Page 35 of Fierce Love
“So bad,” I murmur.
“You probably need that.” His voice is smooth and deep and so close. “Some relief. I was hoping to help.”
“You were?” I’m drunk on his proximity.
“Yes.” His tone is now rough with want.
When I rotate to face him, the cool glass of the door brushes against my back, and my lips part with a little gasp. His gaze gets stuck on my mouth for a beat, and time slows to an unbearable pace. If it’s possible, the air grows thicker, steamier between us. His thumb skates across my bottom lip, and I consider drawing it into my mouth, letting my tongue swirl around it.
Then he’s scanning my face with that familiar intensity, as though he can’t get enough of the sight of me. And I want to let him sink into me so badly. It’s a physical ache, thrumming through me. My body is begging for what I remember he can give me, what I’m sure he could give me again.
“You’re still so fucking pretty,” he says, and his knuckles brush my jaw before his palm settles around the back of my neck. “Tell me no. Tell me to walk away. Tell me you don’t want any of this.”
“Nate,” I say, my tone pleading, but I have no idea what I’m pleading for. Mercy? And I’m not even sure what that would look like, whether it would mean fucking me here in the steam room or turning and walking away. The smart choice is obvious, but I’ve never been smart with Nate, and that’s always been my problem.
“Tell me,” he says.
“You don’t want this,” I say, suddenly desperate to keep what little space still exists between us. “You don’t want me.”
“Don’t tellmewhat I do or don’t want,” he says, his voice like gravel. “What Iwantis for you to tell me you still feelthis.” And the way he says the word, he might as well be slipping a hand inside my bathing suit, separating the folds, finding me hot and ready.
My brain almost short-circuits with how badly I want him, but a tiny voice from my subconscious wonders whether Nate is the type to play games now. I hurt him; he hurts me. Maybe getting me to admit I still want him, that I’m the one who couldn’t let go, is what he needs so he can reject me, get revenge for how I abandoned us.
“If you don’t want this, you need to tell me now.” His thumb makes slow circles on my neck, distracting me, making me want to arch into the contact. “Otherwise, I’m coming for your heart, Hols. And I won’t stop until you’re Hollyn Tucker, and everyone knows youwerealways,willalways bemine.”
A chill races across my skin at his words, like someone doused me in cool water. I’ll never be Hollyn Tucker, and I sealed that fate when I left last time. The air around us is stifling, hard to breathe.
“I can’t,” I say, my voice cracking, gasping for air. “I can’t.” I shove him away, and he stumbles back, far easier than I would have expected. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop me.
Head down, I slip out the door, grabbing my robe and tying it tightly, before disappearing back into the women’s locker room.
And I fear the only thing this day will bring is a desire for things I’ll never have again.
Chapter Seventeen
Hollyn
After I gather myself in the locker room, I head to the outdoor pool, hoping some fresh air might restore my balance. There, I find Posey sipping a blue cocktail on a lounger.
“I wondered where you were,” she says, and she presses a button on the side table where her drink rests. There’s no sign of her phone, which might explain why she didn’t text me back.
A waiter dressed in black-and-white emerges from the double doors farther down the patio. He comes straight for us as I settle into a lounger beside Posey.
“Would you like a drink, Ms. Davis?” he asks with a polite smile.
“Bellerive sweet tea?” I ask with a hopeful note in my voice. Most places on the island don’t make it the way my Aunt Verna used to, but if anyone is capable of a superior version, I figure this place will be it.
“Of course,” he says with a nod. “Anything for you, Ms. Jensen?”
“I might as well order another one—save you a second trip.” She raises her Bellerive Blue.
After he leaves, I let out a sigh. “I used to miss all the Bellerive-branded things when I was in New York. Some places try to imitate our more popular stuff, but it’s never the same.”
“Agreed,” Posey says, sliding her glass back on the table. “I had one good restaurant near Northern University that I could go to that had authentic stuff, but that was it. Homesickness was real.” She eyes me for a beat. “But I heard you didn’t come home much at all.”
“I didn’t,” I agree with a tight smile. “Just to get my sister, that’s it. My aunt visited me in New York a few times. We’d go around the state, exploring little towns. I always told myself I’d outgrown Bellerive.”
“I guess it’s possible to outgrow a place,” Posey muses. “When I left Northern University, I knew I was done. Satisfied with the experience but ready to move on.” She shoots me a grin. “Or move home. Brent’s ready to be done with the Olympics too. The next one is his last. His schedule is… it’s a lot.”
