Cross the Line (Boston Love Story #2) (26 page)

Meaningless sex.

Meaningless.

Sex.

All the breath goes out of me. The words I was about to say slither back down my throat into my stomach, where acids quickly destroy them. I feel nauseous. Physically ill. Worst of all, there are tears pricking at my eyes.

Damn him.

This thing between us isn’t meaningless, and he knows it. He knows, and he’s running because he can’t handle it.

“I always thought you were brave, Nathaniel Knox, but you know what?” I ask, words scathing. “You’re a coward.”

I scramble to my feet and head for the door, not even caring that I’m half naked. At this moment, I’d rather parade bare-assed through Back Bay than spend another second in this room with him.

He stops me before I make it two feet. Arms wrap around me from behind, hauling me against his bare chest. I feel his mouth at my ear, rumbling with intensity.

“Phoebe,” he says simply, undoing me with just one word. I feel his forehead hit my shoulder. “
Phoebe
.”

There’s so much raw emotion in his voice it nearly sends me to my knees. I force my spine to stiffen, so he knows I’m immune to him.

Ha! I wish.

“I’m sorry.” His words are low, hesitant. “I’m an ass. I know that.” He presses closer. “I know I’m no good for you, that I should push you away, that I have no right to ask for a damn thing from you.” He pauses, the silence humming with unspoken words. “But I can’t help myself from wanting you anyway.”

My heart skips a beat.  

“You are the only person in my life who hasn’t seen the worst in me from day one.” His voice breaks and it damn near kills me. “The only person who’s always looked at me like I could do anything, be anything, no matter how many other people said otherwise. And I know it’s fucked up… but maybe the reason I push you away so hard is because I know it’ll be easier to bear if I have some control over watching you walk away. Maybe I’m scared that if I let you look too close… you’ll finally see what everyone else has always seen.” He takes a breath. “Garbage.”

There are tears in my eyes when I turn in his arms to look up at him.

“You are not garbage.” My hands lift to cup his face. “You’ve never been garbage.”

His forehead comes down to rest against mine. Our eyes meet and I see something move at the back of his irises — something stark and sad and saturated with longing.

“Phoebe,” he whispers, that one word filled with so much hope it sounds almost like a prayer. 

“I’ve—” I almost say
loved
, but stop myself at the last moment. “I’ve dreamed of you half my life,” I whisper to him. “If you think you’re trash, that means I threw my dreams away on nothing. If you think you’re worthless, then you must think I’m worthless too.”

“No.” His reply is instant. “Never.”

I take a breath. “Are we worthless, Nate?”

There’s a sliver of silence as he stares at me. His hands come up around me, winding into my hair and pulling me closer.

“No.” His voice cracks. “We’re worth everything.”

His mouth lowers, his lips find mine, and when he kisses me, it’s not rough or hard or lust-fueled. There’s a kind of tender desperation in the way he touches me, and the beauty of it steals the air from my lungs, makes my chest ache with need.

There’s not an ounce of hesitation in the way his fingertips slide through the hair at the nape of my neck. No wavering uncertainty as he walks me backward toward my bed. No lingering doubts or dangling regrets when he fuses his lips to mine and kisses me until I can’t breathe.

With every kiss, every stroke, every gasp, he embeds himself deeper in my soul. Until I can’t think of anything but him, of the inevitability of this moment between us. It’s been written in my stars since I was five years old with a crush on the older, off-limits boy next door.

My back presses into the blankets as Nate presses into me. And I know my fingers should be trembling, my courage should be crumbling, but instead of fear there’s only the unshakable feeling that this is
right
. That he and I were always meant to wind up here together; that his hands were made to touch me, my body built to be explored by him.

“Phoebe,” he mutters against my stomach a few minutes later. I can barely form words, I’m so lost in sensation. “We have to go.”

“Shut up,” I whisper back, fingers exploring his back. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“Phoebe—”

“Less talky, more touchy.”

I hear the smile in his voice. “Phoebe—”

“Don’t
Phoebe
me! We’re naked. In my bed.” I groan in frustration when his hands fall away from my body. “This is happening.”

“Little bird.” He kisses the sensitive spot between my breasts. “We’re not doing this right now.”

I make a sound — I’m pretty sure it’s a growl. “I knew it! Knew it. I’m never going to have an orgasm. I’m going to die alone with several cats, one perfectly intact hymen, and two shriveled ovaries.”

He chuckles, the bastard.

“Don’t you laugh at me, Nathaniel!” I hiss, staring up at the ceiling and trying to regulate my breathing. “I dislike you.”

