Three Broken Promises (One Week Girlfriend #3)(12)
Author: Monica Murphy

Staring at her, I drink in her pretty, familiar features. The soft glow in her eyes, the way she touches me, makes me realize I need her in my life. I need her to open up to me again, share with me her hopes and dreams and problems. I want to help her. I want her to help me.

There’s more between us than friendship, more than our shared history. She means everything to me.

The realization renders me breathless.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then slowly open them again, trying to get her into focus. My muscles are tight, my entire body is tense, and she slips her fingers into my hair, her touch so gentle it sends tingles scattering over my skin.

My very exposed skin, since I’m naked as the day I was born.

Chapter 5

Jen

He’s trembling in my arms, his electric-blue eyes stark and full of so much misery and pain as they stare into mine. I go with my instincts and draw him fully into my arms, clinging so tight I’m afraid I might never let him go.

His dreams are coming more frequently and I’m worried. They’re consuming him. Time is supposed to heal all wounds, not make them worse.

Though time hasn’t healed all my wounds, I suppose, so why should I expect it would for Colin?

Rolling onto my back, I bring Colin with me, his head nestled on my shoulder, his hair tickling my skin. He slings his arm around me, resting it across the top of my chest, his big hand cupping my shoulder. I don’t mind the heavy weight. He feels solid, alive, so incredibly right lying with me like this. He’s still shaky, though his breathing is evening out, and I tentatively sink my fingers back into his silky, soft hair, hoping to calm him down.

“Want to tell me about it?” I ask him this same question every single time.

And every single time he ignores it. Still, I have to try.

I rake my fingers through his hair again and again, closing my eyes when he nestles closer, our legs tangling. His skin is hot, the hair on his legs rasps against mine, and he’s so incredibly hard . . .

As in I can feel his erection since he’s naked.

My eyes fly open and I stare up at the ceiling. I’ve come to his bed countless times, but he always at least has underwear on. Not tonight. I can feel every blessed naked inch of him against me. Arousal courses through me, trickling through my veins, settling between my legs, and I press my lips together. The temptation to turn toward him is so overwhelming I have to remind myself I can’t do it.

Well. I could. But I’m not about to play with fire.

“I was chasing Danny,” he finally says, his voice so quiet I have to strain to hear him. I’m stunned he’s saying anything. This is a total first. “That’s how my dreams always start.”

I quietly wait him out. I’m scared to speak for fear he’ll shut up. Scared not to say anything, too, for fear he’ll shut up.

“The scenario can change, but I’m always, always chasing him. Looking for him. Most of the time I don’t find him, but when I do . . .” He shudders. “Those dreams are usually the worst.”

“Did—did you find him in this one?” I want to know, and then again, I don’t. I used to dream of Danny too. All the time after he first died, some of the dreams sad, most of them happy, though I always woke with an ache in my heart because I missed him so much. Those dreams were more like memories of our past, as opposed to horrible nightmares.

“I did.” His deep voice is somber, the sound slowly breaking my heart.

Colin is always breaking my heart. He can smile and laugh, joke and flirt at work, but it’s all a mask. At home, here in the middle of the night, this is the real man. The one who deals with pain and suffering and so much damn guilt it has to be paralyzing.

I wish I could absorb some of it for him, but I have my own pain to contend with. If I weren’t so worried he’d hate me forever, I’d tell him what I did. How I sold myself to men so easily. My secret shame would devastate him. He thinks he’s dealing with a tremendous load of guilt . . .

Mine nearly suffocates me.

He says nothing else and neither do I. We lie there together quietly for so long, his breathing starts to slowly even out, and I know him well enough to know that he’s fallen back asleep.

I wish I could sleep too, but I can’t. Not when I’m held captive in his strong arms, his big, hot body pressed to mine. My thoughts race with what he told me, the questions running through my mind. I’ve known Colin for years, yet in many ways he’s still a complete mystery to me.

As I stare at the ceiling, I’m achingly aware of how close he is, our bodies practically entwined. After our kiss last night I can think of nothing else but doing it again. Doing more. Taking our intimate moments farther.

Kissing him, doing anything else with Colin, would totally deter me from ever leaving him. Though I’m not stupid, my heart might be, and my body definitely would. It would betray me in an instant. I know I would become addicted to him. We’re not even doing anything and I literally crave him. Want to taste him, touch him, run my hands and mouth and tongue all over his skin.

I wouldn’t describe myself as a very sexual person. I’m no uptight virgin, but no guy has ever really rocked my world and left me gasping for more. As I grew up with an overprotective big brother and his equally overprotective best friend, boys tended to steer clear of me in my earlier teen years and I couldn’t blame them. As I grew older, though, those same boys came chasing after me once Danny and Colin graduated high school, and yeah, I dated a few. Had sex for the first time with my first serious boyfriend on prom night during our senior year.

A spectacularly bad experience for me at least, and Doug Evans and I broke up soon after. Then he took off to college midway through the summer after we graduated, and I never saw or heard from him again.

I had one other long-term boyfriend, but we split right after Danny died. He couldn’t take all the mourning and sadness, not that I could blame him. I would have broken up with me too. Other than that, I’ve had sex with a handful of guys, but nothing too serious—and what happened when I was at Gold Diggers doesn’t count.

But no man has ever rocked my socks off, for lack of a better term. The only guy who makes me want is the one who’s lying here with me, sleeping on my shoulder, clinging to me like I might be his lifeline.

He devastates me and he doesn’t even know it.

This is absolute, exquisite torture. I need to get out of his bed before I do something stupid. Slowly I try to disengage myself from his hold but he clings tighter, his fingers curling around my shoulder, his weight seeming to become heavier as he lies half on top of me. I thought he was asleep, but he’s not acting like he is.