Say You're Mine(15)

He laughed too, and that’s when it hit him.

The reason she affected him so much, so deeply, was because he cared about her. She was his best friend, she was drunk, and if he continued on this path that they were just starting on…

He was going to lose her.

She deserved courtship, roses, and romance. Not drinking, nightmares, and a one-night stand with her best friend. Gently, he lowered her to the floor, letting go of her once she steadied herself on her own two feet, even though it was the hardest thing he’d ever done before. “Lauren… Jesus.”

She was willing and hot and sexy, and finally his. But he’d end up hurting her.

He had to stop.

Cheeks suffused with color, her mouth parted, and she whispered, “Screw medals, Steven.” The way she said his name, like she wasn’t sure if she should thank him or curse him for eternity, rocked him to his core even more than her kisses had. “Instead, you get this.”

She caught his mouth frantically, her tongue sweeping into his mouth this time. Her fingers fumbled with his fly. It was now or never. If he was going to end this before she did something she might regret, he had to move now. One more minute in her arms would be too much.

One more minute, and he wouldn’t be able to walk away…

Cursing inwardly, he broke off the kiss, catching both her hands with one of his. For the first time ever, he was going to deny her something she wanted. “No.”

She froze immediately. “No?”

“No.” Bracing himself, he stepped back, still holding her hands. Stopping this before he discovered how sweet her body would feel, naked and entwined with his, was like holding a gun to his own hand and pulling the trigger. And just as painful. “This ends here. Go to bed before we do something we’ll both regret. I’ll take the couch.”

She ripped her hands out of his. “I…I…I don’t understand. Was it something I did?”

“No. I just—” He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching out and touching her. Kissing her. Taking her. It would be so easy. Turning her down would leave him with blue balls and a hard dick for a year—at least. “I can’t do this.”

“I…” She shook her head. “What have I done?”

And then she bolted for her bedroom.

He flinched when her bedroom door slammed shut behind her. She might be pissed at him now, but she’d thank him in the morning. He was sure of it.

Guys like him were always a regret when the sun came up.





Chapter Six

Sometime before dawn, Lauren woke up with a headache and blurry vision. No big shocker there. She rarely drank, and she’d pounded back a few shots within moments of one another on an empty stomach, all to prove a point.

Like an idiot.

She threw herself at Steven and he refused her. Sure, he made her come before sending her to her room alone, but still. He could’ve had her, and he chose to push her away instead. Refused to take her to bed.

He didn’t want her like that.

Now, she was going to have to act as if it didn’t hurt that he would sleep with virtually any other woman besides her. It did hurt. A lot.

Groaning, she rolled over and squinted at the clock. It was almost five o’clock in the morning, and right beyond that door, Steven slept peacefully on her couch. In the brightness of the morning, he would still be there. Waiting. Watching.

Knowing he could have had her, and hadn’t.

Well, she’d gone and done it. Ruined years of platonic friendship with a few sips of rum, and a misplaced, ill-timed, unwelcome kiss. What was she supposed to do now? Go out there, and pretend last night had never happened like he suggested? Even though her body still hummed from the orgasm he’d given her? He had been, hands down, the best she ever had.

And she hadn’t even had him.

So not fair.

Tossing the pillow aside, she threw her legs over the side of the mattress and padded across the tan Berber carpet her landlord had just put in. If she had any hope of being able to deal with what was coming in the morning, she needed to pop a few Ibuprofen, and down a big glass of ice cold water.

She headed into the bathroom and brushed her teeth to wash away the taste of rum. Afterward, she opened the cabinet for some Ibuprofen…then remembered it was in the kitchen. She’d taken some last night when she’d come home from work.

“Crap.”

She crossed her bedroom and then cracked the door open, sliding through and tiptoing toward the living room. Halfway there, she froze. The TV was still on, and Steven was still awake. He sat on the couch, facing the TV, and held a glass of something dark. His hair stuck up all over the place, as if he’d been running his hands through it. He did that when he was stressed, or upset, and this time…