Meeting Mr. Wright

Meeting Mr. Wright by Cassie Cross Page B

Book: Meeting Mr. Wright by Cassie Cross Read Free Book Online
Authors: Cassie Cross
Tags: Romance
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instinct that’s coursing through my body, and somehow this—touching him like this and not kissing him—is the sexiest thing I’ve ever done.
    Still stroking him, I slide my other hand up the back of his neck and lightly scratch my nails against along his scalp. I remember that he liked it the first night we were together in Dallas, and he likes it now. I can tell by the way his breathing picks up and his muscles loosen. It’s like he can’t hold his head up anymore and he brings it to rest on my shoulder as I push him higher and higher.
    “Nate, are you in here?”
    Shit—it’s Jessa.
    His name echoes throughout the room, and his head snaps back in an instant. I pull my hand away from him and duck under his arm. Jessa walks over right as I’m pulling myself up onto the pool deck, and I’m thankful she had the foresight to call out his name before she walked in here.
    “Hey Callie,” she says, offering me a smile.
    I smile back at her as I pick up a towel and wrap it around myself. My heart is pounding so hard in my chest that I can practically see it thrumming beneath my skin. “Hey,” I reply, pushing back the growing wave of disappointment that Nate and I were interrupted.
    “What’s up?” Nate asks. His voice is kind of gravely; it’s huskier than usual. I wonder if Jessa notices the difference.
    “Mom was looking for you, she wanted you to help her move some tables. I’ll just tell her you’re busy.”
    “It’s okay,” I tell her. “I was just going to head back to my room. I’m feeling a little tired.”
    Nate sighs. “I’ll be right there.”
    Jessa walks out, and I tug the towel tighter around me as I look over at Nate. His arms are crossed on the side of the pool, his forehead pressed against his arm, looking down. Maybe I should say something, but I don’t. I just turn and walk away.

W HILE N ATE and I were having dinner, Amy moved my things into the last spare bedroom that was available in the main house. It just so happens to be right at the beginning of the hallway that leads to Nate’s room. I’d only spent a few minutes in here earlier when I changed into my swimsuit, and honestly, I don’t really want to be in here right now. I want to be back at the pool with Nate. I regret leaving the way that I did; I regretted it the second that I walked away.
    I reek of chlorine, and every time I smell it I remember the way Nate looked at me when I was touching him. Those kinds of memories make it impossible for me to think straight, so I walk into the bathroom and turn on the faucet. Once the water is hot enough, I strip off my suit and step into the shower.
    Under the warm, relaxing water, my mind drifts back to Nate, to what we just did. Or what I just did, I guess. I don’t know why I feel so drawn to him; it’s completely ridiculous. I’ve known him less than a week. The thing is, I love talking to him and being around him. It’s stupid for me to try to ignore that, isn’t it? But when I’m around him, I just want to kiss him. I want to talk to him for hours. I want to wake up with him, I want to share my bed with him. I remember feeling the same way with Ethan, even though those things didn’t come nearly as quickly.
    Nate was right, not everyone is like Ethan. Maybe Nate wouldn’t cheat on me, but maybe he’d leave like my dad did. Or maybe things just wouldn’t work out between us for whatever reason. That would hurt just as much.
    This is the reason that women like me aren’t cut out for one-night stands. I can’t separate the feelings from the sex, even with a stranger. And I tell myself that this isn’t a stranger , this is Nate. I wouldn’t be feeling this way if he hadn’t shown up at this wedding though, would I? Maybe I could’ve just gone on with my life and let the sex be sex, even though I did have difficulty leaving him the morning after. Ugh, this is maddening.
    I just want to turn off my brain and have fun. Why is that so difficult for me? He flat-out

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