’t a normal way to cope with the end of a relationship. It took a further month to understand that the way I’d thought I’d loved Warren, my high school boyfriend, hadn’t been love at all.

It had been obsession. An unrelenting obsession. And when he’d gotten the letter saying that he’d been accepted to Miami and wanted to break off our relationship, it had come to a head.

I see it now. Looking back, I see the way it developed. Classes together. Casual meetings with friends. Dates. Stolen kisses between classes. Late-night phone calls and holding hands in the classes we did share.

Like all high school relationships, we were besotted—but with lust. It wasn’t love. Love is healthy. Love enlightens you and sets your whole freakin’ world on fire. What I had with Warren was pure lust. The only thing he set on fire was my clit. And even then, he did it badly.

It’s the same with Tyler. Yes, my body comes to life whenever he’s around. Yes, all I want to do is touch him and hear him speak and seduce him. But that doesn’t mean I’m out of control. It doesn’t mean I can’t control it.

My heart says that Tyler could be my Disney prince. My Prince Charming, my Kristoff, my Flynn Ryder. My mind says to tread carefully like Anna and Rapunzel did. To take it every second at a time. To never stop believing in what you dream of.

For Anna, it was to have her best friend back, her sister. For Rapunzel, it was to see the lanterns.

For me, it’s the chance to love freely.

They achieved their dreams. I don’t see why, one day, I can’t do the same thing.

“Okay,” Mom says down the phone. “Just be careful, darling. And call me on Sunday, okay?”

I nod despite the fact that she can’t see me. “Sunday. Bye, Mom.”

I hang up after her goodbye and put my phone facedown on my coffee table. In the silence of my apartment, my emotions swirl the same way they always do when I have to talk about the past. Somehow, when it’s in my mind, it doesn’t seem as loud. It doesn’t seem as real.

Saying things out loud solidifies them—makes them more than a fleeting thought you can bat away. And I like batting. I like fleeting. I don’t like lingering words.

I glance at the time on my phone and sigh. Time to go out and be a good little bridesmaid. Today’s jobs: find Dayton some new shoes since she’s changed her mind and find my shoes. Shoe shopping, I can cope with. In fact, shoe shopping is exactly what I need.

I leave Angus staring out the window in his spot on the windowsill and get into my car. I turn the music up as I drive farther downtown in a vain attempt to brighten my mood. Music is good.

I park outside Arabella’s store, just behind Dayton’s car, and get out. She joins me on the sidewalk and locks her car.

“I’m confused. Why are we at Arabella’s and not a bridal store?”

“Because they’re all the fucking same at the bridal stores. It’s honestly like looking at one pair of shoes with minor adjustments—an extra crystal here, a bow there, a ruche under there. Now, Arabella’s,” she says, pushing open the door and glancing over her shoulder at me, “has real shoes.”

As opposed to what? The dress-up ones at the bridal stores?

Whatever. I’ll go with it.

I follow her in. My stomach flutters like a teen girl faced with her first crush. Seriously. The shoes. The shiny and the colors and the heels and the…
And breathe, Liv. Breathe.

“Find pink ones,” she orders me. “Light-pink ones. To match your dress.”

“Really? I was considering those lime-green ones over there.” I roll my eyes.

I look around the store for Sean. If ever I needed my shoe buyer, it’s right now. There are so many gorgeous pairs assaulting my eyes that I don’t think I can concentrate or indeed focus on a single pair.

After ten minutes, I’m no closer to finding a pair than I was when I walked in. I groan. There’s nothing wrong with any of these shoes. I just really can’t focus on one pair for long enough to even find a freakin’ pink pair.

“Are you going to the party on Saturday night?” Dayton sits on the seat next to me and dumps four shoe boxes in front of her.
That’s not fair.

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Did you tell Tyler yet?”

“How do you know about that? Ooh, I like those!” My eyes widen at the white Louboutins.

“Gorgeous, right?” She strokes them. “He came over after your little…disappearing act. Wanted to ask me why American women are so fucking flighty. Hilarious, really, when you consider that he was constantly annoyed about being hounded by women back home.”

I make a sound somewhere between annoyance and disgust. I don’t want to think about him being with other women. It’s childish and ridiculous, but I don’t want to think about him whispering the things he does to me to another woman.

“What did he say?” I try to sound disinterested, but I fail miserably. Fact is, I’m dying to know what he said. It’s been two days since we’ve spoken, since I ran away from him, and I feel odd.

I feel a little lost.

“When he’d finally finished bemoaning your flightiness and inability to discuss anything more than serious than ‘Let’s fuck,’ he told me he’d asked you to go with him for a date.” She shoots me a sly glance and tries on a pair of Prada shoes. She immediately discards them. “And then it all made sense.”

