CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED-SEVEN

VIOLET POV

“When I lost control…”

      “It felt amazing.” I take a breath. “Please, Spencer. Please don’t stop this. Last night… I want that… I want more of that…”

      He stares at me. “You’ve never been with a man before, Violet, How do you know you’re ready?”

      I laugh, but he doesn’t. “I’m definitely ready. I’m the oldest virgin I know. A regular spinster.”

      “You’ve never come close, not with anyone?”

      I shake my head. “There’s never been anyone worth getting close to. Just idiots. Normally drunk idiots at that. The Maggie Connor effect.”

      “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders for such a sweet little thing, Violet.”

      “I might not be cool and streetwise like Maggie is, but I know what I want, Spencer. I know what’s right, and what’s not right. I know what’s dumb, and what’s safe and how to get through life without getting into too much trouble.” My words stall as I remember him grabbing hold of me in the rain. “Well… usually… that night was…”

      “Dangerous,” he says. “It was dangerous.”

      “I should’ve been more careful.” I try to keep my voice firm, try to sound so much more in control than I feel. “I’m usually more careful. I guess with Mum away, Maggie Connor was the only one I had… I wanted to have fun…”

“It was your eighteenth. If there’s a night for recklessness I imagine your eighteenth birthday is going to feature pretty highly on the list.” He sighs. “It wasn’t your fault, Violet.”

      “Even so,” I say. “I was lucky.”

 “No,” he tells me, and reaches across the table. I drop his lovely pen and take his hand, and those butterflies start their fluttering. “I was lucky.”

   “Fate,” I whisper. “Like we said.”

 “And what do you think fate has in store for us, Violet?” His eyes are so fierce. Dark like treacle as they stare into mine.

      “Everything.” My voice is light, like air. “I think fate wants us to be everything.”

      “Everything?”

      “Everything.”

      Tense. It’s so tense. His eyes are so serious and his jaw so hard. I can feel him thinking, feel him teetering on the edge, and I want to pull him over, pull him to me.

      Please. Please, please, please.

      I’ve never wanted anything so bad.

He squeezes my hand. “We’ll take it slow,” he says. “You can change your mind at any time, but be sure. Be sure you want this before but be sure. Be sure you want this before we’re both in too deep to get out.”

      “You mean we can… you’ll be my…”

      “Everything,” he says. “If that’s what you want.”

      I can’t stop smiling. “I want that. I want everything. I won’t change my mind. Not ever.”

      I worry I’ve overstepped the line, but he smiles back and my heart soars.

      “This can’t have any impact on the ground rules, Violet. How we are together, it doesn’t make any difference, you’ll still be in my care.”

      “It won’t make a difference, I promise. I don’t want it to, I like the ground rules.”

      His eyes sparkle, and he looks so strong again. There’s that something primal underneath his cool, and I’m there on the landing again, in bed with his hardness against my ass again…

      He pulls his hand from mine and closes his laptop.

      “In that case, I think it’s bedtime,” he says. “Let’s start… starting slowly.”

My feet are bouncy as I follow Spencer upstairs. He flashes a glance back at me, and his eyes are fierce, with a sexy kind of darkness that makes me feel like a clumsy kid.

      I am a woman, I tell myself so. I’m eighteen after all. Totally ready for this. Totally ready for him.

      If only the butterflies whirling round my tummy would believe me.

      He gestures to me ahead at the landing, and I head for West’s room before it occurs to me that maybe he won’t want to… not in there… but he doesn’t say a word, just follows me in and closes the door behind us.

      And then he stands.

Staring.

      Watching.

      “What?” I giggle.

      “I’m looking at you,” he says, and my laughter dries up. “I love looking at you, Violet.”

 He examines me, up and down, taking in every single gawky part of me, and I try not to worry about my little breasts, or the weird-shaped birthmark on my thigh, or my bony knees. I try not to worry about whether I’ll be good enough. “You’re so very beautiful. You have no idea.”

 “Maggie Connor says I’m not sexy. She says I’m cute, like a doll, but not sexy. I don’t really do anything sexy, though…” I admit, and I’m rambling. Nerves.

 “I’m sick of hearing what that idiot Maggie Connor says,” he says, and my eyes widen. “You’re sexy and you’re cute. You’re everything she’d want to be if she wasn’t putting it out to anyone who’ll have her after a few tequilas.”

 I’m so aware of myself. So aware of the skinny jeans Spencer bought me, and my baby pink cami and fluffy cardigan. So aware that I don’t look dressed for this, despite his compliments and the warmth they give me inside. “Should I, um… change? Into something more…” I begin, but he shakes his head.   

“No. You’re perfect just as you are.”

      Perfect.

      I want to feel perfect.

      I want to be perfect… for him.

      “I really don’t know what I’m doing…” I take a breath. “I hope I’m not doing rubbish… I hope you’re not…”

      “Shh,” he says, and my heart leaps as he moves towards me.

      He’s so tall, towering above me as he closes the distance. I can smell him. Woody and deep. I love the way he smells.

      He tips his face up to mine and my breath comes in shallow little gulps.

      “Relax,” he whispers, and his head dips enough that his breath tickles my ear. His hands slide to my shoulders and squeeze, and it feels so right.

      I feel the firmness of his chest through his shirt. The warmth of his fingers as they slip inside my cardigan and push it from my shoulders. I feel it crumple around my feet.

      “My beautiful girl…” he whispers, and the husk in his tone makes my legs go quivery.

      His breath is a warm rhythm, his lips pressing to my skin, and it makes me shiver wonderful shivers. I wrap my arms around his neck, the fine hairs prickling as he kisses so lightly along my jawline.

      He pulls away, then pauses, eyes on mine, and I fidget, wet my lips, shuffle from foot to foot.

      His eyes stay firm, right on target. My breath is so shallow and his is so steady.

      He moves slowly. Lowers his head slowly.

 And then his mouth lands right on mine.       

    The world stops moving. For that moment. Stops.

      One long perfect moment.

      And the butterflies go crazy.

His kiss is firm. Strong like him. Lips warm and soft.

      His tongue pushes inside my mouth, and he lets out a groan, and I love that. I love the way it sounds. I love the way his tongue feels, too. Hot and just the right amount of wet. I love the way it moves around mine, the way he pushes so deep. I kiss him, like I think I should, my tongue twisting with his, my eyes closed tight as I take it all in. I’m making little noises, and my fingers tangle in his hair, and that’s soft too.

 He doesn’t stop kissing me as he holds me tight and walks me backwards. My ankle catches on one of West’s stuffed toys, and I stumble, but he’s got me. He holds me steady,  guides me back a step at a time until I feel Jane’s bed against my legs, and then he breaks the kiss. Pulls away with soft presses of his lips to mine.