Those Nights in Montreal Read online

  A rueful smile curls the corners of his mouth as he places his hands on his muscled thighs and pushes to his feet. “I guess it doesn’t really matter, right? If you don’t want to be with me, it’s not like I can force you.”

  The band that seems to have my chest in a grip tightens so it’s hard to breathe past the disappointment and heartache. That’s it? He’s leaving without putting up a fight? Again.

  “C’mon, at least walk me to the door,” he prompts when I sit there unmoving.

  I’m trying to come to grips with the fact that it’s really over between us. No more Scott. Damn, somewhere along the way I turned into one of those girls. You know the kind that says the opposite of what she feels. The kind that begs a guy to stop when she really wants him to roll her over with his charm and persistence. In Shakespearean terms, the lady who doth protest too much. In everyday terms, a crazy person.

  I’m that girl.

  My bones feel ancient as I rise to my not-altogether-steady feet. Tears sting the backs of my eyes as I walk around the coffee table toward him.

  For heaven’s sake, Rebecca, you’d better not make a complete ass of yourself and cry. Definitely not with Scott here watching me like a freakin’ hawk, his gaze penetrating and, no doubt, seeing entirely too much. Seeing things I don’t want him to see.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks softly. “This is what you want isn’t it?”

  I swallow and try to come up with something clever to say but my biggest fear is that one word out of my mouth and my voice will betray me and the tears I’m holding at bay will fall.

  Emotion clogs my throat when my name escapes his lips on a whispery sigh. Then he’s drawing me into his arms and cradling my face in his hands, tilting it up until we’re looking each other in the eye.

  “God, Becca,” he whispers on a sigh. His heated gaze dips to my mouth before he lowers his head and kisses me.

  A part of me is telling me to push him away—knows that would be in line with what I’ve been saying. Unfortunately, the part of my brain that controls my body has me closing my eyes and parting my lips in complete and utter surrender.

  The second his lips touches mine, my resistance crumbles and the reasons we’re not together don’t matter anymore. It’s been a year since a kiss has done this to me; made me dizzy and relieved at the same time. Never mind the hunger and desire clawing at my insides.

  His kiss is devouring, his tongue probing, sliding and tangling with mine. As wild as it is, it’s not enough. I moan my pleasure into his mouth, my hunger growing, bordering on all-consuming.

  My heart is pounding in rapid-fire beats and I can’t get close enough. Lifting my arms, I rake my fingers through his silky hair until I’m clasping the back of his head. God I love his lips, the way he kisses me. Sometimes it’s soft and teasing and other times—like now—hard and demanding like he can’t get enough, but always with a hunger that burns red-hot.

  As we go at it, teeth nipping and tongues sucking and licking, his hands coast down my sides, skimming my waist until he’s cupping my butt and pulling me flush against him. I can feel his erection hard against my stomach. Moisture immediately floods my core and without giving thought to reason, I’m pressing back against him, urging him on.

  “Oh God,” he gasps, breaking the kiss. The heat in his eyes sears me rendering me nearly incoherent with lust.

  In the silence broken only by the harshness of our out-of-control breathing, we stare at each other, almost like we’re soaking each other in after spending the last year apart.

  The next thing I know, I’m being hoisted up in his arms. My legs wrap around his waist as if it’s the most natural thing to do. I bury my face in his neck, scattering frantic kisses down the length, kissing and sucking on his beautiful pale-gold skin. His response is a groan that vibrates against my chest. My legs tighten around him and I moan with need at the hard press of his erection against my sex as he carries me from the living room down the hallway.

  In my room, he lowers me to my dazed, wobbly feet and begins to take off my clothes. Actually, it’s more like tear them off, his impatience evident in his not-quite-steady hands and the speed that my cotton v-neck is whipped clean over my head and discarded on the floor. Blazing eyes devour my breasts as he fumbles with my zipper. In seconds, my blue jeans are bunched around my ankles and I’m aiding in the effort by kicking it the rest of the way off.

