Resisting Her Ex's Touch. Amber Mckenzie
the feelings she experienced, seeing and being near him again.
She could still describe every inch of Matt—except after today she couldn’t tell if her mind had downplayed his features or if he had become even more beautiful in the intervening years. She hated it that she’d noticed, even in that brief time she had seen him. Hated it that when he’d sat next to her she had recognized his scent. But what she really hated was that when Matt had been sitting next to her, her body had remembered him in all the wrong ways. While the sharp pain in her chest had resurfaced, so had the flood of heat and spasms of attraction that had rippled through her body, the latter being responsible for her shortness of breath.
Even now in the cold rain she could still remember what is was like to be with Matt, and the combination of desire and pain associated with the memory kept her running.
She was being punished, that was the only conclusion she could settle on. This was karma because she had done to Tate what Matt had done to her, and now she was being served up the consequences. She could remember every second of their breakup, recognizing Tate’s look of disbelief and hurt as the one she had worn after Matt had walked out on her. It felt hypocritical to feel this much anger towards Matt, knowing that she wasn’t any better than he was, but it didn’t matter. It didn’t stop her from feeling like there was not enough air and that what was left of her heart was going to die. It didn’t stop the desire to rip into his chest to confirm the heart she’d thought had loved her was not actually there.
She pushed forward, harder, resolving to herself that even though she had hurt Tate, at least the reason she had broken up with him was because it had been the right thing to do for Tate. Matt had broken her heart because it had been the right thing for Matt.
It was dark when Kate started to make her way home. Her apartment was a one-bedroom in a brownstone that had been divided up for rental. It was small and cheap, but it was one of her favorite places in the world. It was the place where no one put demands on her and she could let herself be who she needed to be and not what people expected of her.
Kate had spent a lot of time making her apartment the home she craved and needed. She had chosen the soft cream paint that adorned the walls. Over time she had saved and slowly put together the furniture that made her house a home. The antique wood that filled the space was precious both because of the money it had taken to purchase it and because of the time, her limited time, it had taken to find it at markets and small town shops nearby. Her favorite spot was the deep, wide, soft yellow couch that she probably slept on more than her bed. It was where she felt at peace and that thought propelled her forward to home as her body screamed at her to stop running.
The cold had finally started to set in as she rounded the final corner to her apartment. She knew her clothes were soaked through and she felt the squish of her feet in the watery soles of her shoes. All she could think of was a hot shower and curling up on her couch with her favorite charcoal throw, away from all the memories that were tormenting her.
She didn’t see him in the darkness until she started up the brownstone’s stairs. Her first reaction was fear at the sight of the large man tucked under the staircase awning out of the rain; her second thought was still one of fear when she recognized that man as Matt.
Stay away, her mind screamed at her. She refused to acknowledge him as she reached the door and tried to free her key from inside the wristband she wore for running.
“Katie.” He said her name, asking her with his tone to acknowledge him.
“I can’t talk to you right now. You need to leave,” she said, not looking at him and trying to focus on the task at hand.
“I’m not leaving, Kate,” he replied with a firmness that left her little doubt of her inability to dismiss him.
“Yes, you can, and you did,” she said flatly, staring ahead at the door and refusing to give him any more notice. She didn’t trust herself to look at him so instead looked away. Her attention was drawn to her hands, which were shaking. Her whole body was shaking and the key, which she had managed to get out, dropped onto the concrete step.
“I’m cold,” she declared, hoping he would believe that was the reason for the tremors that were starting to overtake her body.
He didn’t reply. Before she had a chance, he bent down and picked up the key and used it to unlock the building’s front door. He walked through and held the door open, waiting for her to follow. She didn’t. She stood under the awning, staring at him with a sense of panic that was building at the thought of him in her home.
“Kate, you are wet and probably freezing. Please, just come inside. I promise you can despise me just as much from in there.” His new position in front of her forced her to look at him for the first time and she was immediately drawn to his face and eyes. She recognized his expression of concern and it brought her back to all the other times she had thought Matt cared for her. Familiarity propelled her forward.
Once she was inside the building, the warm air and bright lighting brought Kate back to the present. Matt was tall and overpowering in the small entryway. His hair was damp and had started to curl slightly at the ends. The angle of his jaw and the rigid way he held his shoulders gave Kate some indication that he shared her tension. He had changed out of his business suit but was no less stunning in an open leather jacket and dark blue striped shirt that he had left untucked from the jeans, which hugged low on his hips. His sexual power was breathtaking, and she struggled to get her breath back and gain control of the situation.
Never before had she felt self-conscious about her running clothes. But at this moment she desperately wished to be wearing anything other than the black tights and fitted heather-blue base layer top that provided her protection from the cold, but no modesty, outlining every curve of her body. She crossed her arms across her chest and held out one palm.
“Keys?” she asked, trying to adopt the same tone she used in the operating room when calling for an instrument.
He didn’t yield and her sense of discomfort was replaced by anger. “Not until I’m sure you are okay.”
When had it started to matter whether she was okay or not? It hadn’t mattered to Matt nine years ago, and even though she felt far from okay, she resented his concern.
“I’m not your responsibility, Matt. You don’t get to worry about me,” she ground out. She tilted her head upwards, trying to make up the six-inch difference in their height, and held his gaze.
“Easier said than done,” he sighed, and started climbing the stairs towards the second floor. His long legs took the stairs two at a time and before she could react he was at the top.
Not in her home, she thought. Matt could not go into her apartment, her home. It was her refuge, her place where no memories of Matt existed.
She reacted quickly to this thought, running up the stairs and without thinking, wedged herself between him and the apartment door. He wasn’t ready for her movement and his body followed through on its planned course, causing him to fall against her.
She was pressed between Matt and the door, and she didn’t know which one felt harder against her. She started to shake and felt warmth spread through her, his warmth. She could feel every contour of his chest through his open jacket, his shirt slowly dampening from her wet body. He instinctively widened his stance and braced himself with a hand on the door behind her to keep himself from falling any further forward into her. She ended up nestled between his legs, pelvis to pelvis, his upper body bracing over her.
Instinctively, she pressed into him and felt the hard ridge that was increasing in prominence. Beyond the slow roar that was filling her head she heard a small gasp but couldn’t tell if it came from him or her. She wasn’t sure how long they stood pressed against each other, until she felt him pull away at the same time he brought his forehead down to rest against hers, his eyes closed.
“Why?” he demanded quietly.
“Why what?” she whispered, confused and trying to block out the sense of loss his body’s retreat had caused.
“Why