Page 45 of Best Laid Plans

I pulled back a little, but it was too soon to stop for both of us. Our mouths collided again, and this time, her tongue delved into my mouth.

How many others had she kissed after me? I had no right to think about that. No right to ask her. I had moved on and on and on. Between Nova and Bailey there had been Bailey on and off; and several others. But no one tasted as fucking sweet as my Nova.

Her skin was still as soft as I remembered. I want to push my cock against her. I wanted to fuck her so badly. I wanted inside her. I wanted things I couldn't have. That thought made me slow the kiss. We nibbled, caressed, and brushed mouth to mouth.

Her lips were swollen, and I wanted to kiss her again and again and again. The chemistry between us was no surprise. It had been thrumming like an out-of-control animal ever since I laid eyes on her at Savannah Lace.

When I raised my head, she stepped away from me and put a hand on her lips, shocked, I could see, by her own behavior. I saw regret and shame swarm her eyes, and I felt her remorse deep within me.

What had felt like homecoming a moment ago now felt like self-betrayal to both of us. "All that talk about integrity, and I could probably fuck you raw right now, and you'd let me."

I regretted the words instantly. The hurt in her eyes almost brought me to my knees. She was in so much pain, and I'd caused it.

"You're right," she said sadly, her shoulders slumped. "You hurt me. You broke me. You almost got me raped. And I let you kiss me. That doesn't speak highly of me. But Anson, it doesn't do much for you, either. Just now, you cheated on your fiancée. Bailey is not my favorite person in the world, but she deserves better."

She slowly walked to her front door and threw it open, silently asking me to leave. When I got close to her, I saw the tears making their way down her cheeks. I wanted to wipe them away and tell her it was all going to work out. However, I didn't know how to make anything work out. The universe had done a number on me, putting Nova in my path again. She'd been on my mind for years—but now she was in front of me, and I couldn't resist her, couldn't stay away.

"Please, leave," she requested softly.

I didn't know how to handle this Nova. The angry one made me hard. This one made me want to wrap her in my arms, and protect her until I died.

"Nova," I began in a calm tone.

She narrowed her eyes and spoke calmly like she was giving me directions. "You have ten seconds to walk out of here, or I start screaming. The security guard downstairs will be up in seconds, and you will be arrested. As ironic as that would be, I'd like not to have a Savannah Lace client handcuffed in my building."

Just like that, she'd put on her professional mask, and I knew she was serious. She banged the door shut loudly behind me.

While I walked to the Rhodes Hotel, I tried to digest what she'd said. One thing was evident, I had to talk to Sheriff Peter Fontaine.

Chapter 18

Nova

"So what?" Katya couldn't see the problem with me kissing Anson.

"He's engaged," I protested.

"And enemy number one," Trevor pointed out.

We met for drinks at Congress Street Up, a speakeasy-style bar that we all loved for its vintage charm and excellent cocktails. The bar was tucked away on the second floor of a historic building and, like all good speakeasies, was accessible via a discreet staircase.

The dim lighting, exposed brick walls, and dark wood furnishings created an intimate, cozy atmosphere reminiscent of the Prohibition era. Congress Street Up was one of our favorite places to hang out. Luckily, Katya was not on call this Saturday, so we could spend some time together.

"He's the one who's engaged, not you," Katya pointed out. "And he kissed you."

"She didn't stop him," Trev remarked.

I made a face and chuckled. "I didn't want to stop him," I admitted as the jazz band started to play Nina Simone's Sinnerman. Very à propos. "He still hates me."

"And still wants you?" Katya mused.

I nodded sadly.

Trevor raised his glass, a classic Old Fashioned, in a toast. "To the crazy twists life throws our way," he said, his tone light but his eyes serious.

Katya, sipping on a delicate French 75, smiled warmly, and then clinked her glass against his. "To crazy twists," she echoed.

I lifted my drink, a tart and refreshing gin and tonic, and joined in the toast. "To old-fashioned garden-variety stupidity," I chimed in self-deprecation.

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