Stumbling into Love
Page 13

“The guy from today? Your next appointment?” He sits back in the seat, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Yeah.”
“Jesus,” he curses.
I look up to find him rubbing his forehead. “What?”
“You touched him,” he growls.
I feel my brows pull together. “What?”
“You touched him. You gave him a massage after me.”
“Yeah, he’s my client,” I agree, wondering where he’s going with this.
He shakes his head and grumbles, “Not anymore.”
“Pardon?”
“He can’t be your client anymore,” he states, sitting forward and getting as close as he can with the table between us.
“Are you insane?” I hiss, pointing at him. “First of all, you do not ever get to tell me what to do. Second, you are a jerk for even thinking that I would be anything less than professional with the men and women I have as clients.”
“I wasn’t saying that.”
“Yeah? Then what were you saying?”
“I don’t like the idea of your hands on him while you’re locked behind a closed door.”
“Too bad,” I mutter as I pick up my scarf and wrap it around my throat with an angry jerk.
“Where are you going?” he asks, looking panicked when he sees me slip on my coat.
“I’m leaving. Enjoy the pizza—it’s the best in New York City.” I stand and start to walk away, but he takes my hand, forcing me to stop and look at him.
“You’re running again.”
“Call it whatever you like.” I tug my hand free and head for the door.
Out on the sidewalk, I rush as quickly as I can toward my block. I feel him hot on my heels as I go. As soon as I make it up to my apartment, I hear him enter the foyer behind me and follow me up the steps.
“Stop!” he pleads as I put my key in the door.
Everything in me fights the urge to listen to him.
“Please!” His body presses into my back, his hand slides around my waist, and his lips touch my neck as he speaks. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you who you could or could not have as clients.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
“Can you please look at me?” he asks.
I shudder as I slowly turn around to face him, wondering vaguely if Miss Ina is downstairs listening to this conversation take place. I have no doubt that, if she is, I’ll get an earful tomorrow.
“This is new to me.” He takes my face between his hands. “I’ve never felt the way you make me feel. You make me crazy. The idea of someone else touching you—or you touching them—makes me see red.”
“Do you know how insane that is?” I ask while asking myself how insane I am for enjoying his reaction.
“I do.” He shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair. “Believe me, I know. And I’m sorry.”
“You can’t tell me what to do, Wesley. And you can never tell me how I should do my job, or who I can have as clients or friends. That is a deal breaker for me. I like you, and for some insane reason I like that you feel as jealous as you do about me, but that can never spill over into my work life or erode the friendships I’ve had for years.”
“I know,” he agrees, placing one hand on the door above my head and the other on my hip while dipping his face close to mine.
I swallow, then lower my eyes so I won’t have to look at him when I say what I’m about to. “I think we should just slow this down a little,” I whisper, peeking up at him through my lashes. “This thing between us has been very intense from the beginning. M-maybe we need to take a step back,” I say, hating the very idea of doing that.
“Do you want that?” he asks. I try to force myself to say yes or to nod, but I can’t do it.
Pulling my body deeper into his, he lowers his face until we are eye to eye. “Do you really want us to take a step back?”
No! my mind screams as he trails hot kisses across my cheek and toward my ear.
“Invite me in so I can remind you of why you want this,” he murmurs.
My eyes slide closed.
When he pulls my hips into his and I feel his arousal between us, I whimper, “I can’t. My sister’s home, and I . . . I don’t want her to find out about us.”
“You don’t want her to find out about us?” He steps back suddenly, like I burned him.
I realize what I said and how it sounded. Looking into his eyes and seeing the hurt there, I reach out to touch him. He backs up a step.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t . . .” My apology dies in my throat when he turns and starts down the steps, taking them two at a time. “Please stop!” I shout at his back, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even turn around as I try to catch up with him. “Wesley!” I stumble to a stop at the bottom of the steps and watch him disappear out the front door.
“Let him go, child.”
I turn my head to find Miss Ina standing in her open doorway. “He’ll calm down, and then you’ll be able to talk to him,” she says gently as her frail fingers wrap around mine and tears fill my eyes. “Men get like that from time to time. It’s best you let them work through their anger.”
“I messed up,” I whisper.
Her fingers tighten. “It will be okay. Come have a cup of tea.”
Wiping at the tears that are running down my cheeks, I shake my head. “Miss Ina, now’s not a good time.”
“Now is the best time.” She tugs my hand, leaving me no choice but to follow her into her apartment.
Chapter 5
UNDER MY SKIN
WESLEY
I don’t want her to find out about us.
Those fucking words replay in my mind on a loop, tormenting me as I walk from Mackenzie’s house toward mine. She doesn’t want her sisters to know about us. That thought makes me want to break something. It also makes me wonder what’s wrong with me. I know I could walk into any number of bars right now and leave with a woman of my choosing, and I can almost guarantee she would stick around until morning. Hell, she’d probably fucking make me breakfast in bed and ask when we could hang out again.
“This is your fault,” I mutter under my breath as I glare at the vicinity of my dick. Since the moment he met Mackenzie, he’s been fascinated with her. He’s lost interest in everyone else.
Who the hell am I kidding? My mind has become solely focused on her, too. She’s what I think about before I fall asleep at night and the first thing I think about in the morning. Maybe I should turn in my badge and start writing cards for Hallmark.
Tucking my hands into the front pocket of my coat, I duck my head. It’s freezing, but the bite of cold is keeping me focused, keeping me from turning around and heading right back to her place—where I would undoubtedly make an even bigger fool of myself by tossing her over my shoulder, carrying her home with me, cuffing her to my bed, and forcing her to admit her feelings.
Grinding my teeth, I quicken my steps. When I finally make it to my block a little more than an hour and a half later, I’m soaking wet. I shuck off my jacket and kick off my boots by the door as soon as I open it so that I don’t drag water and snow across the floor.
I pull in a deep breath and let it out slowly when I see a message from Mackenzie on my cell phone. I stare at my cell for a minute, then shake my head and turn it off. I should have learned my lesson the first time she took off on me—but I didn’t. I should have realized that I’m not what she wants when she ran from me the second time we hooked up—but once again, I didn’t. Now I know for certain that she doesn’t want her family to know about me. I never thought I would be living a life where I would be someone’s dirty little secret, but that is exactly what I am to her.
Grunting in disgust at myself, I head for the shower. I stand under the hot water until it runs cold, then get out and go to bed. I keep my phone off so that I’m not tempted to talk to her.
Pulling my bulletproof vest down over my head the next evening, I Velcro the sides and then put on my jacket. I need to get my head in the game and off Mackenzie. Mackenzie, who’s called or texted at least a dozen times this morning to apologize. Mackenzie, whose last text said that she was now pissed at me for being pissed at her. That message shouldn’t have made me smile, but it did.