Page 63 of Verses Of Us

She’d given herself to him at the symphony, with people all around, without once stopping him. That was the ultimate. But once it was over, once she’d come undone under his touch, he knew he’d made a mistake.

Not just that time. All the other times, too. The entire week. Something in her profoundly green eyes screamed she wasn’t on the same page as him. She was letting him into a private place reserved only for him and he’d let it happen despite the pain he would cause her.

They left the theatre, holding hands, drawing the occasional unwanted glance, which never bothered him, but her grip on his hand tightened with every stare. The attention should have been because of how absolutely stunning she was, but the sad truth was they were staring at him, trying to gauge if his date was someone worthy of gossip.

They got in the car, Ciarán’s arm draped over her shoulders, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing her bare skin. When she tucked her head into the nook of his neck, Ciarán sighed. It wasn’t because he was tired; he was tense. The more he thought about the time they’d spent together, the more he recognized he’d known nothing as remotely close to this. And it frightened the hell out of him.

This wasn’t what he’d expected. He had wanted to take her out, to give her the best time, the best experiences. To create memories that would remind her of the fun they had before he left town. Moments that wouldn’t leave a foul taste in her mouth, like the taste he now had when he thought of what an asshole he was.

Because that was his reality, wasn’t it? He’d led her on, and he was the asshole.

The tour had to go on. Cities awaited. Fans needed to be pleased and gained. There was endless more money to make. Countless people who relied on him for their own profits. But when her hand squeezed his, when she smiled, her perfect pink lips lifting just enough to reach her eyes; he knew he was a fool to believe this would be easy.

This week he was selfish and had focused on gratification. He’d taken advantage of a woman who deserved so much more than the sporadic dates and irregular visits he offered. He was falling in love with her, but yet again, he had to leave her. If he had more willpower, if he was a stronger person, he’d have said goodbye right after the interview.

They pulled into the hotel’s parking lot and his heart stung.

Loving Alexis meant making sure she was happy and she could never find happiness with someone like him, living a life that held no security or consistency.

He knew what had to be done…

He’d have to let her down.

HORRIBLE MISTAKES

Alexis

Velvet.

Confused, Alexis opened her eyes. Her fingertips grazed the smooth, teal velvet headboard instead of her white wooden one. The soft sounds of music brought her further out of her slumber. Thick floor-to-ceiling drapes covered the windows of Ciarán’s hotel room.

She searched around and found him across the room, sitting in a chaise, his eyes closed, his arms crossed behind his head.

“Hey,” she said.

She tugged the fluffy duvet up to her shoulders, but it didn’t warm her up like she knew his body would. Somewhere between the symphony and the hotel, she fell asleep and could only remember coming up to the room, getting naked, and crashing on the bed.

“What time is it?”

“Not sure.” Ciarán stretched and sat up. His eyes remained hooded and distant.

A vague familiarity in the air made her stomach sink. Barefoot, he padded over, snaking himself alongside her. With a soft kiss on her forehead, he pulled her against him. She inhaled, the scent of body wash filling her nose.

“You took a shower?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” She pinched his side, making him jerk.

“Didn’t want to.”

She pressed her mouth to his neck, his pulse thumping against her lips, and ignored the niggling in her gut. “You should have.”

Beneath the covers, he grew hard along her stomach. Her hand dropped, but he pulled away abruptly, sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet landing on the floor with a loud thump.

“Where are you going?”

Her fingertips reached for him, grazing the base of his spine. Freckles traversed his back like stars in the sky, surrounding his tattoos—the Celtic cross, the small blue sparrow, the Claddagh ring circling a treble clef. Her eyes drifted up his back, seeing a previously unnoticed spot at the bottom of his neck where his hair didn’t grow. As if this might be her last chance to see them, her mind committed these details to memory.

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