Page 21 of Worship
I don’t move, still holding her within kissing distance. I can’t move because that was her “no.” I knew it was coming—I’d told myself, but I hate it more than I anticipated.
“It was all my pleasure, beautiful. Grab your purse. I’ll drop you to your house.”
I let her chin go, and Gretchen’s hand drifts slowly from my chest toward my stomach before dropping away completely, and our eyes break contact at the same time. She turns to walk, and my hand finds its place on the small of her back. We only slow as she grabs her clutch without saying a word, and walk out of the club together to my waiting car.
George’s expression doesn’t change when he sees us. I know what we look like to him, and I don’t care. He gets out of the car and walks around to open the door, and I shake my head. His hand falls from the door handle confused. But I don’t want anyone near her. It doesn’t matter that she said no; I feel utterly fucking primal. And the feeling is fucking tripled now that I’m touching her.
I pull on the handle and open the door. “After you, Angel.”
Her eyes crinkle at the sides when she smiles at the nickname I’ve given her. It’s what she is: an angel. And I’m drawn to her in the same way misery loves company. I want to be in her light, but in the end, I’ll ruin the thing that makes her desirable. I’ll snuff out her light.
I get in after her, and George closes the door, then walks back around and gets into the driver’s seat.
“Where to?” I ask her, watching her legs cross, wondering what it would be like if I were to reach between them. Would she be wet for me? I catch myself staring at her legs for a moment too long, and I bring my eyes back up, hearing her give her address to George.
“Thank you for the ride. I would say that I owe you, but I’m not sure how you would collect,” she taunts.
“Smart woman,” I say approvingly.
She looks out the window, and I stare at her beautiful profile. She’s striking, but it’s the wistful look on her face that fills me with frustration. I can’t take that away, but I recognize the feeling.I want what I can’t have too, Angel.
I move my hand from beside me to her leg, my fingers resting just where her legs are joined. She doesn’t tense or move to stop me. The thing is, it’s the most natural feeling. It feels as if this is what it should be. Me, her. Always touching.
I’VE CROSSED A LINE, ANDI can’t cross back. But the feeling that’s sticking to me so harshly is that I don’t feel bad. I don’t. I know Luca’s married. I know he’s not mine, but I want him. So terribly fucking enviously bad that I feel entitled to Luca.
Why not me? Who cares if she got there first?I don’t even know Shelby, and he clearly isn’t happy with her.Why should I care?I could have him for myself, right now. I’d just have to invite him up. Six little words: “Would you like to come up?” That’s all it would take, and Luca King would fuck my brains out.
But when he leaves and goes home, he’d be taking my heart to a place I could never show my face. I would be his dirty little secret, and secrets stay hidden.
I’m a terrible person. No, I’ve become terrible. He is the devil, but I never believed in God, so I guess I was an easy target. His hand feels like it’s burning a brand into my skin—all he had to do was touch the part he wanted, and it became his.
My thoughts are interrupted by Luca’s voice.
“Angel, we’re here. I’ll walk you to your door.”
He exits the car and holds out his hand for me to take as I get out. I do, allowing him to help me out of the car. He doesn’t let it go either as he walks me in. I didn’t expect he would. Instead, he brings our joint hands to his lips, without looking at me. If he did, he might see the curiosity I have to know what he’s thinking. It’s funny, I said no, but I’m not sure Luca heard me…or maybe he doesn’t care.I think I prefer him uncaring.
Luca opens the door to my apartment building, and we walk toward the elevator bank. “Five,” I say to him as we enter, and he looks at the call buttons. He pushes the number and we stand silent, hands joined. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience.
I’ve never warred with my mind so much. I would love to have the proverbial angel and devil on my shoulder, but it feels like I’m alone. Because I am alone—I’ve made my choice, and now I’m just deciding on the levels of regret I’m willing to live with. So much for the willpower I had the sense to possess in the bar.
The doors open and he looks to me for direction. I tilt my head to the left, and he leads me out and walks to my door as I reach into my clutch for my key. I pull it out and turn to my door, closing my eyes for a moment to check in with myself. I open them and face my door, looking down at the handle, my key hovering, my breath shallow from the tension. I can feel the heat of his body behind me, his breath on my neck. I want his mouth on me more than I have ever wanted anything.
“Why do you have such an effect on me, Gretchen? Do you feel the same?”
Luca’s finger touches my leg and runs up the side of my thigh, pulling up the silk material as he goes.
“You already know the answer,” I say, knowing that my body’s reactions are obvious.
I can’t hide the goose bumps and the heat that spreads over my cheeks when he touches me. His hand stretches over the top of my thigh, his finger skimming my center, and my body shivers. “Luca.” His name drops from my lips like a moan, and I splay my hands against the door, needing to hold on to something, anything, for support.
He brings his lips to my ear and whispers, “You promised you’d forgive me.”
His lips ascend onto my neck and devour the sensitive skin, and my back arcs, overwhelmed by the sensation. The grip on my thigh tightens as he pulls my legs apart.
“But I won’t forgive myself,” I rush out, my voice half desperation, half regret.
Even in this moment, I won’t be dishonest. I won’t forgive myself.
