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He looks roughed up, but so good. Like an addict with the sweats, red eyes, a small scar beneath his jaw and one on his forearm, and a next-level bad-boy attitude.
I feel a warm detonation inside when his hand touches mine, and he pulls me over his lap.
“Harvey—”
“—shhhh.” He pulls me to him, and, instinctively, my arms cascade around his neck. He’s squeezing me tightly, but I keep that thought down, in fear he might let go. I take the pain and bask in its pleasure. Because I want nothing more than to be wanted by him.
Please—please, Harv, we can do this.
“Welcome home,” I whisper.
I love you.
He leans his face against my cheek, his stubble grazing against it. The smell of his cologne channels memories. It manages to knock down a few of my nerves.
Harvey feels safe. But he also feels different—something feels different.
“You’re my home, Gemma.”
And you’re mine. You have no idea how home is where you are, do you?
“I’m so sorry—I should’ve stopped us. I should’ve—”
“—Stop. None of this is your fault. It’s all mine.” The soft chuckle that escapes his lips would make me happy if it wasn’t otherwise covered with edges of anger. “You could’vediedbecause of me. You could’ve died...” He stares at the light gray wall, his expression sullen and out of this world.
I hold on to his cheeks, pulling him to me, pressing a kiss over his soft, thin lips. The butterflies in my stomach die a warm death. One by one they disappear, and the heat turns into a greediness for him that consumes every fiber of my being.
I’m desperate to make him happy, desperate forhim, period.
My tongue lightly enters his mouth, my hands embracing his nape, while my fingers weave through his longer hair. I take note to arrange for a haircut soon, knowing he prefers his hair short.
His hands reach for my waist, my thighs, and he places themon both sides of his legs, finally diving his warm tongue where it belongs.
It’s like our first kiss all over again. Harvey doesn’t take his time; he doesn’t have the patience. Then he stops abruptly.
“I’m not made of glass, you know. Don’t treat me like it.”
“I know. I won’t.”
“We should go eat; they’re waiting.”
I say nothing while I get off him, knowing he probably wants to spend time with his family too.
He leaves the room, and suddenly I feel utterly alone.
Damon skips work on Wednesday. I’m a tad bit worried—it’s not like him to do so. I thought of skipping, too, but I needed the distraction. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to come in and see him.
See if he made a mistake.
If his words from last night were a result of his drunkenness.
My mind is also on Harvey, on picturing him walk in his room. On picturing him walking in the woods with me—with or without braces. On going out for dinner dates without the whole town staring at him in pity.
I hope for Harv that he’ll soon reap the rewards of his determination.
I check Damon’s inbox; he sent a few emails. We have a conference and meetings to attend in New York next week, and I wonder how that’s going to pan out.
His absence this morning doesn’t settle the nerves ziplining inside my stomach. Instead, they multiply.
