Set Me Free (18 page)

“I—I don’t know.” His guarded expression was replaced by one of bewilderment. “I’ve never thought about it like that.”

I stepped closer to him, until we were almost touching. “I would feel like that, too. It’s not rational, but that wouldn’t change how I felt about it.” I rested my hand on his arm. “I always feel like I deserve the bad things that happen to me.”

“Obviously you don’t,” Owen said, sounding offended.

“Obviously
you
don’t.”

He exhaled in a shaky laugh. “Miranda…you are so…surprising.”

“Surprising? I thought I was easy to be around?” I teased.

He gazed down at me, his dark eyes intense. God—he took my breath away without even trying, without even knowing what he was doing. Sliding his hands around my waist, he drew me in even closer and brushed his lips against mine. “I want to show you something.”

“Ah,” I breathed, my eyes closing. “Okay…”

“Come with me.”

When he growled the words like that, his breath hot on my lips, I would have followed him anywhere.

He took my hand and led me off the deer path. We wound downhill through the pine trees and broke out onto a different path—a boardwalk. From somewhere nearby came the sound of rushing water, surprisingly loud in the quiet forest.

“This way.” Owen led me along the boardwalk and ducked underneath the branches of a budding oak tree off the path. This time, we emerged onto a flat stretch of granite overlooking a river. The water twisted and turned in a half dozen little waterfalls, but it was so clear I could see every string of bubbles spiraling downstream and every pebble lining the riverbed. Across the river were cheerful green bushes and a cluster of elegant birch trees.

“This is beautiful,” I said. “I love it.”

“Me, too.”

We sat down on the edge of the embankment. Owen was so tall the tips of his boots skimmed the river’s surface, but personally I did not have that problem.

“Thanks for telling me about you and Suze,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard.”

He put his arm around my waist. “Feeling sorry for me again, M.?”

“Don’t worry, it won’t last.” I smiled.

His blond hair had fallen forwards into his eyes, which looked bluer than ever in the early afternoon sunlight. I loved that little smile he had. I loved how safe and cherished I felt when I was with him.

I loved him.

Last night, I’d said it for me, because I’d needed to say it out loud somehow. But today I wanted to say it for him. He should know that I loved him. That he deserved to be loved, that he deserved
my
love. No matter what.
No importa lo que ocurra
.

Even if he couldn’t love me back.

“Owen,” I began. I licked my lips nervously.

His gaze fell to my mouth, and his eyes darkened. I wondered if he was thinking about the way I’d climbed onto his lap last night. I could hardly stop thinking about that myself.

His arm tightened around me, and he squeezed my hip hard. I leaned into him, my lips brushing his neck. “Owen…” I said again, but I was already losing my nerve. I didn’t want to burden him with feelings he couldn’t return.

He touched his fingertips to my cheek, careful to avoid the bruise on my jaw, and turned my face up towards his. Still watching my mouth, he stroked his thumb along my lower lip.

I kissed his thumb, his palm, his wrist. “Do a lot of people know about this place?”

“As far as I know, nobody does. Just us.”

“Good.”

Our eyes met, and he smiled, his lovely, sad eyes turning mischievous. Without another word, he kissed me gently, his tongue exploring my mouth. His patient fingers twined through the waves of my hair, stroked my neck, my cheekbones. I felt like one of his instruments, submitting to his hands, letting him turn me into something beautiful.

Slowly, his mouth moved down my throat to my collarbone, the arc of my shoulder. Last night seemed so long ago; I was desperate for him again. My good hand went to his jeans, slowly lowering the zipper, tugging the denim downwards. I found the opening to his adorably preppy boxers and closed my hand lightly around him. He made a soft sound of surprise.

I shifted position on the granite and bent down over his lap, taking him into my mouth while he still sat upright, his hand resting in my hair. He groaned deep in his throat. I glanced up at him, gauging his reaction. Our eyes met, and his brow was furrowed—he was checking on me, making sure I was okay. Always. Even now.

