Page 51 of Elusive

“A pretty big one. Yes, I think it’s important to be careful, aware of your surroundings, especially in crowds, bars, places like that. And I’d never argue it’s not a terrible, dangerous, idea for people, arguably more so women, to walk a street alone, stop at stores, gas stations, rest stops or whatever at night. But you,” he sighs, watching the road instead of me — in which case he’d see my curious anticipation of what he’s going to say next — “you let that doomsday, paranoid, pessimistic… I’m not exactly sure what to call it, outlook of yours extend into way too many areas of your life. A lot of which, well, maybe you shouldn’t. And don’t you go gettin’ mad, that’s just my opinion. Doesn’t mean I’m right.” He pauses. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong either, though.”

“Not mad, and haven’t decided on the other yet. I’m leaning toward wrong, but I need more information to officially decide. So, do tell, about these areas I’m mistakenly corrupting.”

“Nah, we can revisit it some other time. I hear it in your voice, Sugar, wrath’s a blowin’ in. I’m not gonna fight with you, not tonight. Forget I said anything.” He turns on the radio, pressing play on a CD, and I lean forward to turn it right the hell back off... but the song that starts playing, one I’ve never heard, stops me, instantly seizing my absolute attention.

“What is this?” I ask in hushed awe.

“Good, right?”

“Very.”

He leaves my question unanswered, and anything more unsaid, a silent understanding between us that this song is not to be talked through. I listen to it with my entire being; eyes closed, my own fears confessed in every haunting lyric; the beautifully solemn voice an echo of my guilt, shame… debt. This song was written for me. As it ends, I gradually lift my lids and glance over at Sutton — now parked in front of my apartment, already watching me, a tender grin of a thousand thoughts on his gorgeous mouth.

“Did you plan that? To play now? Those words?” I croak more than ask.

He slowly shakes his head side-to-side, grin growing into a full smile as he blindly reaches to turn the music off. “Couldn’t have planned it that perfectly if I had tried. It’s called “Infinity Street” by Richard Walters, songwriter from the UK. All his stuff’s good, but that one’s always been my favorite. Now I know why.”

“Why?” I whisper, my heart pounding out a jagged beat of surprising anticipation… a guess as to what he’s about to say... and I want to hear it, in spite of every effort I’ve made, for so long, to try and convince myself otherwise.

He shifts toward me and reaches for my hand, lifts it to his mouth, brushing his lips across my knuckles, then lowers it to rest on his thigh, still being held. “You know why, you just said it yourself. Because of those words. ‘To close up this long day? And all its mistakes?’ Fitting, I’d say. But most poignant? Important? I’ll always leave the light on for you, Presley Alexandra Beckett. Always. Constantly.”

No surprise, he’s managed, yet again, to knock me off my game… and on my ass. His voice feral but oh so seductive; raw, unashamed reverence in every word — even better than I expected. Sutton Ellis is a thinker, a feeler, the perfect combination of large, sturdy, barbaric manliness with a secret compartment filled with intelligent, romantic tenderness that he reveals with precise timing. He’s… unbelievable. Something of wildest dreams, mythical tales, unthinkable wishes. And… far too amazing to be wasted on me. Luckily, I’ve long since mastered my “wiring,” so any misfire from my heart zaps the warning bells in my brain… now screaming for me to dodge. Run. Fast.

“Hmmm, pretty talk.” I use my free hand to scratch my temple in sarcastic dramatization. “I guess I won’t straight up call you a liar since I can’t remember if your porch light was on the night-” It was, but he doesn’t need to know that I remember. And, he interrupts me anyway.

“Presley, you’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met. I’m positive you’re fluent in metaphorical. And being so, you know damn good and well, yes, it was. The light was on, never turned it off. But I had to try and move on. I was almost convinced I actually stood a chance, too… until the minute I saw you again.” He drags in a bottomless breath, his forehead crinkling in concentration as he finds his next words and slowly exhales. “I tried to do the right thing, be a good person, a good man. But the truth is, even if Hailey hadn’t have tipped her rocker, I wouldn’t have been able to stay with her for very much longer. The guilt of constantly comparing her to you, which she’d have never measured up to, would’ve eventually eaten away at me and I’d have let her down gently. I know it. Know myself. And how I feel about you.”

