Page 110 of Broken Romeo
Even though his suit is flawless without a single wrinkle, his tie is loose around his neck and his hair stands up in a dozen different ways, as though he’s been needlessly running his hands through it.
I barely register the long garment bagand folder that he holds out for me.
“I brought you something,” he says, tucking the folder beneath his arm and slowly unzipping the garment bag, revealing a dress inside.
It’s a gorgeous backless gold and black Marc Jacobs cocktail dress. His eyes scan my body in appreciation, landing on my face. “But fuck if you need it. You could go to the party like that and be the most gorgeous woman in the room. You look… fuck. You look amazing.”
Heat rushes through me. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Holden.”
It’s the biggest lie I’ve ever told and we both know it.
It’s not fair that he has eyes so captivating with long, silky lashes that most women would covet. The sparkling amber of his eyes pull my focus and even though he’s gorgeous everywhere, it’s his eyes that captivate me.
It has always been his eyes.
He volleys my stare right back at me, his gaze skimming across me in a slow, deliberate crawl. His expression heats and his mouth presses into a suppressing, firm line.
I gulp as he gives me that look. The kind that tells me he’s thinking about all the ways he’s had me—and could have me again—if only he plays his cards right.
It takes every ounce of willpower I have to say, “No. I’m not doing this with you.”
I move to close my door, but his foot kicks out, stopping me.
“Wait,” he says. A whiff of whiskey drifts toward me. Though he doesn’t seem drunk, it appears he’s had a little liquid courage to get him here tonight.
“Why? Why should I wait? Why do you deserve for me to give you any more of my time?” Any more of my heart.
I hate the way my voice cracks, and he winces as tears fill my eyes.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers with a lift of his hands toward my face. “I never have.”
My body goes stiff as his fingers glide a long caress from my jaw down the tight cords of my neck until his hand curves around the back of my head. Giving a quick, sharp tug of my hair, he pulls my head back, exposing the curve of my neck to him. The position is achingly vulnerable in a way that leaves me whimpering and gasping for more.
His mouth dips to the hollow of my throat.
“Fuck,” he mutters, his warm breath fanning across my flaming hot skin.
A rush of memories follows with his mouth so close to me. I can still picture his younger, naked body and the confident way he pushes his pants over his hips. I can still feel the flex of his biceps as I clutch them, digging my fingers in upon his first thrust inside of me. I can smell the sweet rush of lemongrass and cedarwood and smokiness flooding my nostrils. It almost makes me nostalgic for the days when he still smoked.
He lifts his head, gaze falling to my mouth. For a moment, he draws the curtain back, leaving himself exposed. In his expression, I can see his conflicted, suppressed yearning. The ripe desire. His unquenched thirst… for me. An oasis is at arm’s length, if only I would open the doors to him.
That power simmers beneath my breasts, molten hot. The promise of sweet release and pleasure; pleasure I haven’t been able to achieve in the years since he left me.
He holds me captive with that intense stare and his heady breaths.
“Tell me to leave, Katherine.” His gaze fastens onto mine, his amber eyes bright and volatile. “Tell me to leave… or kiss me. But don’t just stand there torturing me.”
My knees tremble as I push onto my toes, parting my lips and brushing them against his in a teasingly gentle kiss that betrays the fervor burning my lungs. “Like this?”
With a groan, he puts us both out of our misery and drags me against his body, rushing into my apartment, and kicking the door closed behind him. I vaguely register the sound as he drops the garment bag and folder to the floor in a heap at our feet.
My apartment which I know so well recedes, spinning like a vortex around us as he devours my needy whimpers.
His body presses mine to the wall and my robe billows open, the cool air conditioning teasing its chilly breath over my nipples. His hands skim my jaw, my neck, then down to cup my breasts, pinching and caressing my nipples.
“God, Katherine,” he moans between each movement. “You feel so amazing. So fucking good.”
It’s everything I’ve wanted for five years and everything I’ve feared wrapped up in one giant, messy ball.