Smiling, I slid him deeper into my mouth, rubbing him with my tongue, and was rewarded with that dark flush across his cheeks I loved so much. He edged backwards from the embankment, bringing his legs back onto the smooth granite surface to make it easier for me to reach him. I straddled his legs and bent back down to keep stroking him, wishing I could have used both hands.

“Sweetheart,” Owen rasped, sinking back onto his elbows, “say something to me in Spanish.”

“Something dirty?” I suggested.

“As dirty as you can think of.”

“
Corazón
,” I murmured, running my hand along his length, “
estoy desesperadamente enamorada de ti.
”

“God, you’re sexy,” he muttered. His hand found my hair again, and he made a loose fist, letting the long strands spill between his fingers. His breathing grew strained as I quickened my strokes. I couldn’t get enough of him. I moved my good hand to his hip and took him back into my mouth, as deep as I could, savoring his taste and his light, sweet scent.

“I can’t—” he breathed. “Oh—” His hips jerked, but I just held him tighter, looking up at his face and watching his eyes squeeze shut. His beautiful body shivered, his hips twitching again, and with a moan, he filled my mouth. I wanted all of it, took it all, and licked him clean afterwards.

“Ah, God,” he groaned, sliding all the way down onto the rock. His neck was flushed above the collar of his T-shirt. “Sweetheart, that was amazing. Come here.”

Obediently, I climbed onto him and let my weight sink down onto his chest, enclosing his face in my hands. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed me soundly. I’d expected him to lose interest after he came, at least a little, but obviously he hadn’t. Not if he was kissing me like this. Soon enough, he rolled me onto my back and tugged my jeans off, taking my flats off with them. He drew a fingertip from the lacy band of my turquoise-blue underwear to my belly button, making me shiver with desire, and edged my shirt upwards. Bending down, he kissed the space between my breasts.

“I love the absurd things you wear,” he murmured, trailing kisses along the contours of my bra.

“I have things that are a
lot
crazier than this,” I told him archly.

“Mmm. I look forwards to those.” He kissed his way back down my stomach, and when he reached my panties, he slowly slid them off, kissing each inch of skin that he revealed.

“Are you hard again?” I asked him curiously.

“Every time I look at you, I get hard,” he said, kissing my inner thigh. “And
that
—you, going down on me—was the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He met my eyes, his expression still mischievous, but with intensity underneath. He stroked me with his tongue, kissed me, stroked me again. He was teasing me, varying the pressure and location so I’d start to climb and then tip down again. I gasped, squirming under him. I wanted to beg him, but words escaped me. I could hardly think—I blinked up at the clear blue sky once, and then my eyes fell closed, my pulse pounding, my skin stinging with sweat at my temples. His clever mouth was driving me to distraction.

“You’re such a
tease
,” I managed finally, still gasping for breath. He rewarded me with a low, soft chuckle. Without another word, he got up on his knees, wrapped one strong arm around my legs, and lifted my hips off the ground.

“Yes,” I moaned. “Yes—”

He eased into me. I wanted to fold my legs around him and pull him in deeper, but he was still pinning my legs to his chest, kissing my ankles. I was so close to the edge already; having him inside me was almost too much to stand. When his fingers found me again, I realized I was going to lose control completely. My hand flew to my mouth, trying to stifle the cry I knew was coming—but there was nothing I could do. Outside or not, I couldn’t repress a tortured, panting scream, while the orgasm wracked my body. It was him: the way he responded to my touch, the way he held me, his kindness, his gentleness, his strength. Everything about him.

I heard him groan and forced my eyes open, wanting to see him. He set my hips back down on the cool granite and braced himself between my legs, with his hands on either side of my shoulders, his muscles standing out even under his sleeves. “
Corazón
,” I murmured, because I knew he’d like it, “come inside me,
amor mio
.”

