Joy Avery - Soaring On Love

“I’m not, actually. I mean, I’m angry as hell and hurt, but not in a debilitating manner, if that makes sense.”

He hadn’t expected that response. “Why?”

A beat of silence played between them.

Tressa lowered her head as if to hide her face in shame. “Because deep down, I knew Cyrus wasn’t the right one for me. I just hung on in hopes of my feelings changing. I guess I kinda brought this whole mess on myself.”

Roth knew it was a statement that didn’t need a response, so he remained quiet. Before he’d even realized what he was doing, he draped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against his chest. Tressa rested against him without any hesitations. Maybe he couldn’t have her in the way he truly wanted, but he could be a friend in her time of need.

* * *

Tressa tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. When she moved, it felt as if she were stuck to the smoldering leather. Kicking the quilt off that Roth had given her, she sat up and dragged the back of her hand across her forehead. It had to be three thousand degrees in here. And since heat rose, she was sure Roth was cooked to a crisp.

She sent a gaze to the loft. Though her view was obstructed, she imagined him sprawled out across the bed, his body sweat-dampened and glistening. A tingle in her belly slowly traveled to the space between her legs. As usual, her body was clearly on a mission to destroy her.

The popping embers brought her attention to the fireplace. She thought about their time in front of it earlier and how Roth had pulled her into his arms, and how safe she’d felt there. He’d wanted to kiss her, she was sure of it. So why hadn’t he? Because he was too much of a gentleman.

She’d wanted Roth to kiss her, do more than kiss her, and it irked the hell out of her that he hadn’t. But it’d probably been for the best. What kind of woman wanted a man to seduce her mere hours after finding out her fiancé has been sleeping with another woman? A woman out for revenge, she thought to herself.

No, that wasn’t it. She blew a heavy breath. Her desire, need, want for Roth, weren’t fueled by any of those things. Her longing for him was as authentic as it got. Which was why she had to fight it.

Tressa allowed her head to fall back against the cushions. Why did she always choose the wrong men? That included Roth. She wanted to believe he was a good guy, but the fact he could so easily push one woman aside—who probably believed she had a position in his life—for another, even if the other was her, suggested otherwise.

Pushing everyone else aside, she focused on herself. “Will I ever find love?” she whispered to the universe, a tear sliding out the corner of her eye. “True love.” That kind of ridiculous love that made you suddenly smile for no reason at all. She deserved that and wanted it. Wanted a husband who loved her beyond words. Wanted a family, a house full of kids—biological, adoptive or both. She wanted dogs, family dinners, vacations. “I want it all,” she mumbled.

“You got it.”

Tressa bolted forward to see Roth standing at the edge of the stairs in a navy blue tee that hugged his solid frame nicely and navy-blue-and-white pajama bottoms that sat just right on his lean frame. “What?”

“Insomnia?”

Tressa laughed at herself and wiped her eyes. “Um...sometimes. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Ah, no, you didn’t. I have trouble sleeping sometimes, too.”

Roth studied her. No doubt he wanted to address her tears, but she prayed he wouldn’t. Then, as if he’d read her mind, he turned his attention to the kitchen.

“Hot cocoa usually helps. Would you like some?” he said.

Although she teetered on the edge of spontaneously combusting, she said, “Sure.” She could use the conversation, as long as it wasn’t about her.

When she rose, her muscles protested the move.

Roth chuckled. “So, how’s the sofa? Hate me yet?”

“Ha ha.” Making her way across the room, she said, “Can I help?”

“No.” Roth pointed to the small dining table. “Sit, woman.”

Tressa saluted him. “Yes, sir.”

Lounging in a chair, Tressa gleefully watched Roth move about. There was something alluring about a man working in the kitchen, especially this man. Even if all he was doing was heating milk.

Roth chatted about something, but truthfully, she had no idea about what. Lost in her own thoughts, she chuckled when she recalled the animated expression on his face when she’d nixed his PB&J sandwich suggestion.

“Don’t laugh. It could happen,” Roth said.

Breaking free from her thoughts, she said, “Um...what exactly could happen?”

He rested a hand on his hip. “You haven’t heard a single word I’ve said, have you?”

Tressa bit at the corner of her lip and shook her head. “Sorry. I drift off sometimes.”

He barked a laugh. Obviously, at the fact she’d used his own words against him. “Prepare to be impressed.” He approached the table with two steaming mugs, set one in front of her, then lowered into a chair next to her at the square table with his in his hand.

Tressa took a sip and moaned. “Mmm. Real milk. And the cinnamon is a delicious touch. You did well.”

“See, I can do a little something-something in the kitchen, too.”

She imagined he could do a lot of something-something elsewhere, as well. After taking another sip, she said, “So, what is it that could happen?” Referring to his comment from earlier.

Roth’s eyes slid to his mug, but only briefly. “While you’re here with me, I plan to cater to your every need.”

This sobered Tressa rather quickly. Cater to her every need? The possibilities made her stomach flutter and her body bloom. God, she prayed her nipples didn’t bead underneath the oversize T-shirt Roth had given her to sleep in.

Scattering the illicit images hijacking her thoughts, she lowered her eyes to the steam rising from her cup. “Why—” She cleared her throat. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because you deserve it. You’ve been through a lot. I think you need to be reminded that you’re still a queen. And queens get served.” He tapped her foot playfully with his own.

Tressa dared her body to give one damn indication of how much his words had affected her. Finally, someone saw and acknowledged her worth. But why did it have to be the man she was determined to resist?

Roth continued, “Plus, something tells me you never really abandon nurse mode. That you’re constantly taking care of others and rarely focus on yourself, doing what makes Tressa happy.”

Doing what makes Tressa happy. That should become her new motto. She shrugged one shoulder. “I like helping people,” she said, in lieu of confessing that he was 100 percent correct. She rarely took time for herself.

“This weekend... It’s all about you, lady. Got it?”

Roth crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, rested his hands in his lap, tilted his head and eyed her as if asserting his authority. She propped her elbow on the table, rested her cheek against her palm and eyed him back. That seemed to be their thing—staring at one another for long, heated moments.

“Got it.” What else could she say?

“Good.”

Roth was a lethal combination: successful, sexy, charming. And he used it all well. Though a future with him was impractical, was a night of passionate, no-strings-attached sex out of the question?

What the hell was she saying? Roth struck her as the kind of man who molded into your system and stayed there, the kind of man who made women lose their minds. One night? Something told her one night with him would spiral her out of control. Her world was topsy-turvy enough. Still, everything about him intrigued her. Stay away.