Everything for Us (The Bad Boys #3)(68)
Author: M. Leighton

From the corner of my eye, I see him turn and stomp back up the steps. With him gone, my focus is complete. And so, for a few minutes, anyway, is my soul.

“Can you make it down the stairs okay?”

She nods and turns to take another step toward the bottom. She wobbles and I steady her.

“Whoa,” she says.

Without asking, I sweep her up into my arms and carry her down to the landing. I’m sure I could safely put her down now. But I don’t. I carry her out the door and into the chilly night.

“Where are you parked?”

“Over there,” she says, pointing out and to the right, then laying her head on my shoulder. She loops her arms loosely around my neck and snuggles in. I pull her in tighter against my chest. It’s like she was made to fit there. Perfectly. In my arms.

Holy shit, woman! What have you done to me?

When we reach her car, she digs her keys out of her pocket and hands them to me. I hit the fob and hear the hushed click of the locks opening. I set Marissa on her feet long enough to open the passenger door and get her inside without cracking her head.

On the drive home, neither of us says anything. I glance over at her several times to see if she’s asleep. She’s not. Each time, she looks back at me, holding my gaze but never speaking.

Anticipation is so thick inside the quiet interior of the car, it’s almost palpable. It’s made me diamond-hard behind my zipper.

I park at Marissa’s and come around the car to get her out. She starts up the sidewalk, but I stop her, picking her up to carry her again.

“I can walk,” she says, but still she nuzzles her face against my neck. She probably can walk, but she doesn’t really want to walk. And I don’t want to let her.

I don’t respond, just carry her to the door, hand her the keys, and bend enough that she can unlock the knob and deadbolt.

Once inside, I kick the door shut behind me and set her on her feet. I don’t want to be too presumptuous, so I wait to see what she’s going to say. Or do.

In the low light spilling in through the glass panel at the top of the door, we stare at each other. Silent. Thoughtful. There’s a lot I’d like to say, but I can’t. I shouldn’t. I won’t. There’s no reason to. It won’t change anything. And if she doesn’t feel the same, it would kill me. But if she does, it would be even worse, I think.

I reach up and rub the backs of my fingers down her satiny cheek. She tilts her head into the touch. When I bend down and take her lips, the kiss isn’t as feverish and desperate as I figured it would be. There’s something sad and . . . final about it. I don’t know who is making it feel that way, her or me. But it has a definite “the end” ring to it.

For the first time in my life, I make love to a woman. I’ve had sex hundreds of times, with too many women to count. I’ve done dirty, wicked things to them. Hell, I’ve done dirty, wicked things to Marissa. And I’d like to do more. But tonight isn’t about that. Not even if I wanted it to be. Tonight is about leaving her with the other piece of my soul, the small part she hasn’t already taken.

With every article of clothing I strip from her body, more than ever, I’m aware of the smell of her perfume, the silk of her skin. It’s as though all my senses are heightened and completely concentrated on her. Every soft place, every sweet sigh, every delicate shiver will be forever burned into my mind. I’m not sure that’s a good thing, but it doesn’t matter. No consequence is enough to stop me.

From the time I first slide into her warm body, all the way through the last squeeze of her orgasm, I’m aware that we’re giving each other a bittersweet, wordless good-bye. For these few minutes, I’m happier than I can ever remember being. And sadder. And forever, I’ll be a better man for just having known Marissa. She healed the breaks in me that I thought I’d die with, that I’d never live to overcome. Because of her, I have some semblance of a life to go to now.

My breathing is just returning to normal when I feel the first wet splash on my skin. Marissa is lying with one of her legs thrown over mine and her head on my chest. And she’s crying. I feel each tear as it falls from her face. They’re only slightly warm, but they burn nonetheless.

“Will you be gone when I wake up?” she whispers, her voice catching on the last word.

I think about her question before I answer it. I hadn’t really made any kind of plan, but I know now what I have to do. “Yes.”

I feel her shoulders shake as she sobs. Each one feels like a fist squeezing tighter and tighter around my heart.

Suddenly, she moves, levering herself off me and rolling off the bed. She doesn’t turn to look at me. She just squares her shoulders and walks tall and proud across the room. “Good-bye, Nash,” she says softly. Then she disappears into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind her. I sit up in the bed, stunned, until I hear the shower cut on.

One thing runs through my head as I dress and call for a cab.

It’s for the best. It’s for the best. It’s for the best.

She still hasn’t come out of the bathroom by the time the cab arrives. I know those are the last words she’ll ever say to me.

FORTY-TWO

Marissa

I don’t know why I’m still lying in bed. I know I won’t be sleeping tonight. As much as I wish I could leave reality behind, even for a little while, the pain of letting Nash go is too excruciating to let me rest.

I turn my face into the pillow for the tenth time at least, inhaling deeply. Beneath my nose is the scent of Nash—man and soap. Beneath my cheek is damp cotton, my tears making an ever-widening wet spot.

I knew on some level that tonight was a good-bye. If I had one ounce of self-preservation, I’d have steered clear of Nash. But I don’t. And, in a way, I don’t regret it. As painful as it is to lose him all over again, it was worth it to have him back in my arms, even if it was just for a little while.

The sobs start again. They echo in the emptiness of the room, much like they echo in the emptiness of my heart. I almost don’t hear the pounding at my door over my own agony.

My heart stops for a breath before it picks up again at a faster pace. A teeny, tiny part of me responds to the fear that it might be some dark figure from the past, coming to take me away again. But it’s overwhelmingly overshadowed by the hope, the desperate hope, that it’s Nash.

Please God, please God, please God, I chant in my head as I scramble to push my arms into my robe on the way to the door.