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My heart melts at his words, but can I believe him?
Chapter Sixteen
Charles
I’m still reeling from our intimacy when she whispers, “I have to go.”
Her words hit me like an icy winter wind, leaving me breathless and uncertain. Is she leaving me in a hurry for a reason? Perhaps she feels guilty because there's someone else in her life that she's more interested in and she didn't expect to wind up in bed with me.
Still, there's a mixture of longing and reluctance in her voice and eyes, as if she's torn between staying and leaving off to whatever destination calls her. I instinctively pull her closer, inhaling the sweet scent of her skin and pressing my lips to her shoulder as if to get one last taste of her. And this very well may be my only taste of her.
A thought that leaves me haunted and deeply upset. “Right now?” I ask.
“Right now.” There's regret in her words as she gently scoots away from me on the bed. I watch her sit up, her back to me, admiring the curves of her body and the perfection of her frame. I even love the parts other people might consider imperfections, like the stretch marks across her thighs, belly, and breasts. I want to commit every perfect mark to memory, but I worry I won’t get the opportunity.
I reach out to touch her, brushing my fingertips down her back. She shivers once again and glances over her shoulder at me. I search her eyes, hoping to find an explanation to why she has to leave so quickly, but her gaze only reveals a hint of sadness and no clear answers. She offers a slight smile, then bends down to gather her clothing.
I get out of bed and pull on my pants, leaving the room to go get her shirt from the living room where she’d dropped the black tank top. Scooping it up off the floor, I turn and walk back toward my living room to offer her the material. She takes the shirt with a delicate smile and pulls it over her head. Once she's all the way dressed, I walk next to her toward the front door.
We walk in silence, as if there's nothing to say. But at the front door, she stops and turns to face me. Taking both of my hands in hers, she smiles as she searches my gaze. “Thank you for the lovely day. For spending time with me at the Farmer’s Market, for listening to me talk too much, and, well...” She glances away from me as a blush crosses her cheeks and I understand what she’s not saying.
“Thank you for spending your time with me. I appreciate it and you.”
With a sweet smile, she leans in and presses her lips to my cheek. When she pulls back, I turn to look her in the eyes and she freezes, then presses her lips to mine. I relax in the moment, loving the soft feel of her mouth on mine, reliving the memories of the last kiss we shared and where that one had led.
She breaks the kiss but doesn't move away. “Thank you... for everything,” she whispers.
And just like that, she walks out the front door toward her car, her head down as if she’s staring at the ground and her steps quick, like she’s making a grand escape.
An hour later, I'm still pacing my living room floor like that'll help me come up with the answer to why she had to leave so suddenly when there's a knock at my front door.
I glance up wondering if she forgot something, but also curious why she's not just keying in the code and coming inside. With quick strides I walk over and open the front door and come face to face with Methew.
I almost close the door in his face.
He’s quick to put a foot in the door to keep me from closing it on him, as if he read my mind. “Nice place. Think you have enough windows?” The words are supposed to be complimentary. They come across more as an insult that doesn't land because I’m not ashamed of my home.
“Why are you here?” He's just about one of the last people that I want to see, especially right now when I'm not feeling entirely confident in what his relationship is with Alisha and the fact that she had just left in such a hurry when I know she’s planning on having dinner with him Saturday.
I can't help but feel like maybe he's part of the reason she's gone.
He flashes a playboy smile as he runs a hand through his brown hair, his green eyes sparkling mischief. “The fact that I’m here seems to have struck a nerve. Something bothering you, Charles?” He lets out a sharp chuckle that holds no mirth or humor.
All I want is to rewind a few hours when she was here in my arms. I don’t want to be here with Methew, I don't want to have this conversation, and I'm not interested in anything he has to say. I just want the woman I’m falling in love with back in my home.
“The only thing you being here has done is tell me that I need to make sure that my gate man knows better than to let trash blow up my driveway.” I've been meaning to be a little more restrictive with who can come to my home, but I haven't gotten around to making a restricted from entry list for my poor gatekeeper.
His smile vanishes, and his eyes narrow. “There's no need to be angry, Charles. I'm just here to have a little chat with you.”
I seriously fucking doubt that.
I wave a dismissive hand at him. “Say whatever you're here to say.” With that, I walk over to my in-home bar and pour myself a glass of bourbon. I know a good host would offer a guest a drink, but he's not a guest and I'm not a good host.
At this point, I hope if he's uncomfortable, he's more likely to leave sooner.
He takes a seat in my favorite chair, putting one ankle on the opposite knee and his elbow on the armrest. He plants his fingertips against his chin, studying me as if I'm some foreign beast and I take another drink.
“Does it bother you?”
