Shadows of the Past (17 page)

When we come up to my door, he takes my hand. "I had a great time tonight, Kayla."

"Me too," I tell him shyly. I never had a date like this, one that went this well without the guy trying to get in my pants at the end of the night. I’m not getting the vibe right now at all. It almost seems like he wants to leave.

Oliver reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear, and then leans so close to me his mouth is hovering over mine. His warm breath washes over my lips making the pull to him increase tenfold. I want another kiss, but he doesn’t move. We stay like that for a moment with his eyes locked on my mouth.
 

In a whisper, Oliver says, "I want to see you again, but I need you to know I want more than just a quick shag." When he pulls back this time, I can see the sincerity in his eyes.

"So do I, but I’m not sure—"
 

He leans in and closes the gap between us, cutting off my words with his kiss. He pulls away and smiles at me.
 

“We’ll take things a day at a time. Stop worrying, American Girl.” He presses his lips to my forehead. "I'll call you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, love."

I nod, unable to speak. I don’t trust my voice. It’ll be all husky and breathy. I watch him walk back to his car before opening the door and slipping inside.
 

"Looks like someone had a good time." Emily's voice startles me.

I shriek and grab my heart before it runs down the hallway.
 

"Holy hell, Emily, you scared the crap out of me!"
 

She laughs as she turns to walk into her room.
 

"Night, Kayla!" she calls over her shoulder right before she shuts her bedroom door.
 

I lean back against the front door, trying desperately to get my bearings until my phone buzzes from my pocket. Pulling it out, I see a text from Oliver.

Good night, beautiful girl.

CHAPTER 28

When Oliver calls the next day, he asks me to come over. He sounds off, and it makes me nervous. By the time I get there, I'm thinking about leaving. We had an amazing date, but now I'm worrying he regrets it, that he just wants to be friends.
 

I pace back and forth in front of the entrance with my hand by my mouth, tugging on my lip. Should I go in? I really don’t know what I want. I feel like I’m stuck—too afraid to go forward and there is no going back.

I pace a few more times with my gaze glued to the sidewalk. It’s not until I see him standing just outside watching me that I stop. He looks as nervous as I do, which only makes it worse.

"Did you ask me here to tell me last night was a mistake?" I can't believe I just asked him that.
 

His eyes go wide and he pushes off the wall to walk over to me. Oliver places a hand around each of my upper arms prompting me to look up at him even though I don't want to see whatever is in his eyes.
 

"No," he says certainly. "That's not it at all. It's just..." he trails off, biting down on his lip before dropping his hands to take mine. "Just, come inside, please? There are some things I should probably tell you."

That's not better.
 

What could he possibly have to tell me that's popped up in the past fourteen hours? I can barely stand still as we ride the elevator—I mean the lift—up to his flat.

Oliver leads me over to sit on his couch, sitting down beside me and turning slightly, so we’re facing one another. He sighs and pushes his hair out of his face. It looks like he’s been running his hands through it for hours.
 

"If we're going to do this, I need to tell you a few things about me, about my past."

"You've been married before and have sixteen children you aren't taking care of?" I joke with a half smile.

He stares at me in absolute disbelief before he bursts into laughter. "Bloody hell, Kayla. No! Nothing like that."
 

“Did you kill someone?” I ask looking up at him from under my lashes. I’m wringing my hands so hard, they’re turning white.

Watching me closely, he says, "No. Nothing like that.”

I nod slowly. “Okay, continue.”
 

Silence spans between us as he tries to talk and quickly shuts his mouth. Oliver stands, paces a few steps, and then sits next to me again.

“Uh, you’re starting to worry me, Oliver. What’s wrong?” I touch the back of his hand and try to catch his eye.

“I'm sorry," he says without looking up. "It's just really hard to say. My parents divorced when I was young. My father was a serial adulterer and my mother couldn't live in a faithless marriage." He rushes to tell me, "I'm nothing like him, not in that way. I've seen what cheating does to people, to families—you have nothing to worry about there.
 

