The Player and the Pixie(85)

Sean tilted his head. “You’re far too colorful to ever be the black sheep.”

“Can you be serious with me for a minute?”

“I am being serious,” he said, before striding forward to kneel in front of me. He took my hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over the insides of my wrists. I tried to ignore how wonderful it felt. “If your mother thinks you’re something to be ashamed of, then it’s her loss, because I’ve experienced how amazing you are. The moment you walk into a room you brighten it, Lucy Fitzpatrick, and I for one feel like the luckiest bastard in the world for having known you.”

“You . . .” I started but my voice failed me. “You can’t say stuff like that when I’m trying to tell you we can’t be together. It isn’t fair.”

His thumbs stilled, and when he spoke his voice was frosty. It was a stark contrast to his previously heated tone. “Wait a minute. Answer me honestly. Did you come here to tell me we couldn’t be together until after the wedding, or did you come to tell me we can’t be together at all?”

“I…I don’t know.”

He stared at me for a beat, the astonished hurt in his eyes making my stomach drop. Standing from his kneeling position, he walked to the other side of the room as he ran a hand through his blond locks. I watched as the muscles in his shoulders bunched with tension. He let out an irritable breath before resting his hands on his hips.

“You’re making something that could be so simple into something really complicated here, Lucy,” he said in frustration, still not facing me.

“There’s never been anything simple about you and me,” I returned. “We both knew it could go no further than the physical from the very start. I told you—”

“Yes, but that was before. Things are different now. I’m different.”

I couldn’t help giving him a skeptical look. “Are you? The last I knew you were keen to go out and start practicing your newly gained ‘skills’ on other women.”

Okay, so that was a low blow, but I was feeling desperate and defensive.

His icy blues turned dark as they surveyed me, his jaw working. When he spoke he crossed to me; his voice rose with every word until he was near shouting. “That was me talking shit and you know it. I wasn’t keen to go out and find other women. I was keen to stay in bed with you. Or grab coffee with you. Or chase celebrities with you. Anything, as long as we were together.” His gaze was erratic now, wandering over my features like he didn’t know whether to kiss me or strangle me.

I could barely speak, so enthralled by the look in his eyes. My next words were a weak whisper. “That’s bullshit.”

“Does this feel like bullshit to you?” he growled before yanking me from my seat, cupping both my cheeks, and pulling my mouth to his.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I’d forgotten how utterly devastating his kiss could be.

As soon as his lips met mine, I lost the battle with myself. His tongue swept into my mouth and I knew I was helpless to stop. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted this—him—more than words could say, and when he lifted me, I locked my legs around his waist, holding on for dear life like I never wanted to let go.

My back hit the soft, plush mattress and he climbed atop me, my thighs on either side of his waist. His tongue slid against mine in a seductive dance and the vague thought hit me of how he’d always been an amazing kisser, despite everything else. A second later he broke the kiss, swearing profusely as he lowered his head, pressing his face into my chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he ground out, fingertips pushing into my back as he held me. I tried to catch my breath while I ran my hands through his hair.

“Sean, are you all right?”

“Yes, I just . . . I’m trying really hard not to come and embarrass myself right now, but I haven’t touched you in weeks.”

His unexpectedly candid statement took the wind out of my sails and I almost laughed. He’d been the one to grab me and toss me on the bed, after all.

“Then come,” I said.

He arched a brow.

I lifted a shoulder, too exhausted to fight off my overwhelming need for him any longer. “Maybe having sex now will make things easier at the ceremony tomorrow,” I said, like I was trying to convince myself of the idea’s merits, rationalizing like a true addict.

Sean frowned. “What about after the ceremony?”

I shifted, rubbing myself against him, feeling him tense. His gaze grew darker.

I rushed to say, “Let’s just . . . Listen, let’s just get through the ceremony tomorrow without tearing each other’s clothes off. Then we’ll talk about what comes after.”