Page 80 of The Publicity Stunt
“Chere, I haven’t changed my number in the past eight years, hoping you’d call. Or text. Or … anything.”
The lightness in the air rises and heavy tension starts to take its place. The night I left was the single most difficult time of my life. Deep down, I know we’ll have to talk about it. But now right now. Not tonight. We continue sitting in silence, looking at the flickering skyline in the distance. Or, at least, pretending to.
Parker’s voice comes out heavy. “I never wanted you to leave.”
“We don’t have to talk about it,” I blurt, a little too sharply than I intended.
What I meant to say was,I don’t want to talk about it right now. All I want to do is sit here with you and look at the skyline, pretending that night never happened, pretending I didn’t spill gasoline all over our friendship and set it on fire. And that you didn’t give me the match to do so.
He tightens his hold around my shoulder and pulls me against him. “What are you thinking?”
“Nothing.”
Parker frowns and tips his head to a side, analyzing my face for what I’m not saying out loud. “Talk to me, April.”
I tilt my head to meet his gaze. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”
His eyes wander down to my mouth and his lips part just a little. Neither of us turns the other way. “And what is it, exactly”—he lowers his forehead to mine, the tips of our noses barely brushing past each other—“that we’re doing?”
I could lean into him.
I could angle my chin up so his bottom lip catches mine.
I know he wants me to.
I know I want to.
“I don’t know.” The admission leaves my mouth in a whisper.
I feel his rough fingers at the side of my head, brushing past my temple. Even through the thick fleece of the sweatshirt, his touch sends goosebumps down my arms.
“Eight years, April,” he rasps, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “That’s how long it’s been.” I can hear the frustration in his voice. I can feel it. “You don’t have be to be scared anymore. I’ll never let anything hurt you again.” His fingers wind into my hair, tilting my chin back.
Something along the lines ofI knowslips out of my mouth, and he leans down, pressing his lips to my ear. “I know you want to make me work for it. But this body here is all yours, Chere.” His other hand tightens around my waist and I half moan at the pressure. “Whatever the hell you want to do with it, I’m just happy to be included.”
I drop my hand to his thigh and his lips crash into mine.
Oh. God.
His hand moves to grip the front of my throat. Rough and passionate, overwhelming and heated, and a whole world of other words my brain can’t even begin to process right now. I scrape my fingers through his hair and pull him closer. A low groan rumbles out his throat.
Loosening his grip, he slides his mouth across my jaw, kissing and sucking my neck, voice as rough as his touch. Slowly and deliberately, he lowers his hand between my legs. Not quite touching. Just scraping over my trousers, a touch so criminally light. His other hand leaves my waist. My breathing slows as he palms me through the sweatshirt, over the curve of my breast, his fingers circling my nipple, the torturous pressure leaving me aching for more.
“Parker, we shouldn’t—”
“Yeah? Tell me to stop, then.”
There’s a split second when I do contemplate doing exactly that. But obviously, I’m not using that part of my brain to think anymore. My lips find his and I kiss him hard.
He slides his hands down my waist, wrapping them around to grip my ass as his tongue gently traces my lower lip. He kisses my neck, and I lean into him. His breath is hot on my neck, and I feel my body heat up in response.
I pull my body flush against his, dying to be as close to him as physically possible. He responds in turn by tightening his grip on my ass, fingers kneading into the firm flesh. I bite his lip and let out a long exhale. The fog clears from my brain as I pull away from him. “We’re on a roof.”
His mouth moves down to my neck, and I feel his hands wander to the waistline of my pants. “Mm-hm.”
“This is a public space.”
“There’s no one else up here, Chere.” His hand is back on my waist.
