Not Until You Part III Read online

  He frowned. “It’s not like that.”

  “Right. So if I asked you over for dinner . . .”

  He glanced away, his guilt like a fog invading the small hallway.

  I shook my head, more disgusted with myself for asking the question than his response. “See you around, Foster.”

  Before he could respond, if he had even planned to respond, I unlocked my door and shut him out.

  The stupid tears came then.

  So much for not getting my feelings involved.

  Epic, one-night-stand fail.

  Chapter 13

  Foster lay in his bed in the dark, staring holes into the ceiling. The fan was on high, the chain clink-clink-clinking against the base, but he was still too hot and restless to sleep. He’d heard Cela come into her room about an hour earlier. The TV had gone on for a while, then off again. So he was all too aware that she was right there, beneath the sheets, barely a foot behind his head.

  It’d been two days since he’d done everything wrong in the hallway. Now he was convinced she was avoiding him as much as he was avoiding her. It was juvenile of him. He’d never avoided a woman he’d slept with. Not even Darcy after she’d ripped his goddamned guts out. He’d had awkward before, but never had he experienced the brutal assault on his restraint that Cela caused. Being anywhere near her flipped all his fucking switches. When he’d seen her with that scumbag, Gerald, he’d been ready to kill the guy for even daring to breathe on Cela. He hadn’t even had time to form full thoughts—all he’d seen was red. It’d taken all he had to give Cela a chance to come willingly instead of simply picking her up and hauling her over his shoulder so he could get her safe as soon as possible.

  Then in the hallway, she’d gone pale, shaken by the news of Gerald’s background. Everything about her had called to Foster. He’d pictured himself crowding her space, kissing away that fear, and dragging her into his apartment to make her forget about it all. But he’d stayed glued to the spot and had turned down her invite to come over. His knuckles had ached from clenching his fists so hard to hold himself back. After she’d gone into her apartment, he’d stood in the hallway for a full five minutes, staring at her fucking door.

  Pathetic.

  He rolled onto his side, yanking the sheet off his legs and closing his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep. But the loud ding of his phone had him lifting his head. “What the hell?”

  He grabbed for his phone, pawing around in the dark, and flipped it over. A text message. He sat up on his elbow.

  For the love of God please turn off whatever is making that annoying sound.

  He blinked, once, twice, shocked at the name of the sender. He peeked at the wall behind him, then tapped a message back.

  Sorry. Crappy Fan. Will turn off.

  He climbed out of bed and hit the switch. His phone dinged again.

  Thx. Hope I didn’t wake you.

  He sank back onto his pillows, hearing the words as if they were said in that spice-laced voice of hers. He typed back.

  No. Can’t sleep.

  He held the phone in his hands, wondering if she was going to respond, half hoping she would, but knowing this was merely a neighborly transaction—the modern equivalent to banging on someone’s wall and telling them to keep the racket down.

  When nothing appeared on the screen, he reached over to set the phone back on the bedside table. But as soon as he put it down, the perky noise filled the silence again.

  Count sheep?

  He chuckled and tapped back a message.

  Those bastards fell asleep hours ago. Got tired of all that jumping.

  There was a soft sound from her side of the wall. Had he made her laugh? The thought warmed him. His phone dinged again.

  I could sing you to sleep.

  He stared at the words, not registering them for a moment. It was so out of the blue that he didn’t know how to react. He typed back:

  U sing?

  Former choir girl. :)

  Of course you are.

  Watch the virgin jokes, smartass.

  He laughed out loud, knowing she could probably hear it on her side of the wall. Somehow being in the dark, having that thin barrier of drywall and wood between them made it all easier, lifted some of the weight from the last time they’d seen each other.

  I’d love to hear u sing.

  There was a long pause before her reply, but when it came, it was a simple one.

  OK.

  He could almost sense her taking a deep breath, building up her nerve. Then, as if putting a needle to a record, the slightly muted sound of her voice leaked through the walls. A low, haunting melody filled his ears, and he involuntary closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t miss any of it. He couldn’t pick out the words, but it was vaguely familiar, something he’d heard before. And it was beautiful, her voice strong and unbroken, a sound befitting the nickname he’d given her—angel.

  And he knew this was supposed to be putting him to sleep, soothing him. But instead, he felt his body prickling with each note, awareness brewing in his nerve endings as her voice strummed through him, stroking his senses. He could picture her there, sitting up in bed, wearing probably next to nothing because it had to be hot in her room as well, and belting out that song. A song that, though he couldn’t hear the lyrics, spoke of longing and need. Loneliness.

  Those feelings bled through him, mirroring his own, and tightness built in his chest—like rope being wrapped around him and cinched. His body went unbearably hot. Too much more and she was going to drive him to middle-of-the-night madness. The sexy, throaty sound of her last notes drifted through the barrier between them, and he reached up to press his palm against the wall, feeling the faint vibration of her words.

  When all had gone silent again, he opened his eyes and took a breath before lifting his phone again.

  That was beautiful, Cela. *in awe*

  Thx. Did it make u sleepy?

