Page 82 of Help Me Remember
“I gotta go, he’s here.”
“Make bad choices!” she yells and then hangs up.
I sigh. I can do this.
I’m insanely nervous about tonight because everyone from the town will be there. I’ll be surrounded by people who will know me and some who I won’t remember meeting. More than that, I worry the killer will be there, and I won’t be able to tell. It’s horrible to look at people’s faces and wonder if they’re who killed your brother and tried to kill you. Thankfully, the security guys will be shadowing me the whole time, so that makes me feel a bit better. They are actually all cool.
Charlie informed me this morning that she and her husband, Mark, would be attending the dinner but sticking to the background. Apparently, it was easier to blend in if they looked like they were attending instead of acting as my private security while Quinn stays and watches the apartment.
Quinn Miller flew in from Virginia Beach last night, and I got to meet him. He’s married and has a son, who he showed me a bunch of photos of. Super adorable kid. He and Charlie are my security detail this week, but next week, they will rotate out with someone else.
I bring them out coffee each morning and before bed, I flick the living room lights so they know I’m going to sleep.
I head to the door, smoothing my dress against my body and checking my hair in the mirror by the entry.
He knocks once, and because I am a nervous wreck, I throw the door open with zero chill.
“Hi,” I sputter, more than a little stunned.
Holy. Freaking. Shit. He’s wearing a black tuxedo with silk lapels, and it’s as though the fabric is conforming to his body. Every inch of him makes my mouth water. His broad shoulders block out the light behind him and I could melt right here. His green eyes look even brighter tonight and his hair looks damp and finger tousled. He looks incredible.
I wait for him to say something, but Spencer doesn’t speak. Instead, his eyes do a very slow assessment of the green satin wrapped around my body, neckline that mimics the back with it draping low enough to show the swell of my breasts. I curled my hair into long waves and did my best on my makeup after watching a few tutorials online. It’s a little heavy, but I think it’s sexy.
“Spencer?” I say, suddenly uncomfortable and shy. “Do I look okay?”
His gaze meets mine, and we hold for a few seconds. I see the moment his restraint snaps, and he moves into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. I stutter back a step, but he’s already there, pushing my back against the wall, caging me in. I am so glad I wore the heels. We’re almost the same height and I can see the desire swimming in his eyes. My heart stops before doubling in speed. He’s going to kiss me, and I am so here for it.
“I shouldn’t.”
“You should,” I say. He shakes his head, rubbing his nose against mine. “I want...please tell me you want me to kiss you.”
I want that more than anything. I move my right hand from his chest up to his neck, wrapping my hand around it. “I want it.”
Like two magnets drawn together, we collide. His mouth claims mine in a searing kiss that’s infinitely better than the last one. There’s no restraint on either of our parts. No slowness or tenderness. This kiss is desperate need and desire. I melt against him, needing his heat, which is a complete contrast of the cold against my back. I taste the mint on his tongue and inhale his cologne, the musky scent that is all him.
His mouth leaves mine, and his lips and tongue slide down my neck and along my shoulder.
“Spencer.” I moan his name when he makes his way back up, nipping my ear playfully.
“You take my breath away.” His deep voice rumbles. “You are so beautiful, and I want you so badly.”
Head injuries, I’ve decided, are not all bad. If they make your lifelong dream of having the man you lusted after your whole life want you, then I am really okay with this.
“I . . . I don’t know what is happening,” I say oh so eloquently.
“What do you mean?” He looks deep into my eyes, making it so much harder for me to string words together.
“This. You. Kissing me and . . . whatever this is. I don’t care anymore. Does that make me a bad person?”
That’s basically the gist of my confusion. Spencer has never once made any kind of advance on me. At least not that I can remember. So, why now? Is it because of Isaac’s death? Is there something I don’t remember?
Spencer steps back, and the loss of his heat is immediate. I am an idiot. I should’ve kept my trap shut and just enjoyed the kissing.
“I wanted to kiss you, and I didn’t take into account the entire situation. Fuck!” He runs his hand through his thick brown hair. “I’m such an asshole.”
“For kissing me?”
“Yes!”