  I’m sure that if my body wasn’t buzzing with desire and my center wasn’t clenching in anticipation, I would have felt self-conscious about standing in only my thong and bra while he’s still fully clothed. My only thought is that I want him naked. I want him inside me.

  “Take off the rest while I watch.” His voice rough with lust, his eyes glitter hotly as he does just that.

  At the moment, I’m so turned on and feeling every single day of my yearlong sex hiatus, if he’d told me to go to the moon, I would have donned a spacesuit no questions asked. But this is easy, taking off two scraps of cotton and lace. Even easier is drowning out the warning bells in my head telling me I’m heading down a road of no return. My body’s in charge and it wants what it wants and tonight, there’s no denying it.

  So while he’s watching me with the sexiest predatory look in his eyes and tugging off his shirt, I unhook my bra in the back and smooth the straps from my shoulders one at a time until my demi-cup lace of nothingness lands soundlessly on the floor.

  In the midst of getting his zipper over his very noticeable—and sizeable—erection, Scott pauses and swallows, his eyes glued to my bare breasts.

  “Fuck.” He says it reverently and I take it as the coarse compliment it is.

  Scott doesn’t move faster than when sex is on the line, mutual orgasms the ultimate prize. Currently he’s working at lightning speed to get himself out of his jeans.

  I don’t know what affects me more, the look he’s giving me that has my body humming like a live wire or the way he can’t seem to get out of his clothes fast enough to get to me.

  To further torment him—and because I know how much he loves it—I hook my fingers through the lace-edged sides of my thong and with a seductive swivel of my hips, shimmy them off.

  Scott’s reaction to me naked? He growls deep in his throat and the throbbing between my legs intensifies.

  His jeans and boxer briefs are removed in a single blurred motion. I barely have time to fully appreciate the sight of muscled pecs and ripped abs before he’s on me. Seconds later, I’m on the bed and on my back with one six-foot-one aroused male on top of me.

  My legs instinctively part to accommodate him between them as his mouth crashes down on mine. This kiss is rougher, pure carnal heat in the wet tangle of our tongues.

  With my mouth deliciously occupied, I claim free reign of his body, my hands all over him, exploring the sculpted length of his back, his tight butt and as much as I can reach of his gorgeous chest. His hands aren’t idle either, gently squeezing my breasts as his fingers toy with my nipples.

  Arousal, razor-sharp in its intensity, roars through me, leaving me drowning in sensation. Floundering helplessly in it.

  After drugging me with his kisses, he abandons my lips and tracks a path of open-mouthed kisses down my cheek, along my jaw and down my neck. His journey proceeds along to my aching breast, his tongue batting at the peaked nipple until I can’t take it anymore. Whimpering, I press down on the back of his head to encourage him to take me inside his mouth.

  I can feel his smile against my breast as he resists a little longer; enough time to get in a few more swipes before ending the torture and sucking the tip deep into his mouth.

  The pleasure pulsing between my thighs is so acute, I seriously begin to wonder if it’s possible to pass out from too much pleasure.

  I’m willing to risk it.

  I wrap my legs around his hips, opening myself up to him.

  “Scott. Scott. Scott.” The breathless chant of his name is an anguished plea, a demand, encouragement.

 
; He tears his mouth from my breast and frantically grabs for the condom he’d apparently placed on my nightstand when clearly my mind must have been occupied with other things. Coming swiftly up onto his knees, he rolls it on with only a minor interruption—when impatient me tries to help him with the task.

  “Baby, let me do this,” he says, panting. “I don’t want to go off before I get this thing on.”

  Me either. My hand returns to his waist, kneading the warm hardness.

  When he finally has the condom in place, I think I know exactly how things will proceed from this point on. I am so wrong. With a move that would impress wrestling enthusiasts around the country, his big hands scoop me up by the waist, flipping me over until I’m over him and he’s lying on his back staring up at me.

  “You go on top,” he grounds out from between gritted teeth. “Ride me.”

