He tugged on her hand again and she took that last half step. The one that brought her body in direct contact with his. They touched from chest to thigh...or in her case, from breast to thigh. While her figure was boyish, there were just enough curves to satisfy him.
“You sass me.”
She smiled up at him. “I do. I should be afraid of you. But I’m not. Why is that?”
“Because you want me.”
The statement was more about testing the waters than stating a fact, but Courtney didn’t know that. She flushed, started to move back, opened her mouth to speak, then pressed her lips together. Which told him everything he needed to know.
“I want you back,” he told her, right before he touched his lips to hers.
He released her hand as he kissed her. He’d never been the type who had to hold on to a woman to keep her. While he had always enjoyed women in his bed, he wanted them there willingly, even eagerly. The chase he enjoyed was intellectual, not physical. When it came to sex, he expected his partner to be his equal.
Courtney wasn’t intimidated by him, but they were still at different places in their lives. So he wanted her to be sure.
For a single heartbeat, she didn’t move. Then she eased into him and put her hands on his shoulders. He moved his to her waist.
She was warm and felt good against him. He liked how she kissed him back, tentatively at first, but then with more confidence. When she parted her lips, he allowed himself a brief foray into her sweet mouth. The feel of her tongue against his was enough to get him hard, but this was neither the time nor the place. He drew back and kissed her forehead.
“It’s late,” he told her. “I’m going to thank your mother for inviting me and call it a night.”
“That sounded a lot like a statement and not an invitation,” she said.
“You’re right.”
“What happened to wanting me back?”
“I still do.”
She glared at him. “You’re the most confusing man I know.”
“Part of my charm.”
“Is that what we’re calling it these days?”
“Good night, Courtney.” He turned and started walking away.
“Did I mention you were annoying? Because you are. Seriously annoying. And if you think you’re going to see my tattoo anytime soon, you’re sadly mistaken.”
He was still chuckling when he got to his room.
10
RACHEL WANTED TO spend the rest of her life curled up in a small, dark corner. Unfortunately, circumstances weren’t going to cooperate. She’d had a long night of alternating between shame and fury. She’d wanted to figure out who had said those mean things and confront them. She’d wanted to pack everything she owned and slink away in the night. Those hard overheard words mingled with all the things Greg had said. By dawn, she was exhausted and confused, but also clear on the fact that she had to do something. Because she’d been stuck in limbo for too long, going through the motions without a plan.
She supposed that was just how life went. However awful she might be feeling, she still had to clean the house and plan meals for the week and do laundry and put gas in her car. She also had to meet her sister for brunch. Part one of her new still-unformed plan—show up at the restaurant looking good so no one had any reason to talk. After that...well, she would figure it out as she went.
She forced herself out of bed and showered. Rather than pull on black knit pants yet again, she dug through her closet for a pair of jeans that fit, then pulled on a cheerful red blouse. After spending extra time on her makeup, she vowed she really would get one of her work friends to cut her hair that week.
Those women in the bathroom had been mean and bitchy, but they’d been right about one thing. She had let herself go. Some of it was the divorce—she’d felt so awful, she just hadn’t wanted to bother. Some of it was Greg—without him in her life, what was the point? Although that last thought was going to get her kicked out of any feminist group she might want to join. Because, jeez, talk about defining herself by a man.
She wanted to be stronger than that. She wanted to be one of those cool women who was busy and self-actualized without being married. The kind of person who would go on an African photo safari by herself. Not that she ever would. She’d yet to figure out how to eat in a restaurant alone.
She slipped into a pair of heels she hadn’t worn in years, then held on to the doorjamb of the closet while she tried to get her balance. Flats or tennis shoes would be easier, but she would be damned if she was going to let those two get her down. Yes, she’d had a few crappy days, maybe a bad year or two, but she refused to let anyone pity her. Maybe Greg had been right, too. Maybe she did have to do it all herself. But so what? She would do it better and bolder. Or at least try more than she had been.