Take This Regret (Take This Regret #1)(59)
Author: A.L. Jackson

His arms were sprawled out, his body relaxed.

My stomach clenched in both pain and desire.

Why did it have to hurt to love him so much?

Putting the linens aside, I crouched to untie his shoes, pulled them from his feet, and lifted is legs to lay them across the couch.

He stretched and groaned incoherently as he shifted, pul ing at the twines twisted around my heart.

As gently as I could, I maneuvered the pil ow beneath his head, shook out the blanket, and spread it over his body. I hesitated as I leaned down to pul it to his chin.

So beautiful.

His mouth had dropped open, just enough that he expel ed soft breaths of air against my face, sweet and distinctly man, his long black lashes casting slight shadows across his face.

I leaned in further and let my fingertips wander along the day old stubble along his jaw, ran them tenderly over his lips—wanted what I couldn’t have.

So, like a fool, I stole it and pressed my lips to his, knowing he’d only be mine for a few moments.

They were hot, damp, and perfect; they scorched my skin and brought tears to my eyes.

A tremor rol ed through my chest, stuck in my throat, and shook my body.

I took a little more, held his face in my hands and in my desperation, kissed him deeper—tasted my tears and the sweetness of Christian’s mouth—flirted with disaster.

Why? I begged him with my thoughts, with my touch as I kissed him again. Why did you have to ruin us? My mouth traveled to his jaw, kissed him there against the rough skin, fire against my lips and torment to my soul, where I mouthed out my deepest secret, “I love you, Christian.” Sickened and ashamed, I ripped myself away, escaped upstairs, and wept for a man I’d never all ow myself to have.

Grabbing my things, I sighed in satisfaction, thankful it was Friday and another long workweek had drawn to an end. I shrugged on my jacket, smiling at Selina. “Goodnight.” She grinned, and looked at me awry as she dug through her locker. “Night . . . see you tomorrow.” She shook her hips, suggestive and slow.

I giggled and waved over my shoulder as I left her in the break room.

Natalie and her parties.

She’d never let a year go by without planning something outrageous. They were always too much and always too fun. She’d invited next to everyone I knew, and I was certain we’d all be paying for it Sunday morning.

Anxious to start my weekend, I rushed across the bank floor as I call ed goodnight to everyone in the lobby. I came to an abrupt halt two feet from the door when I saw my daughter’s face pressed against the glass door, peering inside.

Her huge smile assured me I had no need to worry.

I laughed, returning her excited wave when she noticed me.

Pushing the door open, I poked my head out. She wore a maroon dress with a satin bodice, a skirt of tul e, wrapped at the waist in black ribbon. The outfit had been finished off with white tights, black patent shoes, and a matching maroon bow tied in her hair.

“What are you doing here and all dressed up?” I asked, grinning.

Lizzie grinned back, twirling away from the door as if she were a bal erina, and I stepped the rest of the way out.

Christian’s voice hit me from somewhere behind, smooth and warm—intoxicating. “We’re celebrating.” Jerking around, I found him leaning with a shoulder against the bank wal . He wore an almost cocky look on his face, his mouth twisted in casual confidence. He was dressed in a deep-blue col ared shirt rol ed up to his elbows, the first two buttons undone, and black slacks that looked better than they should.

“I figured since the rest of your family and friends get you tomorrow night on your actual birthday, Lizzie and I get you tonight.” A smile pulled at one side of his mouth, and he pushed from the wal and took a step forward.

Lizzie took my hand and danced beside me as she sang, “Surprise!”

My spirit soared.

This was the birthday I wanted.

Kneeling beside my daughter, I hugged her while I looked up at Christian. “Thank-you.”

He smiled so wide it touched his eyes and playful y crinkled at the corners. “Did you real y think we’d let them keep you all to themselves?” He came forward and extended his hand to help me up, once again igniting the flames I futilely fought to squelch. He froze just for a second as a palpable quiver traveled up his arm, and I knew he felt it too.

After I’d kissed him last Friday, I’d felt so ashamed. I was sure he could somehow see the guilt on my face—find in it in my eyes. The next morning he’d seemed to watch me careful y, attentive to my every move. It was if he were counting each breath I took and reading every word I spoke. It had begun then, the timid fingertips across my upper arms as he’d leave the room, gentle brushes of skin, testing, tempting. In spite of my promise to myself, my promise to Lizzie, I’d done the same: furtive fingers, roaming eyes, playing with fire.

Christian tugged on my hand. “Come on. We’l fol ow you home and you can hop in my car.”

Forty minutes later, we walked through the parking lot to the restaurant, swinging Lizzie between us. She squealed and begged us to do it again and again.

Christian smiled at me over her head, and I fel in love a little bit more.

Al three of us were laughing when we entered the loud, crowded restaurant. Fil ed with young families with smal children, parties and celebrations, it was one of those places people flocked to on a Friday night to unwind, to forget about the week, and to share a meal and drinks.

Christian led us through the throng of people waiting for tables and to the podium, announcing our arrival and name for the reservation. The hostess weaved through the tables to the far corner of the restaurant, seating us at a booth.

I laughed and dropped my mouth in mock offense when Lizzie once again crawled up next to her father. “How come you never want to sit by Mommy anymore?” I teased.

Lizzie clung to his upper arm, laid her head on his shoulder, squeezed as she giggled, and said, “Cuz Daddy doesn’t always get to sleep at my house.”

Christian smirked, threw me a mischievous look that said that would be easy to fix.

Instead of cringing and cursing my heart, I rol ed my eyes and laughed to let him know I knew exactly what he was thinking. I surprised myself with the action, but I was feeling free, swept away by the atmosphere and the roaring energy of the room.

He grinned as he opened his menu and muttered something under his breath. His smile was evident even as he buried his face in the menu. My smile matched his, wide and unrestrained.

It was my birthday, and just tonight, I was going to all ow myself to enjoy this, to enjoy my family, as unconventional as it was. Christian ordered me a birthday drink, a huge concoction of rum and chocolate and whipped cream, and didn’t hesitate to dip his finger in it to steal a taste. We ordered burgers and fries, drank, and ate as we talked and teased. We laughed until we cried when a clown stopped by to make us bal oon hats. all of the tension was gone, for a few precious moments our past forgotten.