Page 50 of For the Record
Adam…noticed. It was clear in the way his eyes dropped low in all of our face-to-face conversations, or when I turned to him and he would turn away entirely. The problem was his unreadable scowl and the way his throat bobbed as he refused to look me in the eye. It was getting more and more difficult for me to hold my feelings for this man back. If he kept that heated gaze on me, I wasn’t going to be able to reel myself in. And that scowl was one I couldn’t read, not really. Unreadable Adam was unnerving. How was I supposed to know where to go from here as long as he kept every emotion caged in from me?
At the end of Layla’s first dance with Luke, she pulled back and faced me, her waterproof mascara slowly starting to become not so waterproof. Black streaks began forming at the base of her lower lash line as she and Luke both cried and laughed in each other’s arms. It was family here—and me—so she probably wouldn’t have cared so much about the running makeup, but I knew she would want the most perfect pictures, so I turned to Calla.
“I made her an emergency makeup bag upstairs. I’m gonna go grab it.” I dipped my chin to the house behind us, and Calla nodded, tossing me a thumbs-up.
Besides, I was feeling incredibly hot under Adam’s scowly stare and needed a breather before I was going to just spontaneously combust. Air, that was all I needed. Despite the wedding being hosted outside, my throat felt tight and I was desperate for some air conditioning to cool down the heat burning my insides.
Quietly, I stood and walked to the house, through the back door, and up to the newly updated bonus room where we’d left our supplies.
I dug through the multitude of makeup bags spread across the bathroom we’d used to get ready this morning until I found Layla’s. I grabbed the touch-up kit I’d made last minute. Adam might have distracted me with his ridiculous broad shoulders and necktie, but I held a duty as maid of honor to be there for my girl first. Layla needed to come first, especially on her wedding day. And I could be a good enough friend to be there for her and not ogle her new brother-in-law for hours at a time.
Gripping the clear bag filled with travel bottles of all of my best friend’s essentials, I exited the bathroom. I briskly turned the corner. Apparently a little too briskly, considering I ran right into Adam. His hands rested on my hips, holding me in place as though he assumed I would fall over like a bowling pin at the collision.
“Rachel.” It sounded as if there was a rock sitting in the back of his throat, this rough rasp that said more than his actual words did.
I looked up to his face. His brows were lowered, eyelids heavy, while his thumb caressed my hip in the gentlest of holds. I blinked up at him, my eyelashes fluttering.
“Adam,” I said back, keeping my gaze locked on his.
Maybe it was the champagne coursing through me. Maybe it was his hold on my body. Or maybe even the sound of soft music playing from outside that made me lean in. But truthfully, the biggest reason was that whatever part of my brain held patience for him had collapsed, leaving my walls bare, with no security. It was the evening phone calls to make sure I got home safe, the never-ending reassurances toward my dad, the first night we met—all of it like weights stacked on top of one another, standing on my willpower. Standing on the premise that no matter how much I wanted this, I knew it was wrong. Right person, wrong time. I knew that. I wasn’t sure if there was ever going to be the right timing because of our situations. If we got together and everyone outside found out, then it somehow…didn’t work, it would destroy us both inside. My whole life revolved around my dad’s health and my work. I had no business getting into any unknown relationships. But my brain didn’t seem to care about any of that tonight.
My heels put us at eye level.
I leaned in as his stare trailed over my lips. “Are you thinking about kissing me?” I asked, my lips lightly grazing his like a lover’s caress, not quite a kiss, and not not a kiss either. Something so light, I wondered if I’d imagined it entirely.
He nodded at me with this tortured gaze that made me question why we hadn’t done this long ago. “Among other things.”
It was invitation enough for me. I took a deep breath, my chest expanding to press against his as my fingers dropped the makeup bag to the ground between us. I lifted up, but he was the one to move first and press his lips to mine.
After our last kiss, our last night together, I assumed if we got another chance, it would be the same as before: raw, passionate magnetism that was hurried and delightful, yet lacking…purpose. Something deeper.
Instead, Adam’s hands left my hips and reached to grab the back of my neck, his thumbs pressing right into my jaw as he tilted my head up for him. He smelled like leather and cedarwood and every other ridiculous note that was labeled on his everyday cologne, but truthfully, he smelled like my Adam.
My Adam, who’d dropped everything for me multiple times with just a whisper about my bad days. My Adam, who volunteered to sit and talk with my dad because I was working later than usual, knowing he was going to have to repeat himself fifty times in a row and yet not caring. My patient, strong, silent Adam, who had so much to say behind those shut lips.
His thumbs rubbed up and down my hairline with this delicious pressure. Firm, warm hands that felt like safety. I had been on a tightrope—holding, balancing for so long, and now that I’d fallen off, he was right there to catch me in those calloused hands.
“You torture me. Every day,” he murmured before lowering his lips to mine in this soft, slow press that drove shivers up my spine and into my arms. “This mouth. That heart. You’re so pretty, Rachel.”
My hands took a minute to react before resting on his lower back, nails dragging into his shirt in desperate need of more. But that wasn’t what he was giving. He wasn’t trying for a hurried make-out session in a hallway. He was giving me this slow, open-mouthed kiss that said he wasn’t going anywhere. It spoke volumes, this unhurried grip on my neck, the way his lips would press and kiss and pull just right before he would back up and tilt his head, then do it again.
Everything around me faded into this black-and-white dull noise. My only focus being Adam’s gentle and patient mouth against mine, dragging this euphoria higher and higher.
Other things, he’d said. I was very, very interested in what other things he had in mind.
His thoughts must have been tied with mine, because his gentle grip on the back of my neck quickly fell to my hips, gripping me with this tight hold, as though I was sand between his fingers, ready to slip away. I pressed my lips to him, tasting his mint and vanilla with a mix of my champagne in this decadent potion, as my hands lifted to his arms, testing and gripping against the sleeves of his shirt.
He was light and warmth and everything good in this world wrapped up in this lovely package that I wasn’t allowed to have and yet was peeking at anyway.
“I’m getting to it, Calla. Would you calm down?” A voice from downstairs halted my hands on his biceps.
“Adam,” I murmured.
He groaned against me, the grip on my hips only tightening as he buried his face in my neck, kissing and gently biting on my collarbone.
There were footsteps. Coming up the stairs. Just a couple feet from us. Someone was going up those stairs fast. I knew that, but…
“Adam.” I hurried, pulling back slightly and silently praying whoever was coming up those steps was going to turn around.