Scorned (From the Inside Out #1) Read online

Further emotionally.

  Further physically.

  Further into a relationship with this man who seems to be perfect—a perfect man who is interested in me for some reason despite being broken. Does he not see that? Is it not as obvious on the outside? Have I become that good of an actress?

  He’ll find out and when he does I’ll lose him. But maybe…

  Maybe he can heal me.

  Maybe that’s why we seem to work right now.

  Maybe he needs me just as much.

  Maybe he’s broken on the inside too.

  He sighs, touching my cheek. “Hey there, where’d you disappear to?”

  I look down, ashamed that I got lost in the muss of thoughts clouding my brain instead of appreciating what’s right here, what’s tangible and real, loving and giving. I slide my hand up his neck to his cheek and look at him. His small smile shows his concern, despite trying to mask it. “I’m sorry,” I reply.

  “Jules, we can slow down if that’s what worries you.”

  I like the way his hands feel on me, gentle, patient, but firm. Strong. I lean forward tucking myself against him, resting my cheek on his chest and close my eyes.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  Inhale.

  Exhale.

  “I like you, Austin. Definitely more than I should—”

  “Why shouldn’t you? Tell me. Are we moving too fast?”

  “We messed around on our first date, but it took us three years to have a drink. So it’s fast in some ways and not in others, but I like it. You make me feel and I haven’t felt anything in a long time. It’s nice.”

  “You haven’t had feelings for anyone in a long time?”

  “Yes… and no. I’ve not felt anything at all for years. I’ve been numb.”

  “You were hurt.” He guesses right.

  I drop back against the door, not ready to face him, staring at the space that has developed between us when all I want is his warmth again, his hands all over me. Instead, he tucks them into his pockets, the exact opposite of what I want. “I was, but I’ve been hurting myself ever since.” I take him by the arm and walk to the couch.

  I deserve to be happy, I repeat, hoping one day I truly believe it. But for now, I convince myself that I’m good enough for this great guy. I swallow hard, then say, “It may sound strange, but I want this, you, what’s happening between us. I like it and I don’t want it to stop. I don’t want to do this slow and careful. I just want to continue enjoying this.”

  He laughs, the weight of the conversation lifting. “I do too. I like what we’re sharing. I’ve not been in a real relationship in a few years, not one that was good and honest. I think we may be good for each other because this, this is as honest as it gets. Our cards are down—”

  “Our walls are down.”

  A soft smile covers his face. “Let’s just enjoy this.”

  “Just have fun?”

  “Just have fun discovering what this is.”

  “I want that,” I say, hope seeping in.

  He kisses me. Hard. Topples me over and I want it, this, him. A kiss is not enough. I need more. I want more. I want all of him.

  Will he?

  Should we?

  I block those questions out of my mind, living in the here, the now, with him, with perfection and green eyes and dark hair with soft waves, strong arms, hard abs, hard… other parts—hard and large other parts.

  I grind up. He grinds down. He moans, and like a drug fix, it sends me straight to my happy, freeing place. My skirt is pushed up to my hips as he slides between my legs. Light wool pants and a pair of boxers can’t hide his arousal.

  I moan because I’m so fucking hot for him right now, especially when his hand touches me… Right. There. I practically rip the fabric belt of my dress open, my body exposed in the quick movement.

  AFTER CATCHING OUR breath, he says, “I’m sorry. I hope I wasn’t too rough.”

  “You weren’t.” I reach up, soothing, comforting him. “Did it feel good?”

  “Too good, but I didn’t mean to… you know, I didn’t want it to happen like that on a couch. I got carried away. I don’t sleep around as much as the gossip columns say.” He sits back on his knees. “I would have preferred to romance you.”

  I cut off his need to apologize, “Austin, it was fun and it felt good. You felt good.”

  He lies down, squashing me, but I love it. A calm washes over us and we exhale, sinking further into the cushions of the couch. “I like this. What we have going here,” he says earnestly.

  Snuggling closer, I hope he feels the same satisfaction that I do. I whisper just in case he doesn’t, “I do too.”

  “I’m going to Europe for two weeks on Thursday.”

  With my eyes closed, I say, “I have a show that will keep me busy.”

  He kisses my temple. “Don’t miss me too much.”

  With a gentle laugh, I roll onto my side and wrap my right arm over his stomach. After placing a soft kiss on his chest, I reassure, “I’ll miss you. More than you know. You‘re already starting to feel like a habit I can’t break after just two dates.”

  “You’re just in it for the fantastic orgasms I give you.”

  “Might be,” I joke back.

  This is nice.

  This is easy.

  Easy is good.

  … And then I think of Dylan.

  THIS STORY HAS been with me for years, living inside, begging to be heard. I finally listened and worked to bring these characters stories to life. It’s been a bumpy, angst-filled, and heart-wrenching tale to tell, but I adore these characters for their flaws and metamorphosis, their mistakes, and their passion. I hope you do too. Thank you for reading From the Inside Out.

  Many thanks to my friends and team who help me achieve my dreams. You are a truly a dream team come true. Thank you - Amy, Cara, Chelsea, Danielle, Irene, Lisa, Marla, Melissa, Monique, and Vilma.

  A very special thank you to my awesome friend and editor, Heather. You are amazing and wise, and I truly adore you.

  To my family—thank you for putting up with my endless hours behind my computer, the phone calls, and the time away. I do it all for you. MWAH xox

  ~S.

  ALWAYS INTERESTED IN the arts, S. L. Scott, grew up painting, writing poetry and short stories, and wiling her days away lost in a good book and the movies.

  With a degree in Journalism, she continued her love of the written word by reading American authors like Salinger and Fitzgerald. She was intrigued by their flawed characters living in picture perfect worlds, but could still debate that the worlds those characters lived in were actually the flawed ones. This dynamic of leaving the reader invested in the words, inspired Scott to start writing with emotion while interjecting an underlying passion into her own stories.

  Living in the capital of Texas with her family, Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She’s obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. She dreams of seeing one of her own books made into a movie one day as well as returning to Europe. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she’s a pro.

  Scott welcomes your notes to [email protected]