“Regret,” she says with a humorless laugh. “It’s funny you should say that.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately. And I sort of figured out I didn’t want to live my life with any regrets haunting me.” Her voice is melancholy and it scrapes at me hard for some reason. Puts me on the defensive.
“I don’t want you to regret it if we fuck tonight,” I tell her in a firm voice.
“And I don’t want to regret not fucking tonight,” she fires back at me. “I mean…if I let you walk out that door with only that kiss we just shared between us, and you were to die tonight…I would be regretful for not having felt you inside of me.”
Oh, those words slam into me hard, but I try to keep her on the right path.
“I’m not going to die tonight,” I tell her softly. “And we can go out again tomorrow night, and the night after that if you want. We can take it slow.”
A bark of a laugh comes out of her mouth, but it’s not a happy sound. Her eyes look bleak for just a brief moment, and it scares me. But then something sparks deep within those green orbs and heat sizzles through her gaze. She steps into me, pressing her body back against mine. Her voice is feminine and husky at the same time. “Life is frail for all of us. We don’t know what tomorrow holds, or the day after, or the day after that. And besides…whether we go on a second or third date, we’re going to end up fucking eventually. And I’m very much wanting that right now. No, wait…that’s not right. I need it right now.”
Oh, God…I’m a goner. Her words are so sure…so fucking hot. Laced with desire and thick with lust.
I frame her face with my hands once more, skimming the pads of my thumbs over her cheekbones. I lean in closer to her, peering into her eyes as if they hold all the answers I need to hear right now. “Are you sure, Olivia?”
She doesn’t answer me right away…just looks back at me with a yearning that claws its way deep into my soul. Then she tells me the words that make it all okay. “I’m sure.”
Chapter 6
Olivia
I’m sure.
God, I’m so sure.
I know the exact second my mind was made up and I decided that tonight I was going to put cancer out of my mind. That I was going to let Garrett sweep my worries away. I knew when we kissed in that stairwell of the parking garage, because when his lips touched mine, I didn’t think about my lymphoma. I didn’t think of the barrage of tests I had done today, or the fact that a doctor was going to drill down into my bone tomorrow to punch out some more tissue for testing. I didn’t think about bruises or chemotherapy or dying young.I thought only of Garrett, and how soft his lips were and how bold his tongue felt against mine. I savored the feel of his muscles under my hands and the smell of his body wash that reminded me of pine trees and freshly mowed grass mixed with masculine male. I had a blessed moment’s peace, and I wanted to feel it again. It’s a temporary fix to my problems, but I’m selfish enough to take it.
“Olivia…are you okay?” Garrett asks me, and as I focus on his gentle gaze, I realize I don’t want his worry or his soft touch.
“I’m fine,” I say boldly, dropping my hand down to his pelvis. I press my palm up against his erection and feel well satisfied when he sucks in air between his teeth and pushes forward into my hand. “I want to feel better, though.”
“I think I can do something about that,” he murmurs, placing his hand over mine and urging me to curl my fingers around him through the rough denim. I squeeze him not so gently and he groans. “Fuck…feels good.”
“Will feel better if we can get these clothes off of you,” I whisper, moving my hand up to unfasten the button of his jeans.
Garrett grabs my hand, locking my fingers up in a firm grip. “Where’s your bedroom? I want some place I can lay you down, because this is going to take a while.”
A shiver of excitement runs up my spine and I push past him to lead us back to the bedroom.
When I enter my bedroom, I release Garrett’s hand and walk over to my nightstand to turn on the table lamp. It washes the room in a soft, romantic glow…yet I have a feeling what we’re getting ready to do isn’t going to be romantic at all. I suspect it’s going to be electric, hard, and sweaty. Yes, lots of sweat.
Turning to face him, I have a moment’s doubt over the path I’m getting ready to take. He stands there watching me, his hands held loosely at his sides, his eyes staring at me hard.
“Changing your mind?” he asks softly. “Because it’s okay if you are.”
Shaking my head, I reach for the hem of my T-shirt to pull it off, but he murmurs, “Wait.”
Stepping up to me, he brushes my hands away and says, “Let me.”
My hands fall to my sides, but rather than grab my T-shirt, he reaches behind my head and works the ponytail holder loose from my hair. My hair falls down my back in a heavy cascade, and after tossing the elastic on the nightstand, he runs his fingers through the waves.
“I love your hair,” he muses as his eyes watch the path his fingers are taking. “All these colors…just beautiful.”
“Not natural,” I feel the need to explain, but he shrugs.
“Beautiful all the same. It suits your free spirit.”
Oh, his words. They seduce me even further, because never has a man paid attention to my hair. He takes his time, sifting his fingers through my hair and letting it float back down around my shoulders.