Forbidden With Me - Leigh Lennon Page 0,19
going. “You act as if you and I are the best of friends, and that you have a say as to my choices.”
“And you act like a spoiled brat not getting her way. You’ve been threatened.” He turns his right turn signal for Mercer Island toward the Space Needle. “You say you don’t know me, but what about getting to know me in your dreams?”
In the attempt to stay in my seat belt, I move more of my back to him. It’s a stalling technique, and I’m willing myself to recall what the hell he’s saying because he’s not wrong. In my dreams, I’ve become very comfortable with Wells Shanahan, but in reality, where has he heard this confession?
“Ah, fuck.” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until my words cause Wells to return his own comment.
“You’re remembering now—yesterday, your dream, and what you said—aren’t you?” He pulls into an empty parking lot close to the Space Needle. He’s out of his car, chivalrously opening my door before I’m aware he’s gotten out. I sit in the seat in a dazed haze as his body crosses me, and it makes my breath hitch. What is he doing? He’s so close, and I’ve been imagining this kiss for years.
My fingers can almost dance to his freshly shaven face, compared to the scruff on it from last night. His attention rotates to the left, looking back at me when he unlatches my seat belt. “I can’t take you to the top of the Space Needle if you’re still buckled up, sweetheart.”
With the single word—sweetheart—my toes curl, and if I were to speak, my voice would shake. My racing heartbeat and dry mouth continue to be just a few of my internal sensations turning my mind to mush.
“Come on, the police station can wait for now. You need a little TLC.” The idea of facing an iconic landmark I last visited with my family would normally have me melting on the ground. In Wells’s presence, there’s a safety as if he silently says you’re going to be all right in this world, Malia Strickland.
The mere penmanship of this man has been the healing touch, more than every therapist and doctor my aunt had dragged me to. “You pull me out of my dorm after making me pack a bag because I can’t stay there now. I barely had a chance to get ready, and you think the Space Needle is what I need.” Fuck, it is what I need, but I want answers. I want him to further explain why he stopped writing to me, why he purposely withheld a hope that held so much more to me than anything else had. He may have told me two years ago, but I need more to hold onto.
“Yeah, sweetheart, I do think this is what you need. And if you lose the attitude only for a minute, you’ll figure out it’s what you need, too.” He pulls at my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. “Come on, I know you want to.” His bossiness is gone for a second, and I’m rewarded with a little bit of his easygoingness—I assume maybe in short supply.
“Okay, you won me over,” I admit. He’d won me over years ago, but I won’t give Mr. Bossy Pants the satisfaction. Not right now.
We’re at the ticket counter, and before I realize it, he has me in the enclosed elevator taking us up to the top. “Have I told you I’m scared of heights?” Like last night, he finds the small of my back, placing his hand there in both protection and comfort.
His long body leans over a little, whispering in my ear, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
His breath connects with my skin, and the goose bumps prickle it. If he notices, he doesn’t say a thing. The doors open, and he escorts me off the elevator as though I belong to him.
Chapter 7
Wells
I’m leading her to the observation deck with the idea that the late summer breeze can calm Malia’s racing pulse. I’ve been around so many situations in the past, and I can see the beginning of a breakdown. Between her return to the city, running into familiar faces, and the letter from this morning, Malia is on a downward spiral.
She’s a mouthy little thing and taking her on a stroll around the deck with three hundred and sixty-degree views of the Seattle skyline is a technique I’ve learned to combat pent-up worry and anxiety.
“Isn’t it pretty up