Fall for Me by Claudia Burgoa

Chapter Three

Willow

The doorto his room closes and he presses me flat against it. Crushing his mouth against mine and stripping me of the button-down blouse I wore today. My skirt slides down my bare legs after he unzips it from the back. His fingers tap over my back and I chuckle, shaking my head as he searches for the clasp to undo my bra. There’s none.

“What am I doing wrong?” He releases my mouth, looking at my lacy bralette. I roll my eyes while pulling it over my head.

I still don’t understand how I went from thinking he’d date my sister to being almost naked with him in his penthouse. The words he spoke, the warmth in his eyes and his touch. His kiss. Everything had to do with that kiss. It was as deep as the ocean, hot as lava. Hunter surprises me in a good way. I hate surprises, yet I’m here in his room. He convinced me to come to his apartment and dragged me through his penthouse.

Why am I here? Not for Hazel, but because of Hazel.

When he asked me where to, my sister’s words came back to me.

Give life a chance, Willow.

For years, I wanted what Hazel and her boyfriend had and feared I would never find it. Two years ago, when it ended, I watched her crumble, shattering from the inside out and becoming a person I didn’t know. I was already wary about relationships but seeing how it ended between them scared me away from men—until now.

Until Hunter.

We’ve seen each other three times, and I’m drawn to him in a way I never thought possible. My brain tries to remind me of the consequences of love, but my heart isn’t hearing it. It’s leading and pushing its way into a territory I thought I had visited before—but I don’t think I’ve ever been this deep.

“Wait, are you regretting this?”

“It’s hard. I’m afraid,” I explain, second-guessing myself. “What if this isn’t real?”

He chuckles. “You can’t hide under a bed afraid of the future.” His eyes dart under the bed.

“Speaking from experience?”

“Yeah, after my parents died I didn’t leave my room for years.” He inhales twice. “They were in the twin towers during 9/11.”

He caresses my face, kissing my forehead. “Though I overcame the agoraphobia after years of therapy, I still carry some issues. I hate changes, surprises, and I need to know where my brothers are—even the one who should be off the grid—at all times.”

I frown, not understanding. “My oldest brother works for a high intelligence, private security company. His boss sends me daily updates.” He shrugs. “I cope with social anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorder. It sounds contradictory, but I keep the women I date at arm’s length and still, I can’t sleep around with anonymous women.”

The words, the meaning behind them. It isn’t about his phobias but trust. He’s baring his soul.

“My parents started traveling around the world when I was eight. They didn’t care if Hazel and I slept at home or had food on our table,” I blurt, sharing about my life. “My mother doesn’t believe in parenting, only helping the poor. For years, I wondered what we did to her, and why she didn’t love us.”

He places his big hand on the back of my neck, kissing my forehead. “I can only promise to learn how to love you, hoping you’ll fall for me along the journey.” He feathers kisses along my jaw and my nose. “From now on, I want us to forget our worries, leave behind our fears.”

“And what’s next?”

“I don’t know. This is how we met, Willow. The moment we started falling in love.” He kisses me with urgency, penetrating my mind, my heart, and my soul as if trying to claim them. I like it, and even when I’m enthralled in his spell, I keep wondering if this is too quick. We’ve only known each other a week.

After a long kiss, he places his forehead on top of mine. “Your eyes. They’re shining like a bright flame, as if illuminating the dark sky.” Hunter smiles, his hands wrap around my back. “I think I finally found the missing piece of my heart.”

If I had known our night would end like this, I wouldn’t have suggested dinner. Maybe I’d have made time for a Brazilian. There are spider webs growing down there from the lack of use. Also, I’d choose waxing any day over baring my feelings to a man. Shit, I’d take a root canal. I need Novocaine to numb the turmoil going on inside my head after what he uttered. A part of me trusts him blindly, the other wants to run away. This is too much, too fast.

The air disappears from the room. I stop breathing as he holds me tight to him. His heart beating against mine, our bodies almost becoming one. The situation and his words are suffocating me.

Run,I warn, escape before you’re caught in the swirling motion of the messy feelings you won’t handle well.

Jetting off isn’t an option as I’m almost naked in his room.

Fuck me! I scream inside my head.

The awkward morning after is far easier to handle than what’s happening between us. Instead of fucking me, he’s undressing my soul. Caressing the raw, aroused feelings fluttering as timidly as wounded butterflies. Confused by the sweetness of his tone, I take a step backward, escaping his muscular arms. I can’t fall. What if he isn’t one of the good guys? What if he leaves me broken? What if he realizes I don’t belong? No one has been able to love me. My parents are on the top of the list. At my age, I’m too old to have mommy and daddy issues, but their continuous rejection has left me crippled inside.

Gather your shit, keep your mouth shut, and leave.

