She sighed loudly, “A few reasons, actually. One: We still live in the same house. So, obviously, something needs to be done about that, and what that 'something' is has yet to be discussed or determined. Two: We have been together for years and we’ve built a life together. So, yes, I do have a slight level of curiosity about what he might have to say. Three: I was engaged to the man not even a month ago.” She had been counting on her fingers, she now laid her hand on the armrest, “I can hear him out, I at least owe him that much.”
“You don’t owe him anything,” Riley growled.
Ugh! He was so frustrating. She was over it. Time to give Mr. Buttinski seated beside her a piece of her mind.
“You’re right, as a matter of fact. I don’t owe him anything. Just like I don’t owe you anything, including answering your impromptu Spanish inquisition. But,” She threw her arms up in a ta-da fashion, “I guess I’m a giver. So, I will talk to him and I did answer your questions. Now, it’s your turn to answer mine. Why. Do. You. Care?”
Instead of responding, explaining his annoying interest in her talk with David, he leaned closer to her and reached up, threading his fingers in her hair.
Her mind raced. Why, WHY, did that have to feel SO good?
His fingertips brushed the side of her neck and his thumb traced her jawline.
Damn, she loved it when he did that. Perfect! One more thing she was going to miss. She could probably fill an encyclopedia with all of the things she was going to miss about Riley Sloan.
She needed to pull away from him. She needed to keep her distance. She needed to do both of those things now if she had any chance of walking away from these last few days with her heart intact.
But did she pull away from him? Nope! Instead of doing what she knew she needed to do, she felt herself lean into his touch. He must have taken the small movement as the 'green-light-permission-to-pass-go-full-steam-ahead' signal because he crushed his mouth to hers.
She gasped at the sudden contact of his lips against hers. It felt frantic. Desperate. Passionate.
She opened to him and, as soon as their tongues touched, he slowed the frenetic pace, his tongue softly licking, gently probing, and sensuously gliding expertly inside her mouth. Exploring. Inexorably searching every inch.
Seeking what, she didn’t know - but he was certainly thorough in his quest.
It felt almost as though they were making love while only kissing. Every single cell in her body was filled with the delicious sensations Riley’s kiss was causing.
It was amazing. It was earth shattering. It was mind-blowing. It was too much.
Chelle used every ounce of self-preservation she could summon from deep inside her soul and pushed away from Riley.
“Chelle?” He asked through labored breath, reaching for her once again.
She put her hand up and shook her head, “Just…don’t.”
She attempted to calm her racing heart. It astounded her that a heart that was, at this very moment in time, breaking into a million tiny pieces could simultaneously be pounding so strongly.
Well, I guess - learn something new every day, she thought. Honestly though, she would have rather skipped this particular anatomy lesson.
She looked out the small circular window of the plane. Watching the clouds below her, she suddenly felt very small, very insignificant. There was a great big world out there and her problems were miniscule compared to it.
She took in a deep, fortifying breath. She knew she would need time to put herself back together post-Riley, but she was confident that could do it. The world would keep spinning when he was gone out of her life. And she would always have San Francisco. She could hold on to those memories forever.
Chapter Twenty-one
Riley had originally thought that the tense plane ride would be the low point of their trip home.
He had thought wrong.
The instant they had gotten off of the plane, the tension had skyrocketed up from ten to ten thousand.
The thing that frustrated Riley the most was that he knew he had only had himself to blame. He was not only letting Chelle’s bad mood set the tone of their exchanges, he had then gone on to adopt a foul mood of his very own.
For the last hour he had been fighting a powerful, overwhelming urge to turn the car around, go back to the airport, book the first flight out, and take Chelle back to San Francisco. Things had been perfect in San Francisco. God, if he could just get them back to the easy (yet smokin’-hot) camaraderie that they had shared during their idyllic stay there. Although, logically, he realized that kidnapping her and flying her back halfway across the country was not the answer - nor even, you know...legal - he still had to fight the small voice in his head which was screaming at him that it would solve everything. That internal battle had begun as soon as they had started down the highway.