Chapter Twenty-Two

In his Hilton hotel room Elliot found something he wanted more than he’d ever wanted a future with Jenna. Something more than a TV show or the aftermath offered. A perfect match. Someone whose desire was equal to his in every way. Someone who burned him up inside and kept him wanting. Someone whose soul he wanted to fuse his own with.

But after a month of his emails to Ginger going unreturned, he’d had to reconsider his life again. What used to be enough was no longer enough. What he thought would work out never did. He hadn’t been ready to give up, though. He’d emailed her again, hoping she’d give him one more chance.

Nothing.

The network kept offering more. Better.

He sent another email, desperate for a reason to tell the show no.

Silence.

And it meant one thing: she was with the network. What had happened between them was a one-night stand infused with all his rebounding emotion from the season, from being rejected by Jenna. Ginger’s lack of response had left him at a crossroads with only two paths to choose from. Say no to the network and be left to make mistake after mistake on his own, misjudge every interaction he’d have from there on out, and end up as lonely and pathetic as Michelle said he would, or give up on himself entirely and let his future be selected for him by the people who loved him the most in the world.

His last email to Ginger had been a Hail Mary, but he’d gotten exactly what he expected to get from that. Rejected. Four months had passed and her silence stung. It was the sting that drove his acceptance of everything the show had to offer. The promise of an unemotional match.

Obviously, he was different. Something had changed inside him after he’d contemplated a future with Jenna…after he’d let himself indulge in Ginger. She’d been everything he physically wanted, and yet the way she ignored him and pushed him into the arms of the network burned worse than Jenna’s rejection ever had.

In turn, Elliot rejected the notion of finding a “perfect” match and the idea he could have it all. His life had been nothing but moving from one fantasy to the next, and he needed to grow up or he’d end up bitter and alone, which he feared more than he cared to admit. His mother had found someone safe after her love story had ended, and she was happy. But she’d never had to be alone. She’d had him and Anna. A built-in support system. A family.

If nothing else, Elliot came back to 'Matched' wanting that. If his marriage sucked, at least he’d get some kids out of it. Some kind of connection where love was implied. Unconditional.

His only criteria for a mother for his children: that she be on the same page he was. He told himself love was quicksand. A trap door. Nothing but a lure, and then a hook through the mouth. It was no kind of foundation to build a future on.

Until love became the only thing that mattered. In a million years, he never would have predicted Ginger would fall right back into his arms, or match his passion in every kiss, in each glance she sent his way. Or clean vomit off his chest, or get him to cross a gorge on a zip line. She might not always have given him what he wanted, but at every single turn, she’d been exactly what he needed. He shouldn’t have signed a contract; he should have knocked on her door. Hindsight’s a bitch.

“Fuck, Elliot, don’t ruin this. Don’t say a bunch of shit to get me to spend the night with you. I’m here, okay? Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“Ginger, I wanted you from day one. Whether you believe it or not, that night at the Hilton wasn’t me trying to forget about Jenna. It was me trying to get to you. I’d thought about you. I’d dreamt about you. The only proof I’ve got to offer is did it seem like I wanted anything else that night? Was I, or was I not down on my knees, worshiping you?”

A dark blush crept up her pale cheeks. “I was your only option that night…”

A frustrated laugh huffed from his mouth. “How many times did I write you?”

“I don’t know…like…eleven?”

“Why would I do that?”

She cleared her throat, and it made a prim little sound. “Look, I was there, too. I know it was kind of a night for the record books. But I didn’t take those emails to mean anything besides you wanted to do it again.”

“I did want to do it again.”

“See?”

“Exclusively.”

Her expression remained bland and unmoved. “That doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Why?”

“Because you were ready to marry someone else. You were looking for more. And then, when you started talking to the network, what was I supposed to think? You still wanted more.”

“They were relentless, and you know it. But I wanted more from you first.”

“Well, you weren’t super clear about that.”

“I would have been, if you’d given me a single opening.”

“So this is my fault?”

He sighed. “Do you believe me at least?”

She finished her wine, walking to the table to set down her glass. “No one’s ever…” The whispered sentence went unfinished.

“I fucked up, too. I forgot what being anywhere near you does to me.” He stood behind her, hands on her hips, chin resting on top of her head. “How I can’t see anything else.” Surely he’d managed to demonstrate that, at least.

“Elliot, I’m not ready for the kind of life you’re ready for.”

If she wasn’t ready, he’d wait. Having her was more important than some boring fantasy he’d invented to take her place. He wrapped his arms around her waist. “I don’t care.”