  At his sexy-as-hell command, another rush of moisture pools in my sex. Then he lifts me and lowers me slowly onto him. My eyes drift closed as the sensation of him filling me, inch by inch, becomes too much. The pleasure is excruciating and I’m torn between wanting to savor it and rushing it to completion.

  Although I’m on top, that doesn’t mean I’m in charge. Once he’s completely buried inside me, his hands on my hips direct my movements, lifting me and then pulling me down hard as he counters by thrusting up into me.

  My breath leaves my mouth in a whoosh of air and I’m gasping, my sex contracting tightly around him. My hands find purchase on his shoulders and soon I find the rhythm, lifting, coming down, rolling my hips. As I feel the impending orgasm rushing at me, my pace increases until it becomes frantic and out of control. In a blinding flash, it slams into me and I’m thrown, soaring and convulsing in indescribable pleasure.

  I’m floating down from my incredible orgasmic high when I’m suddenly flipped over again, Scott now above me, still inside of me, his face contorted like a man in pain. Lacing his hands through mine, he pins my hands beside my head as he drives into me over and over again.

  When he comes, he comes hard and long; his head thrown back, his jaw clenched tight and his eyes squeezed shut. It’s a deliciously sexy sight and one I’ll never forget. Have never forgotten.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  REBECCA

  Fresh off one of the most intense orgasms of my life, I’ve only just gotten my breathing under control when the sound of the front door opening and closing easily penetrates the paper-thin walls of the bedroom. Sexual satiation immediately gives way to panic as I turn and look at Scott now sprawled out beside me.

  Damn, he looks good, hair mussed and gloriously naked. But how the hell am I going to explain him in the apartment—in my room? There is no explanation beyond the obvious.

  God, I’m so weak. Weak. Weak.

  “Scott, you have to go,” I say, unable to keep the urgency from my voice.

  After a beat of silence, understanding flares in his eyes. He pushes up onto his elbow and slants a glance over at me, his expression having lost its sated and relaxed look.

  “So what, now I’m some dirty secret you’re trying to keep?” he asks, a hard edge to his tone.

  “No, no, that’s not it. It’s just that…” My voice fades off to a whisper and then nothing.

  “Don’t worry. I get it,” he bites out and climbs out of bed. After dealing with the condom, he pads over to where our clothes are strewn on the floor, collects his and swiftly begins to pull them on.

  I watch him with the sheet fisted in my hand and pressed tight above my chest. “Scott,” I say softly, unsure of what else I plan to say, if anything at all.

  “Are you starting to feel that way about me now?” he lightly mocks, his stare unwavering as he deftly buttons his long-sleeved shirt.

  Embarrassment brings a fresh flood of heat to my face. I immediately lower my gaze, unable to meet his.

  “Don’t think this is the end. I’m going to get out of your hair and give you a chance to get your head together but then we are going to talk. We—” he motions between us “—are not even close to being over.”

  My back goes up but the hard look in his eyes stops the protest on my lips. Okay, given what just happened maybe we do need to talk. I guess I owe him that. What I’m going to say is anyone’s guess.

  I nod numbly, which appears to satisfy him.

  “Good, then I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  At this point, I think he’s going to leave. Instead he walks over to me, lowers his head as he cups the nape of my neck and kisses me. Bemused, my mouth parts reflexively for his tongue. And what I initially think is going to be short and sweet, turns deep and drugging. By the time he ends the kiss, the edges of my vision is blurred, my senses overloaded. I’m halfway to being completely turned on again.

  “Just tell them you were showing me your etchings. That ought to hold off the questions, huh?”

  “Funny,” I murmur dryly.

  With one final look over his shoulder, he exits the room. I give a shiver and burrow under my covers.

  What the hell am I playing at having sex with Scott? Isn’t there some unwritten rule that says you don’t have sex with your ex? An ex is an ex not by chance but for a reason. And I had good reasons to break up with him.