  It made me hard. But of course he wasn’t going to type that.

  Yes.

  Liar.

  He ran his thumb along the side of the phone, knowing he shouldn’t, but unable to stop himself.

  Ur right. It made me want you.

  Full minutes passed as he stared at the screen. She wasn’t going to respond. He’d given her the cold shoulder two days ago and now was making a pass at her. He was a fucking dick. He was about to type back an apology when his phone dinged.

  I’ve heard that’s good for sleep too.

  He rubbed a hand over his face and climbed out of bed with a groan—paced. But his good sense and self-control had left the building fifteen minutes ago. Hell, who was he kidding? Those two things hadn’t been around since the moment he’d invited Cela over to their apartment. The girl undid him.

  There was a soft tap from her side. He stopped at the spot on the wall where it’d come from and leaned his head against it, imagining her mirroring him on the other side, staring back at him with as much longing as he knew resided in his eyes right now. He lifted his phone.

  Invite me over, Cela.

  Another long stretch of a pause, then:

  Isn’t that against one-night-stand rules?

  I’m good at making rules not following them.

  His phone sat silent. He rolled to the side until his bare back was against the wall. His heart was thumping hard against his ribs, everything in him willing her to respond. He had no idea what had gotten into him. It was like being a fucking teenager all over again, waiting for the girl he liked to call him back. This wasn’t his style. But all he knew was that one time with Cela hadn’t been enough. This was a bad idea. A selfish one.

  What the hell was he planning to do with her anyway? He wasn’t even sure he remembered how to have vanilla sex.

  His phone dinged.

  I don’t want to follow them ei
ther.

  He tossed the phone on the bed.

  ***

  This was stupid. I was stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

  What in the hell had made me think texting Foster tonight was a good idea? I’d lain in bed for over an hour, listening to that incessant fan noise through the wall, unable to sleep because I couldn’t stop replaying Friday night. The way Foster had talked to me, how he’d felt against me, the sensations he’d coaxed out my body. I’d lived my whole damn life without having sex, and now I’d had it once and couldn’t stop thinking about it. About him.

  And freaking hell—if I wasn’t mistaken, I’d just made a midnight booty text. I flipped my phone in my hand over and over again as I walked the perimeter of my apartment. It’d been at least ten minutes since I’d sent the last text. I’d managed to brush my teeth and pull on a pair of boxer shorts to pair with my SPCA charity walk T-shirt, but that was about as much prep as I could manage. Some seductress I’d make.

  And this was a terrible idea on so many levels. First, I was sending the message to Foster that I was the kind of girl who’d make late-night hookup calls. And second, I’d already been struggling with my feelings about Friday night. Touching him again was only going to make it worse. But I couldn’t walk away yet. Even when he’d been hauling me away from Gerald, acting like an overbearing tyrant, I’d wanted to freaking melt at his feet.

  God, how fucking lame. Who was this person? I didn’t act like this. I’d never lost my shit over a guy.

  Maybe this was just how sex affected people. Maybe that’s why my friends got so insane when they were pursuing someone new. But somehow I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. Even though I’d been a virgin, I’d dated a few guys here and there. And the things I’d done with them had felt absolutely nothing like being with Foster. Everything seemed to be amplified with him—bathed in neon and pulsing color. I couldn’t turn off the desire.

  I freaking craved him.

  The sharp rap on my door made me yelp. I slapped her hand over my mouth, hoping to God he hadn’t heard that, and made my way to the door. After one, two, three breaths, I swung it open. All the oxygen I’d sucked in whooshed out of me. Foster stood there as disheveled as I’d ever seen him—black hair sticking up in a few places and falling over his forehead, a five-o’clock shadow turned full stubble, and his T-shirt wrinkled.

  I’d never, ever wanted to touch someone so damn much.

  “You should never open your door without the chain on, especially at night,” he said in a serious tone.

  I blinked at the random comment, still breathless from the fact that he was really here. “I knew it was you.”

  He stepped forward, filling up the doorway, and put his hands on my shoulders. “Always double-check.”

  “Right,” I said, still a little foggy brained.

  “Promise me.”

  “I promise.” At that moment, I would’ve pretty much promised him anything—money, sex, my firstborn child—anything as long as his hands stayed on me and he kept looking at me like that.

  He nodded and without another word, backed me up into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind him. His eyes devoured me in one long, sweeping glance.

  Self-consciousness swamped me. “Sorry, I didn’t get a chance to change. I don’t really have anything that . . .” Is sexy. Worthy. Grown-up. “Isn’t this.”

  “Hush, Cela,” he said, his voice like a warm gust in bitter winter. “Never apologize for how you look. I’ve spent two hours lying in bed, unable to sleep or cool off because I was imagining you on the other side of the wall looking just like this.”

  “Sloppy?”

  “Fuckable.”

  “Oh.” My body went hot all over, his crudeness pressing some unknown button inside me.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again. I got the sense he was reeling himself back in. “Sorry.”

  “For what?” I whispered, my brain still humming from the previous comment.

  “Never mind.”