“Don’t you think that matters?” she asked. “Because you could still have that.”

“Not with them, Ginger.”

“But there’s literally no way out,” she said.

“I know it seems that way, but there’s always something.”

She turned to face him. “I don’t think there is.”

“Can we not worry about that right now? Tonight, I need to know you’re with me.”

Her gaze drifted to his mouth. “How can you tell it’s love and not something else?”

“Easy. Because I’d rather be patching a hole in your kitchen wall or taking out your trash than spending a second with any other woman in Paris.”

Ginger’s breath shuddered as it entered her chest. “Because I want you so much, I don’t feel like I can tell.”

He ran a hand up her back, beneath her hair, stopping at the nape of her neck. “How much?”

“Like a lot.”

Guiding her to the bed, he laid her down and moved above her, his erection gliding over her pubic bone before settling against her belly. She closed her eyes, her neck arching up. He kissed her throat.

“Don’t leave a mark,” she whispered.

“I won’t leave one here.” He licked her instead, the soft floral taste of her sending shocks of need straight through his core. “Tell me how much you want me.”

“Didn’t I?”

Normally at this point he’d be in a rush to expose all of her, but tonight, it was difficult to tear his gaze from her face—the lingering pink darkening her broad cheekbones, the bare nakedness of her perfectly formed lips, the soft haze of desire blurring her dark eyes as they half closed.

His mouth grazed hers. “Tell me you want me the most.”

She sucked in a breath. “More than anything.”

He stilled, staring at her until her eyelids fluttered all the way open.

“What?” she whispered.

He’d love to know what he’d started doing right, when she’d changed her mind about him, what had made her finally surrender to the feeling he’d known all along was undeniable between them, but he also knew better than to delve too deep. Because she was as good at second-guessing as he was. At the moment, he had her exactly where he wanted her. “I love you,” he whispered in return, not waiting for a response, but kissing her instead.

Her arms moved to wrap around his back, causing all his weight to sink on top of her, his own arms trapped by hers and useless. Using his legs and the strength of his body, he turned them onto their sides, freeing up one of his hands to cradle her face. He brought his lips slowly back to hers. That kiss was better, and she let him set the pace. He went slow, trying to discover what it was about the way she kissed him back that had ruined him for anyone else.

Her kiss was perfect. The way their mouths gripped each other, the rhythmic movements of their tongues as they kept coming back for one more taste, each stroke building a bigger urgency for another and another—it was addicting. But even better was the way she leaned into it with her entire body. She had the fabric of his shirt fisted in one hand and was pulling him closer to her. Her chest and hips pressed into him as her leg slowly moved over his to trap him against her. The shuddering moans she made when their mouths separated to draw breath and the tiny gasps she took as their lips connected again felt specifically tailored to him. Like she’d been created to fill every void of desire he’d ever had. Like she was his perfect match.

But that wasn’t enough. It was one thing for them to fit—to want each other. God knew they’d never struggled with that. He needed to know they were still in this together.

“Ginger,” he breathed, managing to tear himself away.

“No, don’t stop,” she said, eyes still closed, mouth searching for his, her body still clinging tight.

He stilled her face, waiting for her to look at him.

Finally, she blinked and their gazes met.

He had no idea what he looked like right then besides lovesick, but something about his face caused her to release her death grip on his shirt and lay a hand against his cheek. “The way you look at me…” she said softly.

“I can’t help it.”

“It’s a problem.”

“I know.”

“It’s not one I want to solve right this second,” she said.

“I’m not sure it’s solvable.” Maybe she could share her secret. How she managed to mask her own desire every time they were on set.

She slid her thumb across his lips. “It’s irresistible.” A tiny frown creased her brow. “Why did we stop?”

He took a breath, bracing himself for whatever truth was about to drop. “I can’t make another mistake.”

She half-smiled in a way that made him want to kiss her until the polar ice caps melted. “I think you’re about four mistakes too late to say that.”

He would have smiled with her, but he couldn’t make himself. “I mean it.”

Ginger let her grin disappear. She ran her hand through his hair until she had a firmer grip on his head. If he needed her to say this wasn’t a mistake, she couldn’t. It was the biggest mistake she’d ever made in her life. A tragic misstep where for sure her heart would wind up broken and kicked into some Paris storm drain somewhere. But like the first time with him, she treated it like the last chance she’d ever get. Her final opportunity to leave an indelible mark on his life, wherever it wound up. They were on different trajectories. They both knew this could never work.

