A Brand New Ending (Page 38)

“No shit?” Ethan asked. “We had burgers at the Irish pub. I had shots.”

Mia stroked his hair back lovingly. “Bunch of rebels, huh? Kyle, do you need me to drive you home too?”

“No, I’m good. Been drinking seltzer the past two hours.” He stared at Ophelia, then reached out and touched her upper arm. The muscles stiffened under his touch. Awareness between them flared to life. Her pupils dilated, and she swayed slightly on her feet, leaning toward him. Heat practically burned his hand. “Let me take you home.”

His meaning was so much bigger than his words. He waited, knowing if she said no it would rip him to pieces. Her breath came in choppy pants, and her gaze dropped to his lips. In seconds, his dick was rock hard.

Mia cleared her throat. “Umm, Ophelia? Do you want to go home with Kyle? Or we can drop you off . . .”

Both Harper and Mia seemed to wait for her response with a strange intensity. Their gazes bounced back and forth between him and Ophelia with a shrewd knowledge that made Kyle shift his feet uncomfortably.

Why were they looking at him like that? Did they suspect something was going on with him and Ophelia?

“I’ll go with Kyle.”

His knees weakened in relief. Ignoring the women’s narrowed gazes, he secured fast goodbyes, making sure Mia and Harper could handle walking with Ethan to the car. He thumped his friend on the back and escorted Ophelia out of the bar. The cold bite of wind tore at their flesh, so he tucked her against him, shielding her until she was safely inside the vehicle.

He pulled away from the curb, careful not to blast the heat until the car warmed up. The tiny strip of bare flesh between her skirt and boots was peppered with goose bumps.

She shivered. “I must’ve been crazy to wear a skirt in this weather.”

“Can I say how grateful I am for your bravery?”

She turned her head and smiled at him. He was a goner. “I didn’t know you were going out tonight. Did you have fun?”

“Yeah, Ethan was on a mission to prove he wasn’t old. Let’s just say I learned two things tonight.”

“What?”

“First, we are definitely too old to party this hard.”

She gave a small laugh. The sound ruffled him with pleasure. “And the second?”

He shot her a look filled with intention. “You can still bring me to my knees.”

She sucked in a breath. The tension cranked up a few notches. She didn’t speak for a while, but he waited her out.

“I haven’t allowed myself to sing in public for years,” she said softly. “I forgot the pull of an audience. The way the music takes over and you become completely connected. It’s the biggest high.”

“Then why are you denying yourself such pleasure? You have a gift. Everyone in that bar knew it.”

She stared out the window. The edge of loneliness pierced through him, so he reached over and entangled his fingers with hers. She squeezed back.

“Because I remember how it was when I was on the verge of discovery. I remember how I realized it’d be too easy to lose who I really was.”

“A singer.”

She smiled with a touch of sadness. “Yes, but they didn’t want me to sing. They wanted me to perform. To be a star. To change my clothes and my appearance and the way I talk. To be someone I’d never be.”

“You could’ve fought them. Refused to change until they had to listen.”

“Like you?”

He jerked. At first, he hadn’t been interested in writing action movies. He’d craved a deeper, bigger playground to write and explore stories. But eventually, he had to make a decision to fit into the box that would accept him.

Was that how it had been for Ophelia? The memories were a blur—he’d just been so happy she was going to finally become big enough for everyone to experience her voice. Now he realized he’d been so consumed with his own quest for fame he hadn’t really listened.

The thoughts troubled him. It’d been easy blaming her for leaving. But with all the revelations he’d been having lately, the past suddenly seemed a blur of gray rather than the black and white he’d once believed it had been.

He pulled into the inn’s driveway and parked the car. The white lights on the building twinkled merrily in the dark and added a welcoming touch. They walked inside, his arm firmly guiding her by the elbow, and shut the door behind them.

The fire had died out. The lingering scent of smoke and wood hung in the air. The lone light from the foyer illuminated the hallway.

“Thanks for driving.” She fumbled with the locks and switched off the lamp. He noticed she refused to look him in the eye. “I better get to bed. Good night.”

She headed to the safety of her bedroom, her steps a bit awkward—which told him she was definitely still tipsy. The next question his mind posed was more important.

Was she sober enough to know what she was doing?

Her fingers clasped around the knob with a touch of desperation.

He moved and, in seconds, he was behind her.

She stiffened.

“Ophelia?”

Her voice came out ragged. “What?”

“How drunk are you?”

She spun around and tilted her head back. His gaze delved deep and found a cocktail of emotions he had to explore. Those fiery blue eyes shot sparks of rebellion, frustration, and a raw hunger that touched the primitive part of him.

“Not drunk enough to claim I don’t know what you’re trying to do.”

A smile touched his lips. He reached out and stroked her hair back, the silky strands jumping and clinging to his fingers in sensual abandon. “What am I trying to do?”

She pressed her lips together. “Seduce me. Am I right?”

“Oh yes. You are.”

She blinked, as if shocked at his honesty. “You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We’re getting a divorce.”

He gave a small laugh and lowered his head, his nose nudging her ear. Her scent made dizzy circles around him—a touch of musky perfume mixed with feminine sweat and an underlying honeyed sweetness from her body cream. “Right now, we’re married. And I want to kiss my wife.”

The connection between them tightened; desire raged for escape from its prison. She lifted her arms. He waited for her to push him away, but she twined them around his neck and pulled him closer.

This time, his breath collapsed from his lungs, and his dick strained against his jeans. He pressed her against the door and reveled in how every one of her curves cradled against his hard length.

She tried for one last rally. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” she whispered, already reaching up on tiptoes to bring her mouth next to his.

“I do. Just stop me if you don’t want this as badly as I do.”

Then his mouth crashed over hers.

She was dying.

The shocking warmth of his mouth shook through her body, causing mini convulsions that seized each muscle with bone-melting pleasure. The past and the present collided and shoved her underwater. There was no thought to fight, or reason, or back away.

There was no thought at all—except him.

He devoured her whole, his tongue pressing deep inside to reclaim what had always belonged to him. She hung on, her fingers stabbing through the golden-blond strands of hair. The silky thrust of his tongue paired with the delicious scrape of beard on her jaw. He overtook her completely in that one perfect kiss, consuming her breath and her body.