How foolish to think anything would be different just because she’d changed locations.
Because he was still staring at her with that silent, invasive expression, she sucked in a breath and straightened. “They’re waiting for us.”
“I really want to shake you right now.” He took a step closer. “I don’t mean that as a threat. I’m just stating fact. I really want to shake some sense into you. There’s something not clicking between here—” he lifted his hand and traced a line with his finger from her heart up to her temple “—to here,” he finished.
It wasn’t the first time someone had called her cold and detached, but somehow, coming from Alec, it hurt so much more.
“I do have feelings, you know,” she whispered, needing him to understand at least that much. Tears burned her eyes.
She turned to head toward the Ferris wheel, but really she just wanted to go home and crawl into bed.
“I never said you didn’t have feelings. I’m saying you’re afraid of the good stuff.”
Afraid of good stuff and not recognizing it were two separate things. This conversation was done. She wasn’t going to goad him by revealing her pathetic attempt at starting to live.
They walked the rest of the way in tense silence, meeting up with the others near the front of the line.
Ginny clapped. “Look, Faith. It’s so big.”
Faith looked up at the towering, spinning wheel, lit against the night sky. Her mouth dried out. She had a sinking suspicion she was afraid of heights. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll stay down here, keep the numbers even.”
Cole laughed. “Nice try. I’m afraid of heights, too. Mia’s going up with Ginny.”
Alec said nothing but she could feel his gaze on her.
Before she could think too hard or protest, it was their turn. Someone who smelled like cigars pulled a bar down over her lap after she sat in the bucket-like seat. Alec’s thigh brushed hers in the intimate space. Then the ride moved.
She pinched her eyes closed. “Oh boy.”
Alec laughed. “Relax. You’re safe.”
At the top—the top—the ride halted. “Why are we stopped?”
“They’re letting more people on and off. It’ll start again soon.” He covered her hand with his over the safety bar. “Look at the view, Faith. Open your eyes.”
Blowing out a ragged breath, she slowly did as instructed. And stopped breathing again. Miles and miles of black ocean spanned the horizon. The waves were lit by moonlight, the stars a picture-perfect backdrop. It was amazing.
“You know a great way to calm down when you’re nervous?”
She turned her head and gasped.
Their faces were so close that his hot, shallow breath fanned her cheek. His gaze darted between her mouth and her eyes. The gray blue of his irises was almost swallowed by his dilated pupils, his lids at half-mast in the most lazy, seductive trance.
Heat filled her core. Spread. The solid muscle of his shoulder and bicep pressed against her arm, and even through their shirts, the touch was intense. She followed his cue and looked at his mouth. Firm, full lips with more of a reddish hue than most men. She wanted him to close the distance so bad she nearly begged.
When was the last time she’d been kissed?
Forget that. He had asked her something. A way not to be nervous? “How . . .”
“Distraction is the key.”
He growled, low in his throat. Closer he inched, until his lips caressed hers. A barely there meeting of mouths that sparked an inferno inside her. Slowly, his gaze still pinned to hers, he brushed his lips over hers, side to side, as if trying to get a feel for her.
“You’re an old soul, aren’t you, Faith?” he asked against her mouth.
She shivered. Her mind was a muddled mess. She wasn’t even sure she’d heard him right, or what being an old soul had to do with kissing her. And he needed to. Kiss her. Strange yet not unpleasant sensations took over her body. Her hands trembled, he stomach fluttered, her face heated, and her skin prickled in anticipation of what he’d do next.
Then the ride moved and she yelped. The feeling of falling abruptly cleared her head.
He pulled away until nothing but their thighs touched once more. Surprise was etched into his eyes, in the way his mouth hung slightly open. A second later, regret moved over his features.
A kiss, or an almost kiss, shouldn’t make him feel regret. Unless . . .
Unless he was embarrassed by her.
He swiped a hand down his face and turned straight ahead, the wind whipping his hair into chaos. “Let’s just stick with the view.”
* * *
Alec hovered between loathing and self-contempt on the walk back to their vehicles. Attraction was one thing, acting on it was another. After Laura, he’d had his share of partners. But Faith wasn’t some one-nighter or random hookup like those he’d gotten lost in back in New York. A woman like her played by a different set of rules. Like the forever kind. For the past nine years, he’d avoided her type.
He had no business making a play for her. No matter how soothing her voice was to his soul or how adorable he found her freckles or how amazing those honey-brown eyes looked when she stared at him. She smelled so damn good, too. Vanilla and sugar. It made him want to see if she tasted just as decadent.
Christ, he’d kissed her. Pretty much had until he remembered who he was and reined it back.
What the fuck was up with this strange urge to protect her, too? He couldn’t even protect himself. Yet, like a puppet on a string, she pulled him into her orbit. Between her odd reactions to basic situations and her sweet temperament, he had this uncanny desire to know her. And not on the aloof level he kept most people. Okay, all people . . . except Jake.
Something was definitely off about Faith. At first, he had chalked it up to timidity or a discomfort with attention. But she didn’t just hate attention—she flat out didn’t know what to do with it. After tonight, he knew this went way beyond a simple explanation and straight into he-should-mind-his-own-business territory.
Everything about her warranted this barbaric need to defend. Or save. He didn’t do that, either. He wasn’t the hero in his books. He was the villain.
The chatter from the rest of the group came to a swift halt as they neared the parking lot. One look in the direction they were staring told him why.
At least twenty reporters hovered on the edge of the grounds.
Well, shit. So much for a little R & R.
“Are they here for you or me?” Cole asked him, sounding just about as elated as Alec felt. The media followed Cole, too—between his memoir hitting the bestseller list and growing up in a rich, political family, he had his share of notoriety.
Judging by the Goth clothing of a few of the people standing near the press and the fact that Alec recognized one of the reporters from New York, he guessed it was him they were after. “Me. Can you fit everyone in your car?”
Cole nodded. “Sure.”
“Give me a few minutes. I’ll circle around from the other direction and draw them away. You can get out without being noticed.”
“What do they want?” Faith asked, her gaze trained on the reporters.
“What don’t they want?” He turned to leave, but she stopped him.
“You don’t want someone to go with you?”
Rotating back to face her, he almost laughed. Right about now, any other female he’d associated himself with would be checking her hair or fixing her complexion in a compact before supergluing herself to his side for her five seconds of fame. Not Faith. She was ready to stand next to him in silent support of a man she’d known all of two weeks. Because that was the kind of person she was. A fixer. Nice.
The press would eat her alive. They’d be drawn to her quicker than the pop star he’d dated last year for all of three days. Not because she was glamorous or gorgeous. Because she was ordinary. They’d sense something different about her and sink their teeth in.