Jessica Lemmon - Hard to Handle

So, yes, Sadie was right. He hadn’t technically seen her naked, but he had felt enough of her bare flesh under his palms to give his imagination a hell of a show.

He scooted the bedside lamp closer to investigate the contraption she’d bound herself in. He could dismantle a car; surely he could handle this. Turns out he had to make the thing tighter before the hooks would release. Each time, Sadie grunted, until he got halfway down her back and she blew out a whooshing breath. He made quick work of the rest.

“Thank God.” She sat up, one hand covering the sagging top of her gown, withdrew the corset, and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. “I owe you, Downey. Now help me out of this dress and go away.”

He swallowed thickly, recognizing the painful familiarity of the moment. The night she was on his couch and slipped her bra out from underneath her tank top. He’d clutched her to him, and she’d panted against his neck as her nipples abraded his bare chest. It was then she’d hesitated. Wordlessly, but he’d felt the slightest bit of tension creep into her shoulders. He backed off, but didn’t let her go, tucking her into bed against him and sleeping next to her through the night.

That was his Sadie. Minx on the outside, lamb on the inside. Seeing this side of her again, being reminded of what they’d had—what he’d thrown away…

Man. It hurt.

“I’m too tipsy to do it myself,” she growled. Despite her efforts to keep it out, vulnerability leaked into her voice. Aiden’s weakness was her trust in him; her showing who she really was. He gripped her elbows and helped her to her feet, stopping short of crushing her lips with his and admitting he was wrong a hundred ways from Sunday.

He steadied her elbows as she wiggled out of the dress with a perfunctory “No looking.” He obeyed, keeping his eyes focused out the bedroom window. But with the bedside lamp on, he couldn’t see out the window, only himself reflected in the pane, and Sadie’s thong panties as she stepped out of the dress. He shut his eyes and reminded his johnson to remain at ease.

“Aiden.”

“Yes.”

“I need you to get my pajamas for me.”

“Okay.”

“No peeking while I crawl into bed.”

This was the side of Sadie people didn’t see. Her modest side. Everyone assumed they knew her—with her litany of first dates and explosive personality, Sadie was mistaken as confident and outgoing. Which she was, both of those things. She was also modest, careful. Fragile. And despite the increasing pressure in his pants, Aiden vowed to honor her request.

“Okay,” he muttered.

“Promise,” she commanded, brushing against his arm as she turned. Something very soft grazed his skin and he tried to convince himself it wasn’t what he thought it was.

“Promise,” he said through clenched teeth.

When he heard the wisp of sheets he opened his eyes. Sadie wore the comforter over her breasts and pointed with one arm. “The big suitcase,” she said around a yawn.

The big suitcase also had a big lock. The key, he assumed, was in her purse. He approached The Purse, which was about the size of a small country, and stopped short. Going through a woman’s purse was a lot like sticking a hand in the garbage disposal. While he was pretty sure he’d be able to get what he needed out of it, there was the risk of losing a digit while rooting around in there.

He glanced back at Sadie, who had lain back and shut her eyes. Her breathing was already steady and deep. Making a snap decision, he walked to his room and dug a T-shirt out of his duffel bag. When he returned, he wondered if it was even worth it to wake her. But then he thought of her waking in only her panties—a thought that had him swallowing a lump of lust—and worried she might think something had happened tonight. He regarded the gray shirt in his hand. Not that she’d be thrilled about waking in one of his tees. Again.

Was that night on auto-repeat?

Ignoring the overwhelming sense of déjà vu, he stretched the neck and slipped the shirt over her sprayed hair, feeding first one arm into a sleeve followed by the other. Now the tricky part. Looking up at the ceiling, he palmed her back and pulled her toward him. But as he started to tug the shirt down, Sadie’s arms clamped around his neck, her breasts smashing against his cardboard dress shirt.

A sound emitted from his throat he was pretty sure was a growl.

“I loved you,” Sadie said, her eyes wide and earnest. “And you blew it.” That said, she tugged the shirt to her waist, flopped onto one side, and pulled the covers over her head.

Aiden’s shoulders slumped, heavy from the weight of her admission. She loved him. Or at least she used to. He’d had his suspicions but had never known. Would it have changed how he ended things between them? Would he have confessed the same?

