"No," she whispers, her voice shaking. "But I have a lock on my door. And a knife under my mattress."
"Good girl." I bite her bottom lip, my dick throbbing. I fucking love knowing that she knows how to take care of herself. I love that she's independent. Hell, I'm falling for every goddamn thing about her.
If I were a better man, I'd decline her invitation and go back to my hotel for the night. But I'm not that man. I want to be in her space for as long as she'll let me. Doesn't matter if it's down the hall. Just knowing she's under the same roof sounds enticing as hell.
"I'll stay with you tonight," I murmur, not missing the way she sags into me a little, almost like she's relieved. I also don't miss the way she immediately reins herself in, pulling back. She wants to give in to this so fucking badly, but she isn't there yet.
I'll take any and every excuse I can get to worm my way under her defenses, to spend time with her…to prove that she can let her guard down and keep letting me in.
"I'm not sleeping with you," she whispers, her breath fogging the air. "I just don't want to leave my best friend's brother-in-law in a hotel when I have a spare room."
"Yeah?" My lips quirk at the corners. She's so full of shit. "Maybe I'm not sleeping with you, either."
"Whatever," she grumbles, trying to slip out of my arms.
I stop her at the last second, pulling her flush against me. My lips come down on hers in a hard kiss. She tastes like wine and strawberries from the sorbet she had for dessert. The combination is intoxicating.
Hell, everything about her is intoxicating.
Will she hear me moaning her name from down the hall tonight when I jerk off? Will she touch herself when she hears me? God, I fucking hope so.
I break the kiss with a groan, pulling back.
Her breathing is unsteady, her cheeks flushed. "We're definitely not doing that, either."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I whisper, my voice coming out husky and low.
She shivers in response, and I know damn well that she's right there with me, even if she isn't ready to admit it yet.
Chapter Seven
Tia
Knowing Briggs is sleeping on the opposite side of the wall has me wide awake until well after midnight. I try to forget he exists. I count sheep. I meditate. I even count backward from one hundred. Nothing dislodges the reminder that he's in my house, sleeping in my guest room right now.
I'm not even sure why I invited him to stay. Actually, that isn't true. Maybe I can lie to him, but it's a lot harder to lie to myself. I invited him because I had fun tonight. I enjoyed talking to him. Ienjoyed planning with him. I liked the way he looked at me, and the way my entire body lit up whenever he touched me.
I liked letting my guard down for once and just…trusting myself again. It's been so long since I've done that. For years, I've blamed myself for being stupid enough to fall into Daniel's trap. I've told myself if I were just smarter, if I'd just looked a little harder, if I'd just trusted that little voice that whispered that I wasn't ready, then none of it would have happened. But the truth is, I didn't do anything wrong.
I was eighteen, dating a guy who knew how to be charming and put on a show. He knew how to slip beneath my defenses, say all the right things, and act like he genuinely cared about me. He's the one who did something wrong. He's the one who lied, manipulated, and used me in some sick game with his friends.
That isn't on me.
I don't think I've ever let myself believe that before tonight. But sitting across from Briggs, listening to him tell me that Daniel is the one who fucked up? For the first time, I felt the weight I've been carrying just…dissolve.
It felt good. Freeing.
It made me realize something else, too.
What Daniel did isn't on Briggs, either. I can't hold him accountable for something he didn't do. I can't judge him by the actions of an asshole I knew in college, either. That isn't fair to him.
He deserves to be weighed and measured by his own actions, his own morality, and his own deeds. He deserves a chance. The thought scares the hell out of me. I can't lie about that. But…I think not giving him that chance might scare me just as much.
I don't want to wake up next week or next year and wonder whether I let something amazing slip through my fingers because I couldn't or wouldn't trust my own judgment again. Idon't want to wake up five years from now and realize that I'm still chained to what happened, unable to move beyond it.
I just want…peace. I want more of what I had tonight.
I want Briggs, dammit.