“Anyway, when she left, she took my younger sister with her. I was fourteen, my sister was eleven. Why they split us up, I'll never understand, but my relationship with Evie changed. We were never close again and haven't spoken in years."

He stops to think for a minute, and I can see his pain in the set of his jaw and the tightness around his eyes.
 

"Father never expected Mother to leave, so when she did, it destroyed him. He tried everything he could think of to reconcile, but it was too little, too late. She told him she didn't want anything to do with him and told him not to ask for forgiveness again. He stopped sleeping around, which is ironic since that's the reason she left him.
 

“At that point he turned to alcohol. He spent all his time in the bottom of a bottle and withdrew further and further from family and friends. My sister stopped spending time with him, and to be completely honest, I didn't want to be there, either.” He stops and keeps his gaze glued to his hands.

“Go on,” I say softly.

“It changed me. I started acting out, drinking too much and staying out too late." Oliver's voice breaks and he has to stop again.
 

I know something huge, something awful. It’s coming, but I also know it's a story he needs to tell. I feel like a hypocrite for listening, knowing he's sharing his biggest secret yet I can’t tell him mine.
 

"Anyway," he begins again. "One night I came home really late, much later than any other night, to find Dad alone in his study, an empty bottle of really expensive brandy in front of him. I walked into the room, and he didn't even look up. He didn't acknowledge my presence at all. Not at first. After a few silent moments, he finally lifted his head to meet my eyes.
 

“The look in his eyes made a shiver run down my spine. I can't even describe it to you. His eyes were empty, devoid of any life, any emotion at all. When he spoke, he told me he knew I hated him as much as my mother and sister did—he couldn't live with it anymore. He was tired of being a disappointment, and we'd all be better off without him here.”

Time stops. This can’t be going where I think it’s going. My palms turn slick as my pulse races faster.
 

“I was only sixteen and frozen in place when he lifted the gun. I didn't even notice it in his hand before that. I didn't even know he had a gun. They are more tightly controlled here than in America and my father had never been an avid sportsman. Even when I saw it, I didn’t think it could be real—nothing seemed real at that point.”

“Oh my God. What did he do?” I was almost too afraid to ask.

“He put it in his mouth. By the time moved to stop him, he'd already fired." His voice becomes a whisper. "I couldn't save him; I couldn't reassure him. All I could do was stand there and watch. For a long time, the scene played over and over in my head every time I closed my eyes."

When he looks back up at me, his eyes are glassy with unshed tears and my heart breaks for him. Watching your father kill himself is something no child should ever see.

CHAPTER 29

Oliver looks up at me and swallows hard. “I wanted you to hear it from me before someone else told you.”

I lift my hand slowly, following my instincts. I touch his cheek gently and he leans into my hand. I press my lips together and watch him for a moment, unsure of what to say. There are no words for something like that.
 

I inch toward him, slowly closing the distance between us. My mouth latches onto his and I slip my arms around his neck, plastering my body against his until we're touching every way we can.
 

His lips automatically open and our tongues tangle together, slowly at first and then more frantically. His arms wrap securely around me and he pulls me into his lap, my legs on either side of his. My front is flush against his. He's holding me so tightly I'm sure I'm going to have marks from his fingertips, but I don't care. It feels like he’s drowning in sorrow and I can save him. I concentrate on the feel of him against me and the way his mouth moves against mine.

The kiss intensifies as my hands slide down his shoulders, and I start unbuttoning his shirt. By the time I get to the bottom, he's pulling my shirt over my head, leaving me in only my bra and jeans. His hands stroke my back, while my hands explore the smooth skin of his chest, abs, shoulders, and back down again.
 

He suddenly pulls his mouth from mine, both of us breathing heavily and he searches my eyes. I don't know what he's looking for, but evidently he finds it. As suddenly as he stopped, he leans in again, running his teeth along my jaw and down my throat, making me gasp. He stops at a spot just under my ear and sucks hard.
 