Of course he would’ve.

And you blew it.

He had. Completely effing stepped in it.

And now it was too late. Sadie probably never would have told him what she just had if she hadn’t been marinating in champagne tonight. As much as he’d love to deny hearing her say it, there was part of him glad to know the truth. The masochistic part of him, apparently. He’d earned the pain fair and square, but Sadie…Sadie had come out the other side. She was okay now, or would be after a couple of Advil in the morning. Her journey with him in it had reached an end. Now he was a bystander and couldn’t allow himself to be anything more. Asking her to take another chance on him was wrong. Maybe more wrong than the way he’d ended things with her last year.

After several seconds, he finally stood from the edge of the bed, as heavy as if he’d strapped a pair of anvils onto his back. At the door, he hesitated over the switch, watching her take a few deep breaths. One night, a long, long time ago, he’d been right next to her, feeling as hopeful about their future as he felt devastated now.

If only time were reversible. If only he knew then what he knew now.

If only.

Most useless two words ever.

*  *  *

Stupid champagne.

Sadie downed the last sip of her coffee and dragged her suitcase to the car. She hauled it ungracefully into her trunk and vowed to call Crickitt and give her what-for for pulling the Aiden-and-Sadie-slumber-party bit.

Only she couldn’t. Because Crickitt and Shane were on their honeymoon having the blissful, married time of their lives. She stalked back into the house, doing a once-over to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. That’s when she spotted Aiden’s T-shirt.

When she’d woken up wearing it, she’d tossed it aside and run around packing with the one single goal: get the hell out of the cabin before he woke up and offered breakfast. The morning was already beginning to smack of the morning they’d spent together a year ago—a morning she wouldn’t dare repeat.

She held the soft cotton between her fingers, recalling the night he’d tenderly dressed her and curled up next to her to sleep. That morning she’d woken to his shirtless back, traced the length of the scar with her fingers, and come to the terrifying realization that if he’d died in that motorcycle accident before she met him, she’d have missed out on knowing Aiden Downey.

Yeah. Well. He’s fine, she reminded herself. And so are you.

Yippee-skippy. Everyone was fine.

She tromped to the room he’d slept in. Empty. Turned out Aiden was an early riser nowadays. She threw the wadded-up shirt onto the rumpled bedding, shutting out the memory of what the length of his seminude body looked like taking up half a bed.

Time to go.

Outside, she shut the trunk and reached for the driver’s side door handle. Aiden’s motorcycle, Sheila, stood on the driveway, her orange glittery paint job sparkling in the sun. She shook her head. Just seeing it there reminded her that Aiden had wrecked once before. Damn death machine. Why did he ride it all the way down here? Wasn’t there a safer mode of transportation for a six-hour trip?

She reminded herself she didn’t care. Couldn’t care. Not after what had gone down between them. Not after the phone call that tore her heart out, left her weeping and curled into the fetal position.

But then you got up.

Hell yeah, she did.

Aiden appeared from the woods wearing a white shirt with the sleeves cut off. She could see the entire length of his torso as he jogged to her and a flash of something…a tattoo? Doesn’t matter. His steps slowed, and he palmed his side, puffing and watching her as if he was afraid to come any closer.

That’s when the memory of what she’d said to him last night hit her like a freight train. She’d looked into his ethereal green eyes and confessed she loved him. Wow. Stupid.

By the hurt-slash-reproachful look on his face, it was the moment he was recalling now, too. He started walking toward her, but before he got any closer, Sadie clambered into the car, started it, and drove down the lane. She stopped short of turning onto the steep mountain road and allowed herself a final glance back. In the rearview mirror, she saw Aiden pace over to his bike, run a hand through his long hair, and then, noticing her hesitation, raise a hand and wave good-bye.

Sadie didn’t wave back, turning down the tree-lined road and driving as fast as she dared. Good-bye between she and Aiden had happened a long time ago.

And that was something else she wasn’t willing to repeat.

Sadie stepped out of her car and smiled up at the too-warm August sun. It’d been a month and a half since Shane and Crickitt’s wedding. Since one of the worst hangovers of her life. Since she’d woken the next morning in one of Aiden Downey’s T-shirts.