  Then I realized what he was saying. “Please. Don’t censor yourself because of me. I’m inexperienced but not innocent.”

  He stepped closer and cupped the back of my neck, the firm touch sending branching bolts of awareness through me. “You are innocent, angel. More than you even realize because you don’t even know what you don’t know. But God help me if that doesn’t make me want to do really, really bad things to you.”

  I swallowed hard, every nerve in my body standing at attention, begging him. “Show me.”

  Something flashed in those blue eyes, predatory, but he hid it quickly and brushed a soft kiss over my lips. “Not tonight, angel. Tonight I want to show you what a first time should be like.”

  Chapter 14

  Foster swept my legs right out from under me before I had a chance to process what he’d said. One second his lips were on mine, the next I was cradled against his chest, and he was moving toward my bedroom. His heartbeat was a hard, steady thump against my side—utterly calm—whereas mine was trying to crack a rib and tear through my chest.

  He turned both of us in the hallway and pushed my bedroom door open with his foot. I’d left a lamp on and had hastily made the bed, but I still cringed, knowing there was a pile of dirty laundry in the corner and boxes waiting to be packed stacked against the wall. It definitely wasn’t an opulent setting like the room at the Hotel St. Mark. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to clean up.”

  Foster’s gaze dipped down to me, amused. “First rule of first times—they usually occur in less-than-romantic surroundings. It’s part of the deal. But I love this room. Red. I never would’ve guessed you’d pick such a bold color.”

  I smiled. “Maybe I’m more daring than you give me credit for.”

  He set me down on the bed and cocked an eyebrow. “Angel, you went to a hotel room with two older, obviously demanding guys to lose your virginity in a threesome. I haven’t met a girl with more guts than that.”

  I leaned back on my elbows to enjoy the glorious view as he tugged off his T-shirt. Foster was in my room, getting naked. My brain could hardly process that. “I’m not that brave. I didn’t sleep with Pike.”

  Foster paused, his head out of the shirt but his arms still wrapped in it. “Hold up. You didn’t?”

  I attempted a casual shrug even though absolutely no part of me felt casual or relaxed right now. “We just ended up chatting in the bathroom while we took turns showering.”

  Foster didn’t smile, didn’t comment, but his eyes glinted with something that made my stomach flip. He finished tugging off his shirt and tossed it aside, then he was crawling onto the bed, an imposing figure looming over me—one I’d lain in this very bed and pictured above me more times than I’d ever admit to.

  The cool material of his athletic pants brushed my bare legs as he insinuated a knee between my tightly clenched thighs. His dark hair fell across his forehead as his eyes crinkled around the corners and the hard length of his erection brushed against my hip. “Relax, angel. I’m not going to make demands on you this time or hurt you.”

  “You didn’t hurt me,” I said, my words hardly a whisper. I was breathing too hard, heady with the smell of his skin, to manage much else. “Not on purpose.”

  He lowered his head finding the curve of my neck and kissing me there. The soft press of his mouth made my nipples go hard against my T-shirt. “I hit you, Cela. Hard enough to raise welts. And believe me, it was very much on purpose.”

  I shivered as he nipped at my collarbone. “I don’t remember the pain.”

  Just the pleasure. The grind-my-brain-into-useless-bits pleasure.

  He lifted up, his elbows braced alongside me, and gave me a searching look before the veil slid over his expression again. “Are you still sore from the other night?”

  I knew he wasn’t asking about the spanking
this time. I reached up and looped my arms around his neck, relishing the freedom to not just look but touch him. “Totally recovered.”

  His smile was slow, wicked. “Good. In that case, you have far too many clothes on.”

  He lifted me up a bit and eased my T-shirt over my head, then let me fall back to the bed. His pupils went black in the lamplight as he gazed down at me and drew the tip of his finger around one of my nipples. I moaned at the featherlight touch.

  “I love how sensitive you are,” he said, offering the same gentle touch to the other side. “The slightest touch makes you shiver and flush. It’s beautiful to watch.”

  I almost admitted that even a look from him made me shiver, but I knew revealing how much he affected me would only make me look like some girl with a mad crush. Hell, I was a girl with a mad crush. “You’re good at the touching.”

  He laughed softly before leaning down to take my mouth in a long, languid kiss. His bare chest pressed against mine, the light dusting of hair teasing my sensitive skin, and his lips took command of mine. Unlike the urgent hunger of our first few kisses together, this one was like a lazy summer night, making everything go slow and warm inside me. He tasted of toothpaste, and I smiled against his mouth at the thought of us both rushing into the bathroom after the text message to erase all signs of midnight breath. Somehow I found the humanness of that comforting. Here in my bedroom he wasn’t the untouchable sophisticated businessman, just Foster—a guy who was maybe trying to impress me as much as I was him.

  But I couldn’t hold on to the thought for long because Foster’s hands were cupping and kneading my breasts, and his tongue was sliding along mine in a way that had moisture gathering fast between my thighs. I lifted my hips against his, and his erection pressed hard against me. He groaned into the kiss, biting my bottom lip. His fingers dug into my ribs, hard enough to make me gasp.