Finding Him Read online

  “Me. I would do that.”

  “No cookies for you.”

  “Hey, the puzzle isn’t even real!”

  “In my head it is!” she argued with a grin. “Just imagine you’re giving the piece back, and I’ll let you eat the dough.”

  I laughed and then paused a few seconds. “Okay, I gave the piece back, and I even left a brand-new puzzle right next to it for you to obsess over. Happy?”

  She did a little dance. “Best imaginary gift anyone has ever given me.”

  “I live to please,” I said dryly, stirring the ingredients with fervor while she bent over to grab a cookie sheet.

  I stepped back so I wouldn’t run into her, and when she flipped around she nearly collided with the bowl. I caught her by the arms and held her still. “Is this your new thing? Colliding with me?”

  “Is this your new thing?” Her breath came out in a short exhale. “Manhandling me?”

  I grinned down at her. “Oh, princess, you’d know if I was manhandling you . . .”

  Her eyes dilated before she jerked away and laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m more of a nonaggressive sort of . . . person.”

  “Hmm.” I went back to the bowl and started making small balls with my hands. “Your words don’t match your eyes.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” She turned on the oven and grabbed another cookie sheet, not looking at me.

  “It’s not appropriate talk during cookie making, the chocolate chips might hear.”

  She snorted out a laugh. “I can take it, so can they. Try me, I’m game . . .”

  I dropped the dough and trapped her against the counter, a hand on either side of her body while mine pressed into hers. “America’s sweetheart doesn’t always want sweet, that’s what I think.” I traced a finger down her chin while she licked her lips. “I think a part of you wants to be wild, and I think that you’ve yet to experience it.”

  Her nostrils flared. “That’s not fair.”

  “I didn’t say it was,” I said softly. “I’m just saying you don’t have to pretend, not around me. Trust me, I’m not worth the façade.” I dropped my hands and returned to the dough.

  “You’re wrong.” Her voice came a few seconds later. “I’m not pretending, you know . . . I’m just protecting myself . . .”

  “From what?”

  She gulped, and then guilt flashed across her face as she whispered, “You.”

  In all my years of living, one word has never had such a precise impact as it twisted its way toward my heart and hit its mark.

  Noah had been her savior.

  And she saw me as her downfall.

  “I’m . . .” I wasn’t sure why the truth hurt. I never lied to her about the sort of man I was, but I thought that maybe she saw me as more than that. I thought she saw me as the man I was trying to be. I was rarely wrong about people, but I guess in this case . . . “I’m really tired . . . I’m going to go to sleep.”

  “Julian—”

  “No, it’s fine . . .” I forced a smile. “Help should be here in the next few hours anyway, at least by morning.”

  “What?” Her face paled. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I called in help, so that you don’t die from an infection.”

  “When did you get cell reception?”

  I cursed. “A while ago.”

  “Why is it taking so long then if it was a while ago?”

  “Because I’m exactly who you think I am,” I admitted. “A selfish bastard who wanted more time with a pretty girl because he thought she saw more than everyone else. Stupid, I know. I called before my shower. Enjoy the cookies.”

  I left.

  I didn’t want to see the guilt on her face.

  I didn’t want her to see the sadness on mine.

  A rational part of me told me I was being unfair, we barely knew each other.

  But the other part, the part that hoped and dreamed, the part that was hungry for a real connection—told me that she was different, this would be different. It told me to hold on to this moment because it was a rare one.

  Unfortunately, she didn’t feel the same way.

  I made my way back to my bedroom and flipped off the lights, then lay down and stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.

  Chapter Nineteen

  KEATON

  I regretted my words instantly.

  The fact was, Julian made me feel a lot of things: guilt, attraction, fascination. And it wasn’t fair to him that as much as I wanted to reach out and touch him, I also wanted to pull away and crawl into myself.

  It wasn’t fair.

  But it was happening.

  The fact that he seemed to have delayed calling for help only momentarily upset me. My hands were feeling better, obviously, and in his own way, it was sweet that he wanted to keep us isolated a bit longer.

  I leaned against the counter as the oven dinged. The smell of fresh cookies filled the air. Guilt slammed into my chest as I grabbed a plate and started shoveling the mountain of cookies onto it in order to bring Julian a peace offering.

  His eyes.

  I shivered.

  He’d closed me off in seconds.

  I wondered if that was how he dealt with pain. He just decided it hurt too much and refused to feel it, moved right along and shoved it in the back of his mind. It seemed he was talented at deflecting, ignoring, pretending.

  I didn’t like it.

  I liked it when he was open.

  When he laughed, when he shared.

  Did he do that with his ex?

  Why was I even thinking about her?

  Because she’d obviously been amazing enough to be his.

  And I was stupidly curious and admittedly jealous.

  With a sigh, I grabbed the plate and stared at the computer. It would all be over in a few hours, wouldn’t it? Him helping me with my story. Me talking about Noah.

  It felt like my throat was closing up.

  How was I going to do this without Julian?

  And how had he helped so much in the last forty-eight hours? He let me talk about the sad, the happy, the real and was quiet the entire time except for the tapping of his fingers against the keys.

