Come to Me Quietly (Closer to You #1)(41)
Author: A.L. Jackson

But instinctively I knew to keep my mouth shut.

When I left, I wouldn’t leave Aly ashamed, couldn’t bear to shed light on the sickness I was tainting her with. This would be our secret, our fantasy, and for just a little while, I was giving in to it.

Steam filled the small space, and the mirror was coated, hiding me in the misty haze. I swept my hand across the surface and looked at my reflection in the foggy mirror.

Hate spun through my insides and throbbed down my limbs.

What the hell did she see?

When I heard her bedroom door open, I quickly opened the bathroom door, wanting to catch a glimpse of her before she left for the day. Feigning apathy, I slowed when I stepped out into the hall.

She stood at the bar, gathering her things.

“Have to work today, huh?” I asked. As if I didn’t already know.

She dropped her face, looking all shy and innocent and perfect, and then shoved her wallet into her purse. “Yeah. I’m just working the short lunch shift, though, so I’ll be off a little after one.” Gathering up the mass of dark hair from her neck, Aly twisted it into a ponytail. “It shouldn’t be too bad,” she said.

She glanced up at me with awareness in her eyes, as if she knew exactly what I was thinking, that I couldn’t stand to watch her leave. She knew I was going to be counting the hours before she returned and she even knew how much I absolutely hated the fact that I would be. The thing that twisted me all up was Aly looking as if she felt the same, like she was dying to bury those fingers in my skin.

I fisted my hand. It took everything I had not to push her up against the wall and kiss her senseless.

Considering Christopher was sitting on the couch playing video games, I figured that was a really f**king bad idea. I sat back and played it cool.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Aly said as she heaved her ridiculously huge purse onto her shoulder.

I barely lifted my chin, blithe and indifferent. “Sure… drive safe.”

She turned away, stole a glance back at me, then turned to leave. “See you after work, Christopher.”

Furiously he thumbed at his controller. “Bye,” he said as if he couldn’t be disturbed long enough to notice she was there.

Aly walked away, her dark ponytail swishing along her back. She opened the door and bright sunlight burst around her frame as she stepped out into the day.

I inched forward to the end of the hall. I realized I was standing there like an idiot, watching the space she’d just taken up as she snapped the door shut behind her.

Shit.

“You better watch yourself, man.” The warning dripped low and slow through Christopher’s lips, hardness coiled tightly in the words.

Taken aback, I blinked hard and turned my attention to where he sat with his focus trained entirely on the TV. I swallowed down the pool of saliva that gathered at the back of my throat. “What are you talking about?”

Incredulous laughter seeped from Christopher, and he slowly shook his head in disbelief. “You think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been looking at my little sister?” He cut his eyes to me, scrutinizing me in clear disgust, before he tore them back to the TV. “I wasn’t joking when I said her room was off-limits. I just didn’t think I’d have to spell it out for you.”

I tried to rein in the panic that jackhammered in my brain. Guilt hit me hard, but not hard enough to keep me away from Aly. My body still burned with the residue of her touch. Nothing would stop me from going back for more.

Just a little more.

I shook my head and forced a frown that could only speak of my own distaste. “We’re just friends, Christopher. We’ve always been. You know that.” The words pushed out with the force of my faked revulsion, blended with the solemn oath. “She’s like a sister to me.” My tongue burned with the lie, and this time the guilt was consuming.

I was just going to stand here and lie straight-faced to my best friend?

He will hate me before I’m gone.

He turned to face me fully, his green eyes probing.

In discomfort, I fidgeted.

Then he slowly nodded. “Sorry, man… I just… we already talked about Aly being different than the rest of these girls. I can’t stand the thought of someone f**king with her.”

My exhale came heavy. “I know that.” She was perfect. I hated the thought of someone f**king with her, too. Especially if it was me.

FIFTEEN

Aleena

Joy reverberated through my being.

Intense, consuming joy. It was the kind of joy fraught with apprehension and stifling doubt. I wasn’t sure Jared came close to understanding what last night had meant to me, how his touch had become my truth.

Never before had I allowed anyone to touch me that way.

Either physically or emotionally.

Megan was right. I just hadn’t been able to fully see it. Every relationship I’d had, one way or another, I’d subconsciously sabotaged. I’d held myself just out of reach, staved off every advance, rejected every wandering hand. Maybe somewhere inside me I’d been saving myself for him because part of me had always believed that one day he would return.

Or maybe it was just that I had been waiting for someone who could possibly make me feel the way he had made me feel. Someone who could fill up the space Jared had left when he was so brutally torn from my life. Someone I cared enough about that it would cover up the sadness I felt for Jared, the ache that seemed to never dissipate. But there had never been anyone like that because it turned out it had been Jared all along. There was no one else who fit.

And it was shocking just how ready I was to give myself to him.

For him to take me.

I’d come so close to losing him again. I’d sensed his intentions the moment I found him sitting alone in my darkened room, and I knew it was all or nothing. And I wanted it all. Kissing him at the party had rocked my foundation. Last night had shattered it. I would never be the same.

Affection expanded in that place deep inside where I’d kept him hidden all these years. I no longer wanted to hide it, even though I knew that was exactly what I had to do. Jared was… volatile… irrational… ashamed. Not of me, but of himself. I knew there wasn’t a chance he could see himself the way I saw him. Would I ever be able to convince him he was wrong? I saw it there, dimming the light in his eyes, the idea that what he felt for me was somehow undeserved, impure, something disgraceful, bred for shame.

He couldn’t even admit what he felt was real. But I could feel it. I felt it in every brush of his hand. I found it in the words he’d once again left for me, words he didn’t have the strength to say. They were written on the same type of worn paper that he had left before.