Sullivans 06 - Let Me Be the One

up into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “We should probably go back inside, shouldn’t we?”
    Damn it, she wasn’t afraid to be alone with him now after the way he’d mauled her inside, was she?
    He put his hand back under her chin and turned her face up to his. “Are you sure you’re okay? You can tell me if you’re not, Vicki. You can tell me anything.”
    “I’m just not used to so much attention. I don’t know how you live like this all the time.”
    “We’ll get out of here soon, I promise.”
    “No,” she said with a small shake of her head, “this is your big party before the playoffs. We need to stay.”
    That, right there, was one of the reasons he loved her. Where everyone else just thought about themselves, Vicki was never selfish. Whereas, even knowing how wrong it was to steal that hot kiss from her, he’d taken it anyway
    Because he had to take it.
    Hating himself for crossing the line he’d sworn not to cross, he said, “I’m sorry I kissed you like that, Vicki. I’m sorry I took advantage of the situation. And of you.”
    She went completely still, her expression freezing on her face. “There’s nothing to forgive. They wanted to see you kiss your new fiancée , so you did.” She looked colder, harder than he’d ever seen her before as she said, “And since I kissed you back, I hope you can forgive me, too.”
    A moment later, she was walking into the room and he was feeling like more of an ass than ever as he followed her inside. He didn’t know what he’d said wrong...just that he had definitely screwed things up even worse.
    And he didn’t have the first clue how to fix it.

Chapter Fifteen
     
    It was too much.
    Ryan was too much.
    They’d left the party ten minutes ago, but after the night she’d just had—and a kiss she didn’t think she’d ever be able to forget—Vicki simply couldn’t be this close to Ryan anymore.
    She reached blindly for the silver handle inside the limo, but the door wouldn’t budge when she tried to push it open.
    “Vicki?”
    Her breath caught in her throat at nothing more than the sound of her name on Ryan’s lips, nearly choking her. So many times over the course of the night he’d said her name while reaching for her. And every single time, she’d tried to forcibly remind herself that it was all pretend, that none of it was real, that she wasn’t really his...and wouldn’t ever be.
    Maybe, just maybe, she might have been able to succeed at heeding those constant reminders, if only he hadn’t added in the brush of his fingers over her shoulder, the stroke of his knuckles over her cheek, the press of his hand at her lower back as they moved through the room to talk with his teammates.
    With every caress, every inch of his hard body against hers, she lost hold of her own body—and her heart—a little bit more. Until, at the end of the party, she’d been a quivering mess of nerves and lust and overwhelming need.
    “I need to get out.” The desperation in her voice was painfully clear. But she was long past the point of being able to hide anything from anyone. Especially herself.
    Which was precisely why she needed to get away.
    Away from Ryan.
    And away from her own desires.
    “Stop the car, please!” Her voice was shrill as she teetered on the edge of shattering, right at the cusp of her breaking point.
    A moment later, the limo smoothly pulled over to the side of the road and the lock clicked open. She nearly fell into the gutter in her hurry to escape its confines.
    She didn’t have a plan, hadn’t thought ahead as to where she would go. When she looked up and saw the door to a bar, it seemed like divine providence.
    A drink. Or maybe a dozen.
    She’d do anything right now to dull the pulsing need, the potent memories on her skin of Ryan’s hands and mouth on her, his arms around her.
    Vicki pushed in through the black and red door. Her fingertips brushed over paint that had been scratched off and repainted likely a hundred times since the bar had first started serving, and she tried to focus on the stickiness of the wood, the small and large divots in the grain where pieces had been knocked out by fists. Somehow, some way, she needed to fill up her well of tactile sensation with something other than Ryan.
    All night long he’d been under her hands. For a sculptor, there was nothing more sensual than touch. All those touches had tipped her over the edge into near madness.
    The soft cotton of his dress shirt