He groaned again, deep and guttural, and the muscles in his jaw clenched as he pressed harder into me. “Miranda…” I arched my back up to meet him as he found his release. His head bowing, he shuddered.

I drew his mouth down to mine for a kiss, and when we broke apart, he was smiling.

“You have some pipes,” he told me, his smile widening. “I’d like to hear you sing properly sometime.”

“Oh, God.” My entire face flushed. “I hope nobody heard me.”

“Lucky them if they did.” He kissed me one last time, then climbed off me and fixed his jeans. He sat down beside me and drew his knees up to his chest.

Still blushing, I pulled my jeans back on and adjusted my shirt. “That was a first for me,” I said, with a sidelong smile at him. “Doing that outside, I mean.”

“Really?”

“You’d probably get eaten by an alligator if you tried it in Florida.” Something occurred to me, and my mood clouded over slightly. “So…that means you have?”

“Yeah, occasionally.”

“The cave by the beach?”

He laughed. “No. Why, did you want to?”

“Kind of.” I smiled, but the smile faded just as quickly. “You haven’t been here before, have you?”

“Um, no.” He gave an embarrassed cough. “Well, I’ve been here before, but not for that.”

So where? And with who? But I didn’t really need to wonder about that part. I knew it wasn’t Jenny—she was far too proper. Suze, on the other hand…

How could I be so jealous of a dead girl?

“Sorry,” I told Owen, partly apologizing for my thoughts. “It’s none of my business, what you’ve done and where…” And with who.

I got to my feet, brushing off my jeans. It was time to head back to reality.

“It’s your business,” he said mildly. “Hey. M.” He stood and caught me by my good wrist, turning me to face him. “It’s your business, because we’re…” He gazed down at me, his eyebrows drawn together. “If you want to be…”

My heart skipped a beat. “Dating?”

“If you’re not ready—”

“I’m ready,” I said at once. “Definitely.”

His expression softened with relief, and I grinned at him, my chest tight with sharp, sudden joy.

* * *

B
ack at Owen’s house
, we realized we had forgotten about lunch.

“Stay for dinner?” He glanced at the clock on the wall and smiled. It was 3:00. ”An early dinner?”

Somehow, he managed to whip up penne vodka and a pretty little salad, as happy as I’d ever seen him. He let me help by chopping some of the vegetables for the salad with my left hand, and when I apologized for cutting one of them wrong, he looked at me like I had three heads. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Come here.” And he kissed me until I forgot what I’d apologized for.

After dinner, which we’d drawn out for as long as we could, I noticed him stifling a yawn.

“I should go,” I said, trying to hide my regret. “You have to work tomorrow, and you must be exhausted. You’re probably still jet-lagged from your trip to California.”

“Almost forgot I went there,” Owen remarked, stifling another yawn. “Seems like months ago.”

“Were you mad at me?” I asked him. “Is that why you went?

“I wasn’t mad, I was just…hurt. I thought I’d been so stupid… You know, to think it would work out.”

“I’m sorry,” I said miserably. “I never explained about that. It wasn’t that I’d heard about Suze—it was Rhys.” I told him about Rosa’s phone call.

“Wish I’d realized. I would’ve called Lacroix right then and there.” Owen shook his head. “Sorry I was such an ass. I bailed on you that morning, and then I was too wrapped up in myself to listen to you that afternoon. I should never have tried to talk to you about that stuff at the pub—”

“You weren’t an ass.” I smiled wryly. “We were both kind of freaked out that day. It’s all right.”

He reached around the table and squeezed my knee. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to let you out of my sight.”

“I’ll be fine.”

He sighed. “Better drive you home, then.”

As we climbed into Owen’s truck, his smile slipped away, until he was once again the grim, silent man I’d met in the coffee shop that morning, months ago. The passionate, expressive version of Owen had been locked away, until—when? Until he saw me again? There was too much depth to his personality for him to be contained like this all the time.