I roll my eyes and release a noise that falls somewhere between a facetious laugh and averting huff. “Oh, please. Sutton-”

“Don’t,” he cuts me off, pressing a finger to my lips. “Not this time. Right here, now, this is one of the areas you asked about earlier. There’s nothing to be afraid of, so put away that wall of yours and let other things in. Let me in, even if it’s just an inch. Doesn’t it feel good, at least a little bit, to accept affection, to hear that someone thinks the world of you?”

I swat his hand away from my mouth to answer. “Maybe.” I shrug, diverting my eyes to the windshield, taking in the full, golden moon. “Suppose I believe you, that you really feel that strongly about me. What I want to know then, is why? There’s no way I’m the only ‘not batshit crazy’ girl you’ve met, or the only good sex you’ve ever had. And surely to God you’ve met friendlier chicks.”

“Debatable, wrong word, and yes,” he laughs. “The sex is so much better than good, Hot Shot, and what fool told ya you weren’t crazy?”

“Sutton, I’m being serious. Is that it, the sex? ‘Cause I’m not opposed to continuing that, as long as you don’t read-”

Again with the finger over my mouth... and a coy smirk on his. “The most memorable quotes in history only had to be said once, all it takes to convey undeniable power. Things said over and over are usually done so in an effort to convince. Is it working for you? Be the only point, ‘cause I’m damn sure not falling for it. I’m reading into it, Presley. Every single word you’re not saying… I’m. Reading. ‘Em.”

“You’re also delusional,” I grouch against his finger.

“Nope, don’t think I am,” he chuckles. “But I do think it’s late, been a long night. Let’s get you inside, asleep in your own bed, just like you wanted.”

He moves to open his door and I snag his arm, causing him to look back at me. “Let’s? Inside? Sutton, when I said I’m open to having sex with you, I didn’t mean tonight. Kinda not in the mood... considering.”

He belts out a full-fledge laugh, the always beautiful green of his eyes turned a mesmerizing emerald. “Why me, she asks. Because, Presley Beckett, you are indeed something special. Couple things,” he tames the last of his lingering laughter, shaking his head, “you may never hear me say this again, chances are real good, but I’m not in the mood either. I’m coming inside to make sure you’re able to get a relaxed, much needed night of sleep. No tossin’ and turnin’, good, hard sleep, knowing you’re safe… ‘cause I’m there.”

My head jerks wildly as I protest. “No, not happening, hard pass. Bad idea. I’ll be fine. Alone. Thanks though.”

“Ah, Sugar, it wasn’t a question, offer, or open for debate. I’ll sleep on the floor beside your bed, in the chair in your room, in the hall right outside your bedroom door, or in the goddamn bathtub, I don’t care, take your pick, but I am sleeping somewhere in your apartment tonight.”

“You don’t get to tell me who is or isn’t sleeping in my home, Sutton Patrick Ellis! Now, I appreciate you caring, I really do, but I won’t be strong-armed on this. Or anything, for that matter. The answer is no.” I throw open my door and jump out, hauling ass toward my apartment, his gaining footsteps pounding behind me.

And just like that, he’s caught up, hot breath on my neck, brick wall of a body pressed to my back as I fumble with getting the key in the damn lock. “Sutton,” I seethe, “don’t make me-”

“What?” His laugh is low and virile. “You go right on ahead and can call the cops, and or every man you know. In fact, if you’re gonna call ‘em, you need to call ‘em all, ‘cause I guarandamntee it’ll take every fucking one of them to stop me.” He sweeps my hair off my neck, dipping his head so those full lips I’m too fond of brush my ear and whispers, “you don’t have to admit it’ll make you feel better, safe. We don’t have to say another word about it, tonight or ever. You keep pretending you’re pissed and I’ll keep pretending I believe it. Now open the door, Sugar.”

I take a deep, fortifying breath and tell myself it’s because of tonight’s scare — the paralyzing panic and now, utter exhaustion — that I give a curt nod of my head... and open the door.

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