  I gripped the heavy plate and made my way down the hall to his bedroom. I didn’t knock, I didn’t want to wake him up. I just wanted him to smell the cookies and enjoy them once he was done sleeping.

  I twisted the handle to the door and let myself in, leaving it open a crack for my quick escape.

  He was sprawled across the large king bed, shirtless.

  I quickly looked away and set the cookies on the nightstand and stole one more look at him before backing away.

  “Is that a peace offering?” His groggy voice startled me.

  I shivered, and crossed my arms. “Yeah, well, you gave the puzzle piece back, so it’s only fair, right?”

  “Right,” he agreed.

  The silence was tense.

  I wasn’t sure if I should ask if he was okay, apologize, or just leave.

  “If I ask you something, will you promise not to read into it?” he finally said.

  I took a step toward him. “Sure.”

  “Stay.”

  “Is that the question?” I felt all the air leave my lungs.

  “More or less,” he said. “Just stay. Please?”

  “Afraid of the dark?” I teased as I slowly climbed into the bed and lay down next to him.

  I didn’t pull away when his hand softly clasped my right bandaged one and lightly squeezed. “The night is dark and full of terrors.”

  “Game of Thrones.”

  “I knew I liked you.”

  I squeezed his hand back as best I could. “Why am I lying in your bed, Julian?”

  “Because I did the math. Born with a spreadsheet in my hands, remember? They’ll be here in about three hours, and I’m a horrible enough human being to do anything in my power to keep you with me for just a little bit longer.”

  “Why?” What I meant t
o say was Why me, but I couldn’t get the words out.

  “Because . . .” He sighed and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me close. “When I touch you, I don’t feel so alone.”

  “Me either.”

  “Sleep.”

  Sleep? He was insane. His body was searing hot, he had no shirt on, and he was calmly holding me in bed like it was a natural occurrence for me, for us.

  My body was hypersensitive to his every breath, even the slowing of it telling me he was sleeping.

  I forced myself to relax and ducked my head against his chest. The last thing I remembered was the smell of cologne and chocolate chip cookies.

  It was the first time in months I fell asleep with a smile on my face and less heaviness in my heart.

  Chapter Twenty

  JULIAN

  It wasn’t the smell of cookies that woke me up out of a dead sleep. It was a mouth breathing below my right ear, lips pressed against my skin like they belonged there.

  I exhaled slowly and told myself not to react.

  She was sleeping.

  I wanted her close.

  It meant nothing.

  She’d brought cookies.

  End of story.

  I was afraid to move too much, but I wanted to check the time. It was even darker now, meaning we would have company soon, invited company that I wanted to send packing.

  I turned my head slightly as Keaton clung tighter to me.

  I felt a pull so strong that it made my chest tight, a pull to her. Something tethered us, and I had no idea what it was. Maybe it was just the pain we both carried around us like a protective armor, but I had to wonder if my tumultuous emotions were anything like Bridge’s when he stole what was mine.

  When he lay next to my fiancée and kissed her mouth.

  Did the guilt rival that pull?

  It would have had to.

  Because I felt like I was in a situation I couldn’t win. I couldn’t compete with a guy who was dead—I knew I wouldn’t win against him, that I didn’t stand a chance, and yet the feeling was still there.

  And it was taking every ounce of control I had not to act on it, throw caution to the wind, and lie to myself and her that it would just be scratching an itch, getting it out of our systems.

  I highly doubted she was someone you ever got over.

  Once Keaton was in you . . .

  You were damned.

  I would drown in her and never be the same. I was already struggling with leaving her, with walking in the opposite direction while she finished her book, returned to her family and friends, her life.

  While I returned to an empty apartment.

  My expensive cars.

  Lavish lifestyle.

  And absolutely nobody to share it with.

  Keaton made a noise. I opened my mouth to ask her if she was okay when she nuzzled my neck again.

  Damn it, I wasn’t a saint.

  Never claimed to be.

  Izzy and Bridge could easily attest to that.

  I gritted my teeth while she moaned in her sleep, and tried to think about anything but the fact that her soft body was rubbing up against mine.

  Be a gentleman.

  Keep your clothes on.

  I clutched the sheet with my left hand and squeezed my eyes shut while a leg made its way over my body, pinning me to the bed.

  I was going to die in a pool of my own sweat and good intentions, wasn’t I? She made another little noise of contentment.

  Glad one of us was happy and not dying a slow, sweaty death.

  I tried moving away from her, slowly peeling my body from hers, but her leg hooked itself around me, and the last thing I wanted to do was wake her up. She would be embarrassed, and then she would see I was uncomfortable in more ways than one and she’d probably slap me.

  I would deserve it.

  Not that it mattered.

  Just when I was ready to move my arm again, or attempt to, she jerked away and lifted her head, nearly knocking it against mine.

  I cursed. “Who the hell wakes up like that?”

  She squinted her eyes. “Why are you watching me sleep?”

  “I wasn’t!” I said defensively. “I was sleeping and woke up being suffocated by your body and was trying to escape.”

  “Escape?” She frowned and then looked down. “Oh, sorry, I’m an extremely violent sleeper.”

