Rules Of Attraction (22 page)

went to clubs every weekend. We danced, met girls, drank, got high . . .

fun stuff. Now I’m here, having Family Fun Night with the Westfords.

Times have definitely changed.”

“You shouldn’t do drugs.”

“Don’t you do things you shouldn’t do? Come on, Kiara, give it up.

There’s no way you’re as innocent as you let everyone think you are.

You’re just like the rest of us sinners. So you don’t smoke, drink, or do

drugs. But you have other vices. Everyone does.” When she doesn’t

answer, I continue. “Tell me somethin’ you do that would shock me.”

She sits back on the couch. “Shock you?”

“Yeah. Shock me to the core.”

She sits up on her knees and leans toward me. “I’ve thought about

you, Carlos,” she whispers in my ear. “At night, in bed. I think about

kissing you, our tongues sliding against each other’s, while your hands

are buried in my hair. When I think about feeling those ripples in your

naked chest I touch my—”

“Here’s more popcorn!” Westford says, barging into the room with

two big bowls filled to the rim with freshly popped popcorn. “Kiara,

what are you doing?”

The scene must look pretty racy. Kiara is leaning over me on all

fours. Her face is just inches from mine.

I swallow. What she was about to say formed an image in my mind

that was almost too much to bear. I stare right into Kiara’s eyes to see

if she’s bullshitting me or not, but I can’t tell. She’s got a fire in her

eyes, but I’m not sure if it’s from passion or from her excitement at

trying to beat me with my own MO.

I stay silent and let Kiara take this one.

She leans back on her heels. “Um . . . I . . . um . . . nothing really.”

Westford looks to me for an explanation.

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” I tell him.

“Know what?” Mrs. W. asks, walking into the room.

The Professor hands me the bowl of popcorn as Mrs. W. settles

back in her chair. I start munchin’ so I don’t have to talk.

“I can’t get a straight answer out of either one of these

teenagers,” Westford says.

Kiara settles herself on the other side of the couch. “Mom, Dad,

what would you do if you came in here and found us kissing?”

THIRTY-SIX :
Kiara

I really meant to ask the question as a hypothetical. I didn’t mean

for Carlos to start choking on his popcorn, which he is.

“You okay?” I ask him as he coughs repeatedly.

Carlos looks at me like I’m the craziest person on the planet. “What

the hell are you askin’ them that for?”

“Because I want to know the answer.”

I can tell my parents are trying to telepathically communicate to

each other to come up with an answer.

“Well . . . ,” my mom starts. “Um . . .”

“What your mother is trying to say,” my dad chimes in, “is that we

were teenagers once upon a time, too, so we understand that

experimentation is a normal part of growing up . . .”

“And you know to always respect yourself and your bodies,” my mom

says. I suspect she’s not answering the question on purpose.

“Yes, Mother.”

My dad picks up the remote. “Okay, now that that’s settled, which

movie did you pick?”

I get a little shy when I say, “West Side Story.”

We watch the movie, but every now and then Carlos snickers as if

some of the parts are ridiculous to him. By the end, I’m crying so hard

Carlos has to pass me a tissue from the end table nearest him.

“Pass me one of those tissues, too,” my mom says as she sniffs

away. “I cry every time I see that movie.”

“I hate the ending,” I declare to everyone in the room as I take the

movie out of the player and replace it with another one.

My dad turns around to face Carlos. “What can I say? My women

want a happy ending.”

My mom, with her hair up in a clip like a teenager herself, looks at

my dad. “What’s wrong with a happy ending?”

“They’re not realistic,” Carlos chimes in.

“On that note . . . I’m going to bed. I’m beat,” my dad says, then

moans and stretches as he stands up from his chair. “These old bones

can’t stay up past midnight anymore. I’ll see you all in the morning.”

My mom calls after him, “I’ll be up in a bit.”