But none of that changed the fact that at some point along the way, he’d stolen her heart. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know. Something to make me feel less pathetic.”

A short, soft laugh escaped her as he dropped his head to the bed. His eyes closed, and he released a sigh like a breath he’d been holding too long.

“So…not something along the lines of how bad your timing is, or how impulsive you are…”

“You can skip all that.”

She snuggled close to him, tracing lines through his hair with her fingertips. “More like, I love you, too, then? More like—if we make it through this, we might have a chance at something real?”

“Only if you mean it.”

“I mean it, but I don’t see how it’s possible.”

“It’s enough to know you mean it.”

“So now what?” she asked.

“Shit, Ginger. I don’t want to talk strategy with you right now.” He flopped onto his back, taking half her body with him.

She laughed at the tangle they wound up in and adjusted her position to lie alongside him. “Neither do I, but I feel like this is the first time we’ve ever been alone together that you don’t have a raging boner. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

He lifted his head from the bed to survey his lap. “It’s yours, you know? You own it. You can make it or break it. One word, one look—it’s completely under your control.”

“Wow. Then I guess I’m flattered.” She lifted a hand to rest on his crotch, finding the soft outline of him beneath his brushed cotton pants. “I’ve always wanted one of these…”

“To play with or, you know…to keep?”

“They are fun to play with, but I like the idea of having one all to myself.”

He let a soft chuckle escape. It ended up being a super sexy sound, and she gripped him a little tighter in search of another, sexier sound.

He delivered with a low groan, and like a magic trick stiffened in her hand.

She unbuckled his belt, her own arousal surging again. It made it easier not to think about the possible consequences of the moment—being with him, falling so hard for him. Sex was like—the world’s best distraction from reality. “Tell me more about these dreams you used to have about me.”

“They were pretty dirty. I don’t want you to think I’m here for the wrong reasons.”

She smiled, reaching into his pants to release his now rigid cock. “I feel like we’ve firmly established that’s exactly why you’re here,” she murmured with a long, firm downward stroke.

“I’m an idiot.”

“You’re so pretty though.”

Abandoning his re-established erection, she ran a hand up his chest and climbed on top of him. Between her thighs, his cock twitched, and she lowered her mouth to his. He wasted no more time rolling her over again, pinning her to the bed to strip her of her clothes. She helped him out of his, eager to see all of him, feel everything. If this had to be their last time, she’d make the most of it—so many moments between them she’d managed to throw away, dismiss as if they hadn’t meant a thing, but he’d worked so hard to get her to this place. To barrel through all her cynicism and make her feel really and truly cherished—he deserved her complete and total attention. Her adoration. Her love.

He snapped the condom into place, parted her thighs, and guided himself inside her. Back arching from the bed, she took his full length, moaning as he sank in achingly deep. Gathering her body in his arms, his mouth met hers with unmistakable relief. A passionate sweep of his tongue set their bodies into motion.

She held on tight, desperately afraid to let him go. Having him all to herself, for one last night wasn’t enough. If she was honest with herself, having him for one night only at the Hilton hadn’t been enough, either, but she’d managed to make her peace with it. Everything would have been fine, her life could have proceeded along its track, if she’d never had to see him again. But seeing him again, being near him, being alone with him, had reawakened an urge inside her to prove both to him and to herself that it had not, in fact, been meaningless.

She’d never expected it to work.

As he moved inside her, she tried to focus on the way he felt. Memorize the shape of him, the way he kissed her, the angles he used to bring her to the brink, but none of it made sense—she could only feel her heart—bending, breaking, searching for the answer to a question she had no clue how to answer—how do I keep you?

But he wasn’t going anywhere. Not tonight, at least. His strokes quickened, deepened. Her body responded, meeting him thrust for thrust, the thickness of him creating an irresistible friction between her legs. “Close,” he panted near her ear, the heat of his breath blazing a trail straight to her clitoris, proof of the primal connection between them she’d never been able to deny.

But this was more. And tonight he’d made all her excuses feel flimsy and frivolous. Of course she wanted him. Of course she loved him. The fear of losing him was enough to close her throat.

She froze as he came, his entire body shuddering to a stop. Her body throbbed around him, pent up and begging for a release she was afraid to take for fear it would mean something.

His hand moved slowly down her side. “Give me another chance,” he whispered.

She shouldn’t. She should go. This was too much.

He kissed her chest, her breasts, her stomach, her sex.

Ginger closed her eyes and let Elliot change her mind.