Page 33 of Wilder Love
He forced the door open and followed me inside, slamming the door behind him.
“You still need the rent money.”
“Not from you, I don’t.”
He ignored me and set the check on the coffee table.
“I’m not a charity case.”
“I know you’re not.”
“How many months… how long have you been paying our utilities?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters,” I yelled. I stopped and took a breath, fighting to regain control of my jumbled-up emotions. “Why would you do that? You can’t go around doing that for people.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
“Yeah. You keep saying that. But how would you feel if someone did it for you?”
“What am I supposed to do? Pretend I don’t give a shit? Let them shut off your electricity because your sorry excuse for a mother doesn’t pay the fucking bills?”
“My mother is doing the best she can,” I said through gritted teeth. It wasn’t true. Not really. She could do a lot of things better and different. My mom was not perfect. She wasn’t always a great mother. But she was ours and she was all we had. I wouldn’t let Shane or anyone else talk bad about her.
Shane ran a hand through his hair and looked around the apartment. “You shouldn’t be living like this.” I hated to see it through his eyes. The ratty sofa. The sheets stuffed into the corner. The coffee table with ring marks and cigarette burns, an ashtray filled with butts because my bonehead brother had started smoking cigarettes now. Dylan’s dirty clothes tossed into a heap on the floor. We needed to clean the place. It reeked of desperation and neglect. I hated that Shane saw so much. I didn’t need or appreciate his judgment.
“What gives you the right to look down your nose at me? To treat me like… white trash.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a few deep breaths. He was probably counting to ten, but he wouldn’t make it that far. Despite his best efforts, he never did. Not when it came to me. “You are not white trash and you know damn well I’ve never treated you like you were. So cut the shit, Remy.”
“I hate the way you make me feel.”
“How do I make you feel?” He moved closer, his eyes flitting over my face, from my eyes to my lips. I swallowed hard, pressing the palms of my hands flat against the wall I was leaning against.
“Jealous,” I whispered. “And angry. And…” I squeezed my eyes shut. I wanted him so badly it hurt.
“Remy.” His voice was low and hoarse, and I could feel the heat of his body, his nearness, even though we weren’t touching. My lips parted. I wanted to beg him to kiss me. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Maybe he didn’t even want to. I opened my eyes and looked into his.
“I wish…”
“What do you wish?” he asked, his eyes locked onto mine.
I wished that I didn’t want him so much. That everything didn’t have to be so hard for us. That the playing field would be even. I wished that he would touch me. I wished that I’d never been touched by anyone else before him. I wished so very many things.
“Am I the only one or do you feel it too?” I whispered. I squeezed my eyes shut. I’d said too much. Made myself too vulnerable. I waited for him to walk away.
The backs of his fingers brushed over my cheekbone and across my lips. I opened my eyes. His body shifted, leaning into me, his hand braced on the wall next to my head. He hooked his finger in the strap of my tank top and slid it up and down, his eyes never leaving my face.
“It’s wrong.” His voice sounded strained. Even as he said the words, his hand gripped my hip, his thumb rubbing the bare skin just above the waistline of my shorts. The feel of his rough, calloused fingers on my skin sent shivers up and down my spine. I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid to move. Afraid that he’d stop touching me, pull away, and that the look of lust in his eyes would disappear. “So fucking wrong.”
“I’ve been saving all my kisses for you.”
He groaned, sounding like he was truly in pain, and pressed his forehead against mine. We were heaving, breathing the same air. “Don’t tell me things like that.”
“It’s true.” He dragged his thumb across my lower lip. “Kiss me.” I was pleading. Begging now. And I didn’t care. I needed this kiss like I needed the air I breathed. I neededhim.
I thought he would tell me it was wrong again. But he didn’t. His hand glided down the side of my neck and into my hair. He dipped his head, his mouth only inches from mine.
