Page 77 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
Again, no answer. But my intuition is screaming that something is wrong, so I knock lightly, calling his name again.
“I’m fine.”
In his voice I hear an unrecognizable emotion that makes my skin crawl. With my heart in my throat, I say, “I’m coming in.” I don’t give him much time before I open the door.
And there he stands at the bathroom sink, in nothing but faded jeans. He’s staring at himself in the mirror.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
He just keeps staring at himself, as if he can’t tear his eyes away from his reflection. “I don’t recognize him.”
He’s referring to the man looking back at him in the glass. I get a sick feeling in my stomach. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Look at him. Look at his eyes, Chloe.”
Now I’m really scared. What the hell is happening? Just when I’m about to ask, A.J. says wonderingly, “They’re happy.” He turns slowly from the mirror and looks at me. “My eyes are happy.”
And they are. They’re shining so bright, it’s like he’s lit up from inside.
He moves slowly away from the sink as if in a dream. He takes my face in his hands, gazing down at me in stunned disbelief. “I know it’s wrong . . . that I should feel . . . when you’ve been hurt, you’re so hurt, but just having you here with me, having you sleeping in the other room . . . I was in the kitchen and this feeling came over me, and it scared me so much because I didn’t know what it was, and when I went into the bathroom and saw myself I realized . . . it’s happiness. I think it is, I mean. I don’t really remember what it feels like.”
I drop the ice and wrap my arms around his waist, rising up on my toes. I kiss him softly on the mouth. “Welcome back to the human race, Prince Charming. We’ve missed you here.”
A smile spreads over his face. It’s heartbreakingly beautiful. “Angel,” he whispers. And then his lips find mine.
The kiss starts out soft, but within seconds it turns violently passionate. We’re desperately hungry for each other, clinging and voracious. His teeth draw blood as they press into my lower lip. When I make a small sound in my throat, he pulls back and sees the smear of red on my mouth. He tenses, his expression pained.
“Fuck! I’m so sorry—”
“Don’t be. That’s the best pain I’ve ever felt.”
He’s appalled, but also turned on, and can’t decide whether to smile or frown. So I decide for him. I reach between his legs and grasp the throbbing bulge in his jeans.
He groans. “No. You’re hurt.”
“Shut up.” I stroke him, ignoring his protests. When he doesn’t stop me, I reach for his zipper.
In the same way he gutted me with humiliation the night in my bedroom, he grasps my wrists and commands, “Stop.”
His face is flushed. His eyes are hot. I know he doesn’t want me to stop.
“We’ve already been through this, A.J.”
His eyes briefly close. “I mean, not like this. Not when you’re hurt. Not now.”
In spite of what seems like inevitable forward momentum leading to us finally consummating our relationship to become true lovers in every sense of the word, I suffer a moment of hideous insecurity. “But you do want to?”
He releases my wrists to once again cup my face. He strokes his thumbs over my heated cheeks, carefully skirting the area with the stitches. He breathes, “Sweet angel, I’ve wanted you since the first time I heard you sing.”
That stops me dea
d. “Um . . . what?”
He wraps his arms around me, and rests his forehead on my shoulder. His heart thumps a steady beat against my breasts.
“I heard you singing to yourself one day. Nine months ago, to be exact. The day Nico and I first came into your shop to get flowers for Kat. I’ll never forget it, no matter how long I live.”
He turns his face to my neck. I hold my breath, sensing that what he’s about to tell me might explain everything. Or at least shed some light on the mystery that is Alex James Edwards.