His voice is amused. “You dislike me?”

“Yes.” I nod sharply, not looking at him. “Immensely.”

“You’re aware you’ve still got your legs wrapped around my waist?”

I slowly unwind them, glaring at the ceiling. “I still dislike you.”

He chuckles again. “And why is that?”

“Because you’re backing out!”

“Phoebe.” His head finally lifts and when I see the amount of desire swirling in his eyes, my words falter. “I’m not backing out. But I’m also not going to take your virginity in the twenty minutes between now and when we have to be at Gemma and Chase’s place.”

“The penthouse?” I ask, eyes opening to meet his. “Why do we have to be there?”

He hesitates.

I narrow my eyes. “Tell me.”

“It’s a surprise, little bird.” He kisses my stomach again, soft and sweet. “You’ll like it. I promise.”

“But…” My voice is only a tad whiney when I moan out, “Are you sure we can’t skip it?”

He chuckles. “I’m sure.” 

“How sure?”

“Very.” He climbs up my body so our faces are parallel. His hands brace around me, holding the majority of his weight so I’m not crushed beneath him, and when he speaks, his voice is full of passion. “Because when I make love to you for the first time, I plan on taking my time. I don’t want twenty minutes. I want hours. I want weeks. I want a fucking lifetime in this bed with you.”

A pang shoots through my chest.

A lifetime.

I know he doesn’t mean it like that. He’s talking about a sexual marathon, not about spending forever with me. His
lifetime
doesn’t involve things like first dates and marriage and teaching our son to toss a football in the backyard and dancing with our daughter standing on his feet.

Wow. That escalated quickly.

Still, that doesn’t stop my heart from foolishly expanding at the thought of Nate wanting any kind of lifetime with me.

His mouth lowers and claims mine in a kiss. I feel one of his hands sliding down my body again and a second later, I gasp when his fingers land between my legs.

“I thought…” I’m panting a little. “We weren’t...”
Oh my god.
“Doing this.”

His fingers move faster. My head falls back.

“I said I wasn’t taking your virginity.” I feel his grin against my mouth. “I never said anything about orgasms.”

If I were president, my first act would be adding an

eighth day to the week, reserved for lying in bed

watching baby animal videos on YouTube.

Phoebe West, defining her political priorities.

A secret smile plays on my lips as I shove clothes into a Diane von Furstenberg duffle bag a few minutes later. I’m still basking in the happy glow of Big O, who finally made her Broadway debut, thanks to Nate. Let’s just say, he earned a standing
O
-vation for his performance.

I snort at my own terrible pun, staring from a pair of very practical Toms shoes to my favorite, somewhat frivolous Miu Miu booties. I only have room for one of them.

Sigh.

This is torture for me. I’m the girl who starts packing two full weeks in advance of any trip, meticulously planning specific outfits before deciding
better safe than sorry
and stowing the entirety of my wardrobe in a large rolling suitcase.
Because, hey, it’s entirely possible you’ll need that full-length, sparkly Moschino gown, Phoebe.
Even on a ski trip to Vail, or an extended stay on the beaches of the Virgin Islands.

You simply never know.

After giving me the two best — and
only
— back-to-back orgasms of my life, Nate kissed me firmly, stalked into my walk-in closet, threw the smallest suitcase from my luggage set onto the bed, and ordered me to pack while he fed Boo and then took him around the block for a much needed walk. I was so sated and happy, I barely even glared at him when he grunted that I was — and I quote — “not to move a fucking inch outside this house” until he got back.

Bossy, arrogant, sexy son-of-a-bitch.

By the time I finish packing, the duffle bag is bursting at the seams. I have no idea where the plane is headed, so I stick with the basics — a few pairs of jeans, four of my favorite blouses, my Chanel wool coat, and three pairs of heels.

Flats are for sissies.

I’m sitting on the counter sipping a can of cranberry-lime seltzer, admiring the way my sparkly Kate Spade platform pumps catch the light, when Nate walks into the kitchen with Boo cradled in the crook of his arm like a football. The Pom looks happy as can be, nestled against him.

“Good walk?” I ask.

He nods and sets Boo on the floor. When his eyes find mine, they’re ultra warm. Like melted chocolate.

“Did he sniff everything in a three mile radius?” I ask as Nate walks toward me.

“Yes.”

“Did he poop?”

His hands land on either side of my neck. His thumbs push my chin up gently, so my face is angled toward his. “You really want to talk about dog poop right now?”

“Nope,” I breathe.

“Good.” A second later his mouth hits mine, delivering a lingering kiss that makes my mind spin. Things are just getting good when he breaks away. “We have to go.”