Clearing my throat, I squat to pick up my clothes, not breaking our eye contact. I’m a trained actress who can portray anyone—even a cold princess. Don’t break character. His dark blue eyes open wide. Those perfectly delineated lips are pressed against each other.

“I think it’s better if I leave.”

He frowns, his head tilting back slightly. A deep exhale leaves his hardly opened mouth along with the words, “Am I going too fast?”

I nod once, amused by his bashful tone.

“Get to know her first,” he says with a chuckle. I raise an eyebrow. “That’s what you said when we met.”

Right, when he witnessed the smudged-mascara-struggling-loser actress losing her shit.

Extending his hand, he cracks a smile. “Hunter Nicholson Everhart.” We shake hands. “I’m a serial monogamist.”

“We should work on your problem,” I suggest, sagging with relief, worried he cast a spell on me and I almost gave too many pieces of myself to this unknown man. “One one-night stand at a time.”

“What if we get to know each other instead?”

How about no, you don’t want to know the real Willow—no one does. My parents avoid me. My sister sticks around because I’ve cared for her since she was small. I shielded her against the rejection our parents put us through.

There’s a knock on the door. “Hunt?” I jolt when a voice comes from behind it. “Hunter, are you home?”

“Yes, what’s going on?” he responds, fixing his pants.

“Harrison’s trying to reach you.”

Hunter swipes his forehead, reaching for his phone. Mumbling under his breath, he taps the screen several times. “Thank you, Scott. Where’s Fitz?”

“Are you feeling okay, bro?”

The handle wiggles but thankfully it’s locked. Immediately, I redirect my attention to my clothing: skirt, bralette, blouse, shoes. As I dress, I glance at my body, chiding myself for letting the walls fall so easily. Though I want to drag myself under the covers, I have to leave this place right now. What I wouldn’t give to be able to hide from him and whoever’s behind the door.

“Little Hazel texted, too,” the somber voice announces, and my ears perk. Why is my sister messaging him?

“Is she okay?” Hunter gives me a quick look and opens the door when he realizes I’m dressed.

“Yes, she wanted me to give you a message.” The man behind the door releases a loud laugh. Who opened GQ and brought this man to life? Hunter is adorable, handsome, and feels like home. This man is the opposite. He’s an inch taller than Hunter with green-blue eyes surrounded by a few wrinkles. His hair is a shade or two lighter than Hunter’s brown hair. The broad shoulders, his dominant posture, and his arms littered with tattoos say attractive, serious, dangerous, and a bit of a bad boy. “Tell Hunter to keep his pants on tonight.”

I can’t believe Hazel texted that. Who does she think I am? If she weren’t at school in North Carolina, I’d give her a piece of my mind. I wish she transferred from Duke to Columbia. The commute is killing her. Also, I’d like to see her more often.

“You must be the famous Willow,” he says, turning to me. He sizes me up and nods. “Scott Everhart. It’s nice to finally meet Hazel’s big sister.”

Hunter shoots him a killing glare. “You delivered your message. Time to make yourself scarce, big brother.”

“When you get tired of him, come and visit me.” He winks at me as Hunter shoves him out of his room and shuts the door.

“How old are you?” I suddenly feel self-conscious. What if he’s much younger, and I’m robbing the cradle?

“Twenty-eight.” His shoulders sag. “You’re seriously calling it a night?”

“What do you suggest we do?” I grab my purse, sure he won’t find anything for us to do. “Sex is off the table. I can’t do this. Either casual or committed, I just can’t handle something so intimate. Sorry, I wasn’t thinking when I agreed to come to your place.”

“A musical,” he proposes with a slight head bob. I’m guessing he understands my predicament. “You mentioned you like to watch those.”

My attention moves toward him. Now he’s talking my language. “What kind of musical?” I observe him as he saunters to the table in front of the television. This room is humongous. For New York standards, Hunter lives in a mansion. The penthouse is on the top floor of one of the buildings across from Central Park. It’s a lot like my grandfather’s place. Compared to my former shack in Queens, these are palaces.

You’re out of place, Willow. You don’t belong here. Leave now.

“What’s your favorite musical?”

“Chicago, Sweeny Todd, The King and I, The Wizard of Oz?” He scrolls through the screen.

“I could watch The Wizard of Oz.”

A boyish smile appears on his handsome face. He opens the door of the credenza, showing a line of cans. “Something to drink?”

“You have a fridge in here?”

“My brothers refurbished my room when I was twelve.”

“You were serious? You didn’t leave your room often?”

“Try never,” he confirms. “I developed agoraphobia after my parents died. My brothers tried to accommodate my needs.”

Having my parents traveling all around the world is much different than losing them. The way I see it, he’s had it rougher than I did. For tonight, I’m going to set my feelings aside and stay with him for a few hours, at least until after the movie is over. Once I leave, I won’t look back. The uneasiness he makes me feel is intolerable.