Page 43 of Hold You Close
I should’ve known. She’s way too fucking stubborn to give in. London would rather sleep on a bed of nails then be anywhere near me.
She has no idea that even after all this time, I still want her.
I walk out to the living room and sure enough, she’s on the couch.
“Why can’t you ever give in?” I ask quietly as I brush her hair back. “You make everything a fight.”
Nothing has ever been easy with us. I hardened myself to everything pertaining to her once I fell on my sword to ensure she had the life she deserved. London would’ve lost everything if I hadn’t walked away. Hurting her that day was the worst thing I’ve ever done, but it was the only option.
Still. It was like someone cut me open when I saw her tears at that party. She would never forgive me, and I’d never forgive myself.
I look down at her, hating that instead of sleeping where she’d be physically comfortable, she’s here to be away from me.
Maybe I’ll never be able to get her to see me differently. Should I even try?
“Fuck it,” I mutter and lift her into my arms. She doesn’t deserve to sleep on the couch.
“Ian?”
“Shhh,” I tell her, holding her to my chest. “I’ve got you.”
Her arms go around my neck and I breathe in her vanilla and almond perfume. I make my way to my room, being careful not to wake her again. When I place her down, her eyes shoot open.
“What? Ian?” She scrambles quickly across the bed. Away from me.
“Relax, it’s fine. I’m going to sleep on the couch for a few hours, you stay here.”
The moonlight hits her face and I have to stop myself from rushing over to her and kissing her until neither of us can breathe.
Has she always been this beautiful?
Yes, she has. I’ve just been too angry to see it. Her hair hangs down around her shoulders, brushing the tops of her breasts. It would be too easy to push her down, crawl on top of her, and make her beg for me.
London represents everything I’ve ever wanted but didn’t deserve.
She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s also brilliant, funny, kind, and loving. I loved her once and let her go because she needed to fly.
Even in my selfish sex-crazed twenties, I knew that.
“No, no, this is your bed and . . .”
“Go to sleep, Lon. You should be comfortable.”
“I can sleep on the couch.”
“And so can I.”
Stubborn. As. Fuck.
“What time is it?” she asks, looking around.
“It’s about three-thirty. Get some rest, I’ll see you in the morning.” Leaning over her, I kiss her forehead and get up.
“Have it your way.”
If I had it my way, I’d be next to her.
“This isn’t my way,” I tell her.