My bottom lip juts out in a pout. “I still don’t understand why I have to leave tomorrow.”

His eyes find mine and there’s no mistaking the serious look in them. “I can’t do this with you here, little bird. The thought of them coming after you, hurting you again…” His head shakes swiftly. “When I think about that, I can’t focus on anything else. Hell, I can barely fucking breathe.”

My face softens. “Nate—”

“I need you safe.” His voice is firm. “And you won’t be, until you’re away from here.”

I sigh, frustrated but resigned. I’m not so pig-headed I can’t see the logic behind his words.

“Fine,” I whisper. “I’ll go. But I won’t like it.”

He nips my bottom lip playfully. “I put Boo’s water bowls, food, and leash in a bag by the door. Does he need anything else?”

“Stuffed duck toy,” I say immediately.

“Okay. I’ll make sure we grab the duck on the way out.” Nate’s eyes crinkle. “You finish packing your shit?”

“Yes.” I tilt my head toward the bag resting by the fridge. “Though it wasn’t easy, since I have no idea where you’re sending me.”

“Somewhere safe.”

I give him a look. “Vague, much?”

His lips twitch as he strolls across the room and picks up my bag.

“Christ, this is heavy. What’s in here? A grenade launcher?” Before I can say a word, he’s unzipped the duffle and peered inside. “Three pairs of heels? Really, West?” He shakes his head in exasperation. “You’re going to a safe house, not Paris Fashion Week.”

“Don’t you dare touch my shoes, Nathaniel Knox!” I hiss, hopping off the counter and striding toward him, tugging the hem of my black Prada mini-dress as I go. “I need those!”

“You don’t.”

“I do!” I screech, watching as he pulls out two pairs and sets them on the counter. “
Hey!
”

“Little bird, I’m telling you — you don’t need the damn shoes.”

“What if I have to go out somewhere fancy? What if some kind of formal engagement comes up out of the blue? What if….” I search frantically for reasons to justify my need for the shoes. “What if the President invites me to dinner at the White House? Or what if my invitation to this year’s Academy Awards as Bradley Cooper’s date — which was surely lost in the mail up till this point — arrives? Huh? What then, Nate?!”

He stares at me, mouth twitching. “You think that’s likely?”

“Ugh!” I smack him with a Ted Baker slingback. “That’s not the point.”

“What
is
the point?”

“You never know what’ll happen! You never know when a quality designer pump is going to be needed!” I glare at him. “Just because you’re a barbarian with no appreciation for high heels—”

He removes the deadly weapon from my grip, locks his hands around my wrists like manacles, and backs me up against the fridge in one swift move. He’s so close, I can feel each breath move through his chest as he presses into me. His mouth is millimeters from mine, his eyes never shift from my face, and I think he’s going to kiss me again. Instead, he speaks. (To my vast disappointment.)

“I have the highest appreciation for them,” he says, eyes on fire. “They’ve been driving me fucking crazy since I came home from my first tour and saw you’d switched from Sperry’s to stilettos overnight. Do you know how many times those damn shoes have given me hard-ons in the past ten years? How many times I’ve pictured you wearing nothing
but
those damn shoes while I’m buried deep inside you?”

He’s breathing hard — so am I. His admission is so hot, desire returns in a swift instant until every atom in my body is practically buzzing with it.

“Oh,” I murmur, eyes on his mouth.

Kissmekissmekissmekissme
. 

“Yeah,” he says roughly, barely in control. “Keep looking at me like that and we’re going to miss your party.”

My eyes flash up to his. “Party?”

His mouth tugs up at one side and he forces himself to take a step back. “Time to go.”

“I still think I need to pack the shoes,” I say, staring longingly at the Miu Mius on the counter. “Just
one
pair.”

He grunts, the sound torn between amusement and lust. “You won’t need them.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Phoebe.” He turns and lowers his head until his lips skim mine in the ghost of a kiss. “You won’t need them. As soon as this shit is cleared up with Mac, I’m flying to meet you. And when that happens, you won’t need any of your damn clothes because we’re going to be naked for a week straight.” His words send a delicious shiver through me. “Understand?”

“Um,” I whisper, eyes wide and heart suddenly pounding. “Yep.”

His mouth twitches. “Unless that’s not what you want. If it’s not, by all means, pack the fucking shoes and wait for your damn Oscar invitation. Either way, we’re leaving now.”

His lips land on mine in a too-brief, no-nonsense kiss and then he’s gone, grabbing my bag and leaving me pressed limply against the refrigerator, with only my discarded heels to keep me company.

