Chasing Him - Kat T. Masen Page 0,14

falls, depending on the tide.

Unlocking the hinge, I open it slightly, not looking at his face. Moving aside, he brushes past me but doesn’t enter much further. I lift my head to trace his body. His tie is removed, and the top three buttons of his shirt are undone. With his chest slightly exposed, a stir awakens, and again, I’m conflicted. It’s been almost three years since I’ve been intimate with someone, and to make it worse, I have only ever been with one man.

One man.

The words ring in my head.

My eyes move up to his and reflecting back is worry. Great, now I feel like shit for making him worry about me.

“Adriana, what happened back there?” His soft tone calms me.

I don’t say a word, sick of this rollercoaster of pain. I do the unthinkable and grab his jacket so his body is flush with mine. I don’t give myself time to think, arching my neck as my lips trace his chin until they are firmly locked into his. There’s no resistance, the sweet taste of his tongue circling mine. His hands cup my face, the intimate touch causing this meltdown within me. I hear him moan and feel his hardness press against my stomach. This frenzy that’s consuming me forces me to move my hands toward his belt until I feel the warmth disappear from my face and his hands are gripping my wrist, pushing me away.

Out of breath, our lips unlock, and we’re both standing still, chests pumping loud, eyes wide.

“Adriana, we can’t.”

Confused and rejected, I answer back. “Wh… why? I want this,” I say unconvincingly.

He rests his hand on the wall behind me, towering over me in this tight confinement of the entrance. He closes his eyes, attempting to compose himself, fists clenching. “Because you’re not ready. Whatever happened back there upset you. I don’t want you to regret your actions.”

“You don’t want me to regret my actions?” I ask, taken aback. “Or are you scared you’ll picture Charlie instead of me?”

I watch his face drop, his lips press tight as he holds in his anger. Instantly, I feel ashamed for my pathetic accusation. What the fuck is wrong with me! I reach out to him once again in an apologetic gesture, but he flinches, and I know I’ve caused damage which can’t be erased no matter what I do right now.

“Here, this is for you. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.” He opens the door, and I stand there numb as it slams it behind him.

My hands are shaking and within them sit his book. I walk over to the bed, falling instantly against the pillow as I allow myself to cry. Even in my exhausted state, the presence of his book beside me has me curious. I sit up against the bed and prop the pillows behind my back. Turning on the lamp, I lift the book and carefully open the insert. Written in bold is his personal message to me.

Adriana,

Good things come to those who wait.

I’ve waited, and you, Adriana, were worth the wait.

Yours, Julian.

I officially have the hangover from hell.

The glare of the sun filtering through the window does nothing to ease my pain. Grabbing the pillow beside me, I throw it at the window, hoping for a miracle in which the drapes will shut by themselves. My head is throbbing, the foul taste of beer in my mouth urging me to run to the bathroom as fast as I can.

After emptying the contents of my stomach for what feels like an eternity, I hop into the shower to wash away the regret over what I said to Julian. It was uncalled for. I was a downright bitch all because I thought I am not good enough. If my husband didn’t think I was worth staying alive for, then why would anyone else want me?

Stop with this self-pity crap.

An hour later, I’m standing in the hallway staring at his door, planning out my apology—word for word what I am going to say. Raising my hand against the door, I knock gently. Nothing. My mind immediately thinks the worst, and my knocks become frantic until the door opens.

Julian rubs his eyes. His beautiful disheveled hair a result of me waking him up. My tongue is unable to connect to my brain as I find myself gawking at his chest. Standing in only his boxers, how can I not look. I mean hot damn, he’s cut to perfection.

My eyes trace the lines of his abs.

One…