  I shake my head like that will clear whatever must have been fogging up my brain since he kissed me. Oh who am I fooling, if nothing else, Scott and I have always shared an intense physical attraction. The second I’d seen him during the freshmen campus tour, I’d been in lust. And those feelings had only grown in the months that followed.

  That’s what sex with him does to me, it makes me susceptible and weak. Crap, it’s not only the sex, it’s being with him, clothes on or off. Scott is charming and engaging even when he’s not putting forth one iota of an effort. I seriously hadn’t stood a chance when he’d turned his beautiful green eyes on me, his smile half sexual heat, half boyish charm. Add his looks to that potent mixture and I was a goner from the get go.

  I drag my pleasantly sore body from bed trying hard not to think about those feelings and instead try to figure out what the hell I’m going to say when I see him again. I dash across the hall to the bathroom and have the shower on by the time I hear a knock on the door.

  “Hey, Bec, you in there?”

  It’s Olivia who no doubt had an interesting conversation with Scott. Discussing this with her right now would require me having to explain things I don’t want to talk about. Stripped naked, I step into the shower before I respond. “Yeah. Do you need something in here?” I shout above the spray of water pouring down on me.

  After several long seconds of marked silence, she replies, “Naw, it can wait until you come out.”

  Great. Just what I need. She’s going to want to know what’s going on with Scott. What am I going to tell her when I don’t even know myself?

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, dressed in gray sweats and a white cotton t-shirt, I venture out of my bedroom. While I was getting dressed, I didn’t hear anyone moving around in the apartment and had hoped against hope Olivia had gone down to Zach’s. No such luck. I meet her sitting on the couch, her sock-clad feet tucked under her as she flips through one of April’s fashion magazines.

  Her gaze snaps to mine the second I come into view. A wry smile spreads across her face. “You know better than to think you can wait me out.”

  After only a year and my roomies know me too damn well.

  “What are you doing home? I thought you went out with Zach or were down at his place.”

  She rolls her eyes and gives me an exasperated look. “I do have a life apart from Zach you know. I had dinner with Emily.”

  Emily is a sophomore like us and a recent transferee to Warwick. She’s come around the apartment a couple times and always struck me as shy and withdrawn. I’m sure that’s why Liv made a point of befriending her. If the girl made an effort with her appearance, she’d be stunning.

  “Anywho,” she says, patting a spot on the couch beside
her. “Come on, don’t be scared. This won’t hurt. It’ll be as painless as what you were doing with your ex in the bedroom.”

  My face flames up like a torch as I trudge over and drop down beside her. “Seriously, don’t even ask,” I say, a bit of sulk in my voice. “It was a mistake.” An incredibly satisfying, mutual orgasmic mistake.

  A look of understanding steals overs her face. Ah yeah, right. She totally understands. She’d slept with Zach before they’d officially started going out and then she’d discovered he didn’t want a girlfriend.

  Rat.

  Sure it had all turned out in the end but she hadn’t known it would then. It hadn’t ended well for me and Scott before and if we get back together again, I don’t see it ending any different.

  “I take it that means you’re not back together again. I mean this is the second time…”

  “The first time we honestly didn’t do anything. You know how I get when I drink too much.” I don’t do it often but I have done it before.

  Olivia nods in agreement. “But this time you guys had sex.” It’s not a question but a statement seeking confirmation.

  I say nothing and avoid her eyes, which is all the confirmation she needs.

  “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two and I’m not going to push you to tell me, but I do know the guy is crazy about you. Is there no possible way of you guys getting past it?”

  My gaze snaps to hers. “I have gotten past it. I’ve moved on with my life.” My reply comes out sharper than I intend so I soften it with a chagrined smile.

  My roommate arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow at me, giving me that who do you think you’re fooling look.

  “Today didn’t mean anything,” I protest, the lie echoing in my head, taunting me.

  Olivia regards me for a good ten seconds, her gaze drilling into me. “You know damn well you don’t even believe that,” she says softly, almost a whisper. The whisper lands on my ears with a greater impact than if she’d shouted the words.