I nibble the inside of my lip. “I panicked. Like, really panicked. Then, when I’d talked myself down and decided that it won’t hurt me if we go together, I was too ashamed to call him.”

“He waited there—on the pier. In case you went back. For an
hour.
”

My mouth dries at this. He waited for me? What… I… “He’s a fool.”

She snorts. “Tyler is many things, but a fool isn’t one of them. A prick? An asshole? A sex-obsessed douchenugget? Yes. A fool? No.”

So she’s right. “I haven’t called him yet, no. I’m too… I don’t know. It’s awkward. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I know I abandoned you two days ago, but I’ll be your date’?”

“You should call him today. He could ask someone else.”

“What?” I freeze.

“He mentioned…offhand…that, and I quote, ‘I should take someone else with me and see if that gives her the kick up her gorgeous, stubborn arse she fucking needs.’”

“What does that even mean?”

Dayton gives me a look that says I’m a dumbass. “Liv, open your eyes. He likes you.”

“I’m a likable person.”

“No, you’re not. You’re a fucking nightmare, as proven by this conversation.” She pinches my arm.
Ouch. Bitch.
“He likes you. He’s being patient with you. He’s staying in territory you’re both completely comfortable with—sex. But now, he wants more. You both have commitment issues, but you’ve been fucking around for, like, three weeks now. Asking you to be his date to a party held in his cousin’s honor isn’t anything serious. And here you are, acting like a fucking virgin at an orgy.”

“I’m not—” I begin, but I quickly shut my mouth. I am. I’m acting exactly like that. And despite my own issues, the crazy bullshit inside me, he doesn’t deserve that.

He deserves one or the other. All of me or none of me.

“Okay, I am. A little. But this whole situation is fucked up, you know? And for the record, I’m not flighty. We had takeout the other night.
Together.
” I raise my eyebrows like that makes it all okay.

Dayton sighs and shakes her head. She stands, grabbing the Louboutins box. “Make your mind up then. You either want him or you don’t. You can’t have sex with a little extra whenever you feel like it. That makes you a bitch.”

Sometimes, having a best friend who says it exactly like it is a bitch.

I’
ve been staring at my phone for two hours and seventeen minutes. I know because the minutes keep changing on the clock. Like they do. Every minute.

Every fucking long and annoyingly indecisive minute.

It shouldn’t be hard to pick up the phone and dial his number. It shouldn’t be hard for me to apologize for being a dick, but it is. It is because it means admitting that I was wrong.

And fuck, I hate being wrong. Much less admitting it.

Four sharp knocks at my door pull me out of my trance. I frown and get up. The moment I open the door, Tyler’s lips crash into mine. Shock hits me as suddenly as his kiss just did, and I grab his arms to stop myself from staggering backward.

He kicks the door shut and drops his bag without releasing me. His hands thread into my hair, his tongue flicking again my lips, and I whimper.

“I’ve had one hell of a fucking bollocks day and I need you.” He drops his mouth to my neck and kisses.

“I didn’t think we were talking.” I gasp as his palm connects with my ass.

“We’re not. I’m pissed at you, but talking isn’t required for sex. That happens with after-sex cuddles. The talking shit can happen after I’ve fucked you senseless.”

His words jolt straight down to my pussy.

“I hate cuddling.”

“I don’t care. We’re compromising. Fuck now, talk later.” He tugs me against him. His erection is hard against my thigh, and when he pushes me against the wall, his body shifts. His hard cock forcefully rubs against my clit through my jeans, drawing another whimper from me.

But I’m on fire—everywhere. Tingling, burning, searing fire.

“I’m going to sink into your tight, hot cunt until you forget your own name, and I’m going to do it in about two minutes, so I hope you’re wet and ready for me.”

Holy fucking dirty talk.

He tugs my jeans down my body and I step out of them. He takes two seconds to undo his jeans, grasp my thighs, and lift me up. His fingers run along my slit, through the wetness there, and he nips my neck.

“Feel that?” he mutters. “So fucking wet. Good girl.”

He’s inside me before I can respond. Driving into me hard. Fast. Almost brutally.

His fingers dig into my butt and mine wrap in his hair. My legs are tight around his waist, my back flat against the hard wall, but I barely notice the ache of my muscles or the uncomfortableness of the wall.

His hot breath on my neck, his tight grip on me, his rough thrusts inside me—they’re what I feel.

I come hard, clamping down onto his cock, and he follows almost immediately. Both of our bodies covered in a thin layer of sweat, we hold on to each other, not moving. My body trembles and my muscles clench in a series of random spasms. But he’s steady, still, and I wouldn’t know that he was affected by his own orgasm if it weren’t for the thumping of his heart and his labored breathing.

Slowly, Tyler pulls me from the wall and carries me into the bathroom. He’s still inside me, and the rocking of his hips with his steps makes me bite down on my lip. God, it feels good.