When I follow him to the front door a few seconds later and twine my fingers with his, the Miu Mius are still sitting on the counter in the dark, long-forgotten as thoughts of a naked week with Nate swirl through my head.

***

“Surprise!”

I squeak involuntarily and jump about a foot into the air as the elevator doors chime open, because the sound of ten people screaming at the top of their lungs is mildly terrifying, regardless of the situation. I nearly lose my footing, but Nate’s hands land on my waist to steady me before I can fall on my face.

Phoebe West: queen of the elegant entrance.

“Breathe,” he whispers against my neck, voice amused.

I try to follow his orders as we step into the penthouse and look around at the group of people beaming at me and clapping. Gemma and Chase are by the kitchen counter, where a massive platter of cupcakes rests, each bearing a candle. Lila and her new boyfriend-of-the-minute are leaning against the pool table, which has a bright red balloon tethered to each pocket. Shelby and a handsome man I don’t recognize (who I assume is her husband Paul) are by the bookshelves in the corner, which have been strung end-to-end with streamers. Chrissy and Mark (Gemma’s other married friends) are hanging by the sectional, trying to keep the adorable towheaded toddler at their feet from shoving confetti up his nose.

Every single one of them is grinning at me. And every single one of them is wearing one of those ridiculous conical party hats and blowing into a paper horn.

“Happy birthday, Phoebe!” Gemma says, grabbing me in a tight hug as soon as we step inside. “I know you said you didn’t want a party, but I couldn’t help myself. I hope you aren’t mad.”

“Mad?” I say, laughing as I embrace her. “No. This is…” I swallow so I don’t start getting teary. “This is perfect.” 

“Told you so,” Gemma says to Chase smugly. “I’m always right. Just in case you forgot.”

He shakes his head. “Sunshine. Keep gloating. See what happens.”

They trade a glance so heated, it’s a wonder the room doesn’t catch fire around them.

I hear Lila’s voice only seconds before her body slams into mine in a full-on bear hug.

“Twenty-four! You old hag!” Her arms wrap around my frame, squeezing tightly.

“Technically not until tomorrow,” I point out, returning her hug.

“The way things have been going lately, you could be dead by tomorrow,” she says lightly. “We’d better celebrate now.”

I roll my eyes and push her away with a playful shove. I’ve barely turned when Shelby appears, snapping a glittery party hat around my head before I can protest.

“If I’m wearing one of these things, you damn well are too,” she says, slinging an arm around my shoulders in a half hug. “Plus, it’ll distract from that impressive shiner you’ve got.”

My nose wrinkles as I feel the elastic dig into my chin. “It’s my birthday. Doesn’t that mean I’m not required to wear the funny hat if I don’t want to?”

“Technically, your birthday isn’t till tomorrow,” Lila reminds me, grinning. “Which means birthday requests are not yet valid. Try again.”

Gemma plants her hands on her hips. “You have to wear the hat. It says
birthday girl
in silver glitter.” 

“Resistance is futile,” Chase mutters under his breath, his green eyes catching mine. “Just go with it.”

I sigh in resignation and, without thinking, lean back into Nate’s chest for moral support. His arms slide around me immediately, palms flat against my stomach so I’m pressed tight against him.

Everyone in the penthouse goes completely still, wide eyes locked on us. Conversations fall silent. Even the music drifting through the overhead speakers seems to dim as every one of my senses hones in on the feeling of his hands on me, in a casual and unmistakably couple-like show of affection.

I hold my breath, waiting for Nate to realize we’ve become a spectacle and push me away. We aren’t exactly public knowledge yet and, even if we were… he doesn’t strike me as the PDA type.

To my surprise, he doesn’t even seem to notice the eyes on us. Or, if he does, he doesn’t care.

His head comes down so his lips are at my neck and his voice is soft when he whispers into my ear.

“I’m gonna grab a drink, little bird. You want something?” His breath is warm against my skin, sending goosebumps skittering down my nerve-endings. “Beer? Seltzer? Old Fashioned?”

I swallow and try — unsuccessfully — not to melt into him. I can’t help it — he touches me and I turn into a puddle of hormones. 

“A beer would be good,” I breathe, wanting more than anything to turn and wrap my arms around him.

“Okay.” He presses a kiss against the sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder meet and then he’s gone, striding toward the kitchen as though we haven’t just brought the entire party to a standstill.

I watch him walk away, smiling hopelessly at his back, before turning to Gemma, Shelby, and Lila. The three of them are grinning like idiots, practically bouncing up and down as they squeal in unison and throw their arms around me until I’m crushed in the middle of a girl-pile.