We all agree to start another movie. This time it’s an action film

that’s probably right up Carlos’s alley. Ten minutes into it, my mom

yawns. “I’m younger than your father, Kiara, but I can’t stay up much

past midnight anymore, either. I’m going to bed.” She gets up to leave,

but before she turns the corner, she pauses the movie and wiggles her

forefinger at us. “Trust and respect.” She says those few choice

words, then tosses Carlos the remote before she disappears.

“Your ma sure does know how to kill the mood,” Carlos drawls.

As we continue watching the movie, I glance at Carlos a few times.

I can tell he’s into the movie because his features are relaxed, unlike

his usual tense appearance. One time he catches me watching him.

“Want some water?” he asks.

“Sure.”

He disappears into the kitchen, then reappears a few minutes later

carrying two glasses of ice water.

It’s dark except for the glow of the television. His fingers graze

mine as I take the glass from him. I don’t know if he felt it, but I can’t

ignore my body’s reaction to the soft touch of his hand brushing

against mine. It’s not like this morning after the game, where he did it

for show.

He hesitates, then his eyes meet mine. It’s dark, it’s just us, and

I’d love nothing more than to tell him I want his hands on me, all over,

although he’d already said that my mom broke the mood.

Trust and respect. I trust Carlos not to hurt me physically, but not

emotionally. I immediately break the connection and quickly raise the

glass to my lips to drink the cold water, because if I didn’t I might be

tempted to ask him to kiss me again and force myself not to think

about the consequences.

Without talking, he eases his lean body back on the couch. Our

thighs are almost touching, and while the movie is still playing, all I can

think about is him. The hero is stuck in a warehouse with a beautiful

blond woman. He suspects she might be one of the bad guys, but he

can’t resist her and they start making out. Carlos shifts, clears his

throat, then takes another chug of water. Then another. And another.

I wonder if the scene reminds him of my detailed fantasy about us. I

take a slow, deep breath and try to keep my mind on the movie and not

on the fact that our knees are now touching. A while later I glance at

him. He looks like he might be sleeping, but I’m not sure.

“Carlos?” I say tentatively.

He opens his eyes, those black depths shining from the light of the

TV. The passion and desire are evident in his gaze. “Yeah?”

“Were you sleeping?”

He chuckles. “No. Not by a long shot. I was just tryin’ to convince

myself not to make a move on you.”

The movie forgotten, I push my fears aside and decide to test

what we have together. I get off the couch to close the door to the

den and lock it, giving us privacy.

“You locked the door,” he says.

“I know.”

I’m not good with words, and if I did try to say anything I’d

probably stutter and break the mood. If I can’t effectively tell him

how I feel, I can definitely show him. I suddenly realize that I trust

this boy even if he doesn’t trust himself.

Kneeling next to him on the couch, I slowly raise a shaky hand to

his face. My fingers trace random designs in the stubble growing on his

jaw. His breath hitches in response.

“Kiara—”

I put my fingers on his beautiful full lips and cut him off. “Shh.”

“Are . . . we . . . about to get into . . . trouble?” he asks.

I lean forward. His words fade the closer my lips are to his. I move

my palms to his chest and brace myself against his hard body as I move

closer. And closer. I can feel the warm heat of his breath mingling with

mine and I can’t hold back any longer. “Loads of trouble,” I say. I know

I can’t hope to be his permanently, but I want to show him what

intimacy with real emotion can feel like.

When my lips touch his the slightest bit, a quiet moan escapes from

his mouth. His heart beats fast against my palms. The sweet sound of

our lips parting and coming together again is melting my insides. He’s

letting me be in control by keeping his hands at his sides, but each time

I lower my lips to his only to separate them a few seconds later, he

starts breathing heavier.

“Let me taste you,” he whispers.

The next time I dip my head, I kiss him softly a few times, then

gather enough courage to open my mouth and deepen the kiss. I get a

surge of energy when our tongues meet for the first time, wet and

slippery and, oh, I want more.