  “And you don’t think that would have been a good thing to lead with when I asked you to lie down?”

  Her eyes narrowed, she looked fierce and cute all at once. Damn it. “I was doing you a favor!”

  “Why are you yelling?”

  “I don’t know!” She pouted. “I was having a really good dream.”

  I shot her a smug grin. “What kind of dream? You were doing an awful lot of moaning . . .”

  She scowled. “It wasn’t . . . not like, I mean there was no sex, just . . . touching.”

  “Who was touching you?”

  “Nobody,” she snapped.

  I grinned so wide my face hurt. “Princess, were you dreaming about me?”

  “You wish.”

  “Good comeback.”

  Another scowl. “Dreams are merely the brain’s way of processing the things that happen to us throughout the day. You kissed me, and apparently my brain needed to sort that into a box that made sense.”

  “Hmm, where did your brain put me? Because if I’m not in the best-kiss-of-my-life box, I’m going to have to ask for a second opinion.”

  She laughed at that. “You have an extremely high opinion of your own kissing skills.”

  “A well-earned high opinion,” I added helpfully, not realizing I was reaching for her until it was too late, until my fingertips were stroking her hair and tucking it behind her ear, until I noticed her light gasp at my touch and the way she focused on my mouth like I was tastier than the cookies on the nightstand. “You can’t look at me like that, princess, I’m not known for my extreme self-control . . .”

  “And yet you’ve been doing so well.”

  “Cold showers,” I joked.

  Which just made her duck her head and laugh against my neck. “Why are you so easy?”

  “I think I’m offended,” I grumbled, leaning back against the pillow while she joined me, placing her gauzed-up hand on my chest and drawing small circles.

  “You know what I mean. It’s only been a few days. Normally I’d be bolting my door closed, sleeping with a knife under my pillow.”

  “Dear God, please tell me you didn’t bring the knife in here.”

  “No.” She laughed. “It’s safe in the kitchen.”

  “Not what I’d call safe since you can still access it, but I’ll take what I can get.” My mind and heart raced like crazy. Time continued to slip right by us, and it didn’t seem like we were going to have enough to hash out whatever was taking place between us.

  Because as crazy as it sounded.

  She was right.

  It was easy with her.

  It was like finding someone and immediately having inside jokes, reading their mind and knowing their thoughts without even trying. It wasn’t something I’d ever experienced or hoped to experience once Izzy chose Bridge.

  “What happens tomorrow? What happens in a few hours?” Keaton asked softly like she wanted—no, needed me to tell her something good, something happy.

  I let out a long sigh. “That’s the beauty of being the one who’s living, Keaton. You get to decide how you spend each moment you’re given.”

  “There are always consequences.”

  I just shrugged. “I’m done being that person, the one who measures everything by what could happen or what should. It’s exhausting, and there’s nothing like being brought back from near death to show you how important it is to do something with the seconds you have even if they don’t amount to the same as others you’ve lost.”

  “Okay.” She nodded her head; I felt it against my chest. “You know, for being a rich man whore, you’re pretty
wise.”

  I smiled. “I have my moments.”

  “You have more than that, Julian.” She said it like she had full confidence in my ability to make good life decisions, when all I really wanted to do in that moment was kiss her, breathe her in, strip her down, and lose myself in her.

  “Do you want a cookie?” she asked in a lazy voice.

  I frowned at the subject change. “I guess since someone woke me up . . .”

  She moved to grab a cookie from the nightstand, then fell back against my chest. I loved her there. Keaton dangled the treat in front of my lips.

  I took one huge bite and moaned. “You should probably move in with me.”

  “And just make you cookies every day?”

  I felt my eyes heat while I watched her watch me. “Yeah . . . just cookies.”

  “Liar.” She looked away and bit down on the cookie. A piece of chocolate stuck to her lower lip. I reached up and brushed it away.

  Her body shuddered as she closed her eyes and leaned toward me. “Did you get all of it?”

  I pressed my fingertips against the cookie in her hand, swiped some melted chocolate onto my finger and then brushed it against her lower lip and whispered, “No.”

  “Well?” She opened her eyes.

  I cupped the back of her head and leaned in, brushing my lips across hers before licking her bottom lip and pulling away. “Got it.”

  She shook her head no and leaned forward, crushing her mouth against mine in a way that was as aggressive as I’d wanted to kiss her. Punishing, bruising, sad mixed with a heavy amount of ache.

  Our pain collided with that kiss.

  And like setting fire to gasoline.

  We were ignited whole.

  I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her onto my body while she straddled me. Cookie abandoned, her hands gently cupped my head as I grabbed her shirt, jerked it over her body, and threw it to the ground, briefly breaking the kiss while her hands flew to my jeans.

  She fumbled with the first button. I grinned against her mouth. “Having trouble?”

  “Injured,” she said between kisses. “What are we doing?”

  “Stop thinking.” I kissed her hard then, so hard that it consumed me, set me on fire, set my heart hammering in a chaotic rhythm that refused to let up. I undid the buttons and kicked the jeans down while she moved off me and lay down on her back.