by Lindsey Hart
“I am,” he agreed. “Even I’m surprised to say, I felt less terrible when I was with you. Actually, I felt the least terrible I have in years. Ages. Decades. Since my mom died. And that’s the honest truth.”
“I’m not going to believe a single word that comes out of your mouth ever again.”
“That would also imply that you’re going to stick around to hear more lies.”
“I’m not!” She tried to tug her hand away again and this time, he let her, unwinding his fingers so that she actually stumbled back and nearly fell on her ass.
“Can you tell me, Noemi, since you’re so into truth telling, what you hate most about me? Was it the fact that I lied to you about my name so I could try and get you to understand that I’m not so bad and things spiraled wildly out of control because we’re actually a good fit, or was it because I’ve made you come harder than you ever have in your life?”
“I faked it,” she hissed.
“All, let’s see…” He pretended to do a little mental math. “Eleven times? Or just ten?”
Noemi actually flipped him the bird, which he found totally adorable.
“That’s still the same thing as saying fuck you and we already established that you’re not going to do that. Unless you’re having second thoughts.”
“I hate you.”
“How did you find out anyway?”
“I pieced it together. The house. The fact that you knew my name when I didn’t tell you it. When you talked about growing up in New York, but you’re out here now.”
He rolled his eyes. “Maybe I don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe I don’t know who the hell Byron is. Maybe I just moved into this house because the last one I was in was shit. Maybe your name was written on the coffee cup when I saw you in the shop. And maybe I moved across the country after my father died because I couldn’t stand anything that reminded me of him.”
She actually wavered for a second before she realized what he’d done. She shot him one last death glare, spun on her heel, and marched down the sidewalk.
“See you tonight, Noemi,” he called after her. “We both know you can’t stay away.”
She marched down the driveway, slammed her way into her rental car, and peeled away from the curb so fast that the tires actually squealed.
Before she was even halfway down the block, Byron had already turned back into the house in search of the keys for his own car. The thing might be a sedan when he was used to driving import sports cars, but he was pretty damn sure that even a four-cylinder engine was fast enough to catch Noemi.
There was no way he was going to let her go.
She didn’t know it yet, but she was made for him.
Maybe she did know it and that’s why she was so pissed. Okay, she was pissed because he’d acted like a douche. She was right about that. He was going to apologize, right after he got her back, dipped nearly to the ground like a princes in the movies, and kissed her breathless.
The thing was, he knew she was made for him.
Even if that thought scared him half to death, even if he never sold a single shoe in Europe, even if they never actually got married because she wasn’t into it and honestly, neither was he when it came right down to it, even if it took her years to fully earn her trust back, he’d work for it. He’d do anything it took.
There was only one thing he wouldn’t do.
Let her walk out on him.
For the first time in his life since his mother died and everything went to near total shit, he’d found meaning. He wasn’t that much of a coward and that much of an asshole that he was going to let it go. Even if he should.
He’d always been a fighter and it wasn’t in his nature to give up.
So yeah, the eighty year old, grey haired neighbor lady with the pink muumuu on the porch next door got an eyeful of his half naked form as he raced out to the car like a maniac and peeled out of the driveway like he was auditioning for the racetrack. He even remembered to wave at her shocked smile as he drove by. She must have enjoyed all the action, because her watering can paused in midair, spilling water all over the porch, while she waved back.
CHAPTER 15
Noemi
Life used to make sense. At least, she and her dad picked up the pieces after her mom died. They’d become a family unit, just the two of them, surviving and moving on because they had to. Her dad had the business. She had school, her volunteer work, and him.
It wasn’t exactly simple, but she did know what to pretty much expect from every day. Twenty-four hours never used to be a big deal. It was just a span of time.
Now it was so much more than that.
In less than twenty-four hours, she’d lost herself completely. She had no idea what she was doing.
Driving. That’s what she was doing. Driving too fast. Not paying attention. She needed to pull over before she ran someone off the road.