The sound of the movie is just white noise in the background.

He cradles my face in his hands and forces me to look into his dark,

sexy eyes filled with passion and desire. “You’re playin’ a dangerous

game, chica.”

“I know. But I trust you.”

THIRTY-SEVEN :
Carlos

Her words echo in my head. I trust you. She’s the first girl who’s

ever said that to me. Even Destiny said I had to earn her trust when

we first met, because she thought I was a player. And here’s Kiara, a

girl who knows I’ll never be her knight in shining armor, gifting me with

her trust without hesitation. She’s straddling me, her lips wet from our

kisses. She’s crazy to think I’ll do the right thing.

My hands are still cradling her face. I respect this girl too much to

be dishonest. “Don’t trust me.”

A pink blush creeps up her cheeks as she reaches behind her head

and pulls that band out of her hair. “But I do.”

She shakes out her hair. It falls in a curtain over her shoulders,

the ends landing just above her breasts. I’ve never seen anythin’ sexier

in my life, and she’s not even naked yet. Yet? What am I thinkin’? I’m

not gettin’ her naked. I want to. Hell, I’d love to peel away the layers

and study the curves of her body with my eyes and hands. My body

says ‘Go for it! You want it. She wants it. What’s the problem?’

The problem is that damn word . . . trust.

She trusts me.

I squeeze my eyes shut. What can I say to prove to her I’m the bad

boy she knows I am?

She’d be stupid to trust me. I’ll take advantage of her every chance

I get, but how can I prove that to her?

Knowing how ready I am to take this to the next level might scare

her off. I reach around and grab her butt, then grind against her in a

way that makes no mistake of my intent. Problem is, she starts moving

with me. Damn. This is not good. She’s definitely got power over me. I

thrive on control, but right now I’ve totally lost it. I pull her toward me

and press her body to mine, my hands feelin’ up and down her back. Our

heavy breathing is filling the room. I’m glad the movie is still on to

mask any sounds we’re making.

I lean back and look into her trusting face.

“You gotta stop before this gets out of hand, ’cause I won’t.” I’m

ignoring the fact that we’ve already gotten out of hand and she doesn’t

look the least bit ready to stop.

She stills and presses her cheek to mine. “I’m a virgin,” she

whispers in my ear as if it’s a secret she’s only going to share with me.

Oh, hell.

I lean my head back on the couch and tell her the truth. “You’re not

actin’ like one.”

“That’s because it’s you, Carlos. Only you do this to me.”

Power shift. She shouldn’t have said that. Now I know I have

control, if not physically, at least mentally. Givin’ me control isn’t a wise

move on her part. I’m taking this girl to the danger zone, but that’s

where I’m used to spendin’ most of my life. My hands inch over to her

waist.

“Take your shirt off, chica.”

Her hands go to the bottom of her shirt. The anticipation of seeing

what she’s hiding underneath makes me hold my breath. I look up into

her face, her eyes filled with uncertainty and something else I refuse

to acknowledge.

In one swift movement, she lifts her oversized T-shirt over her

head and reveals a body to kill for or die for. Or both.

“I don’t have a body like Madison’s,” she says shyly, her hands

crossing her midsection in an effort to hide it.

“What?”

“I’m not skinny.”

Skinny to me equals fake body or no body. I need a girl who I can

hold on to and not be afraid to break.

I gently remove her hands and hold them lightly at her sides. I lean

back and stare, completely dumbfounded, at her pink bra modestly

covering her breasts. She’s got nothin’ to be embarrassed about. This

girl has got it goin’ on and has no clue she’s got a better body than

Madison, hands down. Kiara’s got curves where God intended them to

be, and I have the urge to caress those curves and memorize every

inch of her. I feel like the luckiest guy on earth.

“Eres hermosa . . . you’re beautiful.”

Her eyes are cast downward. “Look at me, chica.” When she does, I

repeat, “Eres hermosa.”

“What does it mean?”