I've never felt like this before, and it's not because I've never had sex—obviously. I don't know what’s happening or why it feels this way, but I don't want to lose it. He continues to kiss down my throat, biting me gently, before pressing soft kisses along the skin just above the curve of my bra.

Oliver lifts his head, looking at me for permission, and when I nod he pushes the cups of my bra down. He resumes the path his lips were traveling until his mouth closes over my nipple and he sucks, softly, flicking me with his tongue.

I suck in sharply and my hands fly up into his hair, holding his head against me. I want him to stay right here. Forever. It feels so good that my hips begin to move back and forth against his. The mewling sounds coming from my throat should embarrass me, but right now all I can concentrate on is him.
 

Oliver looks up at me for a moment, his eyes dark with lust, before crushing his mouth back to mine. He stands, taking me with him as he walks through the flat, stopping only to shut the bedroom door behind us with his foot. He lowers me onto the bed before pulling away to search my eyes.

"Is this what you want?"
 

He's genuinely concerned we are moving too fast, which makes me want this more—it makes me want him more. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him back down so we are eye to eye.
 

"Yes," I whisper against his mouth.

As soon as the words fall from my lips, he presses a quick, hard kiss to my mouth and kneels on the bed above me. He strips all my clothes away, leaving me on his bed wearing just my panties.
 

Oliver unbuttons his jeans but doesn't remove them yet, choosing instead to lower himself so our upper bodies are touching once more.

My nipples harden against his warm skin, and I grip his arms with my hands, fearing this is a dream and I'll wake up. He kisses my lips softly, before trailing kisses down my chin and throat, stopping briefly to kiss each breast, before moving down my stomach.
 

Reaching for him, I pull the zipper on his pants down and slide my hand inside his jeans. What I felt grinding myself against him didn't do him justice at all; he's hot and heavy in my hand. I can barely circle my hand around him and I'm suddenly concerned about how long it's been since I had sex.

Oliver sees my trepidation and presses his hand against my cheek, looking down at me tenderly. My stomach swirls and it feels like I’m in a free fall.

He whispers, "Don't worry, I'll be gentle. If you want to stop, just tell me."

Breathing hard, I answer, “I don’t want to stop.”
 

He smiles at me in response. My breath catches because of the look in his eye—it promises something I want so much. For just this once, I refuse to overthink things and pull him down on top of me, using my feet to slide his pants down to his knees. He grinds his hips against mine briefly before standing up to fully remove his pants.
 

I pull off my panties at the same time, and he pauses just a moment more to grab a foil packet from his nightstand. He throws the package down on the bed beside me and crawls up between my legs.
 

Fear spreads through me. He’ll see the stretch marks and know I was pregnant. Wanting to keep his attention focused on another area, I pull him toward me. Oliver follows and I kiss him deeply while he trails his long fingers up each of my thighs.
 

By the time his hand reaches the V at the top of my legs, I'm a writhing mess, desperate for his touch. A single fingertip brushes over me, making me gasp and clutch his shoulders. My hips buck into his hand, but he’s slow about it, teasing me until I can’t think of anything but him. That’s when he slips his finger inside me, and he leans down to kiss my lips. He groans into my mouth as his hand does magical things below my waist.
 

My sexual experience is limited to my ex, and just Oliver's fingers blow him out of the water. This is like nothing I've ever felt before, and I suddenly understand why people want to do this all the time. He hasn't even been fully inside me yet and I'd offer to warm his bed twenty-four/seven.
 

I gasp louder when he moves his fingers in deeper, and falls into rhythm with the movement of my hips. Clutching him desperately, I beg, "Please, Oliver, I need you." I don’t care what I sound like or what he thinks. I want to be with him. I want everything.

His breathing is heavy when he says, "I want to taste you."