Her hands were shaking, and a cold sweat coated her skin as she steered the rental over to the side of a residential street. The houses were all cute and quaint. They totally screamed resort town, with nice manicured lawns and pretty flower beds. The only thing they were missing was the white picket fence. They were so different from what was in New York, expensive, cramped living quarters. Most of her friends had to have at least three to four roommates just to afford basic rent. She knew she was lucky that her dad had money. They’d come over after her mom passed and bought a new three-bedroom construction. She’d always had enough space.
There was just noise and people and things going on everywhere in New York. She didn’t realize how much she missed the peace and quiet before.
She took a shuddering breath. Had she really just sworn at and flipped off the same man who’d given her more orgasms than she’d ever had in her life? Yes, that would be in one night than she’d probably had ever. Period. Total.
She never swore. She never cursed. Not really even in her mind. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d flipped someone the bird.
Noemi’s chest shuddered in and out with her shaky breath. She blinked hard, perilously close to tears that she didn’t want to give in to. Crying just made it all that much more real. Byron stood there like what he’d done wasn’t even a big deal. He’d taken it all in stride. He had the nerve to grin at her, cross his arms so that his muscles did all that crazy bunching and flexing that he probably knew looked good.
Of course, she’d noticed.
She couldn’t not notice.
What was wrong with her that she noticed?
He’d stood there making fun of her while she tried to rip him a new asshole. Not that there was anything wrong with the one he’d had. It was a very nice asshole…
Jesus. She should not be thinking about any of Byron’s anatomy. Byron. Not Cason.
Her hands were still shaking, her breaths violent and uncontrolled, her pulse ripping so hard at the side of her throat that it actually made it difficult to swallow, when a sharp knock rattled off the driver’s side window.
She gasped and nearly jumped out through the windshield. Thankfully, she still had her seatbelt on. She whipped her head around and found Byron staring back at her.
God. Of course, he was there. He’d followed her. He just couldn’t let her go. He’d chased her from New York. Literally, since she’d left because she was fleeing him. He’d followed her halfway across the country. Of course, he wasn’t going to let her just wander off and lose all hope of selling his stupid shoes across the pond. That’s what this was all about. Fucking. Shoes.
Without thinking, she raised her middle finger again. “This means fuck off, not fuck you,” she clarified in a near scream, just to be sure he could hear her.
Byron blinked. He was still wearing those damn faded jeans that cupped his ass, his leg muscles, his evil, seductive crotch area. And no, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His muscles gleamed in the sunlight, bronze, luscious, tempting, good enough to lick.
Oh yes, she’d licked him plenty. She k
new exactly what that bronzed, smooth skin tasted like. She knew how he tasted just about everywhere. She knew the sounds he made when he came, what it felt like to have him, hard and velvet, burning hot and wicked as a brand and throbbing, hard as steel inside of her.
They fit.
They fit in a way she didn’t even know was possible. In a way she’d never fit with anyone.
She nearly slammed the car into drive and peeled out of the spot, but she didn’t want to risk running Byron over. She wanted to get away from him, not be tied up in court in some ridiculous lawsuit because she somehow maimed him. It pissed her off that she couldn’t even be evil when she wanted to be.
He made a motion with his finger, spinning it in the air, and she knew he obviously wanted her to unroll the window.
She didn’t want to do it. She tried to tell her hand not to move. It didn’t obey. He was right. She was a good girl at heart. At least if she unrolled the stupid thing maybe she could somehow get through to him that she was not going to stick around. That she didn’t want to hear his lies. That she wasn’t up for anymore bullshit. That she was never going to let his unfairly amazing member anywhere near her again.
God. She shut her eyes, blinking hard. Why was she thinking about his member?
Oh right. Because he was literally leaning up against the window and his waist was right about eye level.
The window slid open easily, the whirring noise echoing loudly through the car like she was locked in some kind of cave and he’d come to save her. She’d rather stay in the cave, even if it was filled with bats and spiders, thank you very much.
Byron bent down and all of a sudden, it wasn’t his waist she was staring at. It was those intense, startlingly blue eyes. It felt like she was looking into them for the first time, falling into them. