Your Fault (Culpable Book 2)

The intense morning light woke me. We’d left the thick curtains open and were enjoying the panoramic view of the elegant houses in Beverly Hills as well as, farther off, the taller buildings downtown and everything in between.

Nicholas was pulling me into his chest, and his legs were intertwined with mine. I could hardly breathe, but I loved it—I loved sleeping with him. There was no better way to spend a night. For weeks, I hadn’t been able to sleep straight through like that, without waking up, without nightmares.

I turned gently until I was face-to-face with him. He was adorable when he slept, with those serene features, those big eyelids resting closed… He looked so young like that, resting there next to me. I would have liked to know what was going through his mind. What might he be dreaming of just then? I lifted a hand carefully and stroked his left eyebrow without waking him. He was so tired, he didn’t budge. Then I reached his cheek, his chin. How could one person be that handsome?

At that moment, an unexpected thought popped into my head: What would our children look like?

I knew I was losing it; I still had years before I even needed to think about starting a family, but the image of a little black-haired boy appeared in my mind nonetheless. Our son would be handsome, with Nick’s genes, there was no getting around it…but how would he act with a baby? The only child he could stand to be around was his little sister. I’d even had to chew him out for being nasty around kids at the beach or at restaurants. Anyway, I wouldn’t have to worry about it for a long time, plus there was that little detail, the fact I might not even be able to have kids because of the glass that had stabbed me that awful night. Thinking about it made me sad, and I was happy when Nick opened a drowsy eye and looked at me.

I smiled. “Hey, handsome,” I greeted him, watching him furrow his brow as he tried to get the lead out. Without a furrowed brow, Nick wasn’t Nick.

He reached out an arm and pulled me close. “What were you doing, Freckles?” he asked, and his breath tickled my cheek.

“Admiring how extraordinarily pretty you are.”

He grunted. “For God’s sake, don’t call me pretty. Anything but that,” he begged, lifting his head.

I laughed, seeing him with mussed hair and that crabby face that was just like a whiny little boy’s.

“Are you laughing at me?” He distracted me with his eyes, then grabbed me and started tickling me.

“No, no, no!” I shouted, trying to wriggle away. “Nicholas!”

Soon I attacked back, jabbing his washboard stomach with one finger so hard, he leapt up and fell out of the bed.

“Jesus!” I cackled. I was crying; my stomach hurt from giggling so hard.

He got up, pulled on one of my feet, and jerked me to the edge of the mattress. Before I could fall, he threw me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and walked toward the bathroom.

“Now you’re going to get it,” he warned me, turning on the shower.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” I begged, still cracking up.

He didn’t care, and he stuck me under the cold water, where my T-shirt clung to me like a second skin.

“It’s freezing!” I shouted, pulling aside and shaking. “Nicholas!”

At my protests, he pushed his way in and turned the knob, and hot water began to cascade over us.

“Silence. You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn,” I said, pulling my T-shirt over my head and standing before him naked.

His eyes traced out every curve of my body.

“I doubt there’s a better way to wake up in the morning,” he said, bending over to taste my lips.

A half hour later, I was wrapped in a towel, my hair dripping, sitting on the balcony while Nicholas ordered room service. It was strange not to hear people shouting in the halls. I had assumed all those drunk students would make it impossible to sleep, but I was wrong. Maybe the walls in the hotel were soundproof.

I turned to look at Nick as he hung up. His hair was wet, same as mine; he was shirtless, and his sweatpants were hanging off his hips, revealing the dark hair that started at his belly button and went down from there. My God, what a body! His abs were rock-hard, his obliques perfectly worked. How the hell did he do it? I knew he went to the gym and surfed, but that body was a masterpiece, something not of this world.

“You looking at me?” he asked, sitting down next to me at the table.

I felt the blood rush into my cheeks. “You got a problem with that?” I asked, ignoring the way the sunlight reflected in his blue eyes at just that moment.

With a wry grimace, he continued. “Come here.”

He pulled me over onto his lap. I was naked under my towel, which slipped up over my thighs when I sat on top of him.

“You don’t have anything on underneath there?” he asked in a tone that sounded surprised, then disapproving just one second later.

I rolled my eyes. “There’s no one here, Nick.”

He looked around. We were totally alone, our only company those spectacular views of the city.

“There could be a pervert with binoculars watching us right now from one of those buildings over there,” he said, holding up my towel.

“Your loss. I’m getting dressed,” I said, getting up and going inside.

Looking at myself in the mirror, I wondered how it was possible that the sad girl from yesterday could have turned into the one staring back at me. I guessed that was love, a roller coaster of crisscrossing emotions and feelings. One minute, you’re up, and the next, you’re on the ground, and you don’t even know how you got there.

I bent over our suitcase. It was silly, but it made me feel special to see my clothing there next to his Marc Jacobs shirt.

The dress I put on was simple, sea blue with yellow flowers. My mom had bought it for me. It probably cost a fortune.

When I started putting my makeup on, my eyes settled on my neck, and I grunted, pulling my hair back to reveal two hickeys. I ran out of the bathroom, furious.

“Nicholas!” I shouted. He was talking on his cell phone. Breakfast had arrived, and he was eating on the balcony, chitchatting away like nothing mattered.

“Hold on,” he said to whoever was on the other line.

I pointed to my neck and clavicle. And the dickhead smiled! I was so pissed, I picked up a pillow and threw it at him.

He raised a hand to protect himself and cursed.

“I’ll call you back,” he said, hanging up. “What the hell’s gotten into you?”

I hated someone leaving a mark on me. I couldn’t stand anyone leaving marks on my skin. It brought back bad memories, and I didn’t have to explain it.

“You know I hate getting hickeys, Nicholas Leister,” I said, trying to control my voice.

He walked over, reached out to pull my hair back, and looked closer. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” he said.

“Sure,” I said, pushing him away just as he started to stroke me. “I’ve already told you, Nicholas, I’m not a cow—I don’t want anyone branding me.”

He laughed so hard, I wanted to hit him.

“Come on, Freckles, we fought enough yesterday. Let’s relax in peace.” He pulled me into a hug. I was stiff as a board, but he soon grabbed my hair and pulled my head back, forcing me to look at him.

“Forgive me, and I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.

“What?” I responded.

His eyes clouded over. “Anything you want. I’m serious. If it comes out of those lips, I’ll do it. I’m yours.”

I knew what that perverted mind of his was thinking. I smiled, enjoying the situation, feeling powerful.

“Fine,” I said, wrapping my hands around his neck. “There is something I want you to do.”