something I’d admired from the first. Now it was directed at me, and I found I couldn’t move, couldn’t even look away from him.
His hands went from my arms to my waist, his gaze dropping as well. Gently moving my hand aside, he tugged on my shirt, the silken material sliding from underneath the waistband of my skirt. I could hardly breathe and cool air hit my bared skin as he lifted the fabric.
Parker went very still, and I knew he was staring at the ugly marks decorating my stomach and rib cage. A nerve pulsed in his jaw, drawing my gaze. I should probably have stepped away, but I couldn’t make my feet move.
A sudden rush of longing went through me, so strong that I swayed on my feet. I instinctively shied away from examining the feeling too closely. Parker and I weren’t that couple, were never going to be that couple, and me wanting it would only end in heartbreak.
But the wanting…it was so strong, it felt as though it was rooted in my gut, tangling its way through my chest and squeezing my heart and lungs until it hurt. And it wasn’t just sexual, though saying I was attracted to Parker was an understatement of laughable proportions. It was more than that. It had been forcefully brought to my attention how much I didn’t know him, and it made me sad. Sad in a place where there was no fixing it. And I wished I could. I wished so much and so hard I could be that person—the one he was looking for.
My thoughts were caught up in this as I watched him, my face turned up to look into his, but he was still inspecting my injuries. His fingers brushed so lightly across my skin, I thought I might have imagined it. Then he did it again and I knew I hadn’t.
This time, there was no alcohol clouding my brain and I squeezed my eyes shut, savoring the feel of his skin against mine, knowing it was an ironic parody of what I really wanted, but I wasn’t strong enough to push him away.
His arms slid around my waist to my back and he stepped closer. My eyes flew open as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine.
“I’m so sorry, Sage,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath fanning gently across my cheek. He held me as though I were made of glass—fragile and delicate.
I didn’t know what to say. It’s okay was what came to mind, but it wasn’t the right thing, because it wasn’t okay. This whole thing was messed up and scary. Yes, I was scared. Russian men who forced women into prostitution—who threatened me, hurt me—were very scary. Men who were using Parker, probably threatening him, too. And the cops were only half on our side—Ryker would arrest Parker if he could—and I didn’t want that.
“What’s going to happen?” I asked. The question whirling in my mind, the one I was afraid to voice, was really Am I going to die? But I couldn’t make those words come out.
“You’ll be okay,” he said.
And in that moment, with his forehead pressed to mine, breathing the same air, his arms strong and solid around me, I could almost believe him. Almost.
Silence enveloped us again, thick and warm like a blanketing cocoon. My senses were heightened, taking in the muffled sounds of the city and street below. Parker’s scent—soap and warm, clean man. The sensation of being in his arms brought back the memory of our car ride in New York when his hands and mouth had been on me.
Maybe it was that memory and the longing I had to repeat it that made me do what I did next. Or maybe it was that I sensed things changing between us and I wanted them so badly to go one way versus the other—two scenarios and only one of which I could live with. Whatever it was that made me do it, I found myself closing the two-inch gap between us, as though I were watching myself from outside my body.
I raised my arms and rested my hands flat against his chest. His skin was smooth and warm against my palms. Lifting my chin, I slanted my face upward and pressed my lips to his.
He didn’t react at all, and a jolt of terrified regret went through me. I’d done it. I’d passed the point of no return. I’d Gone There, made a pass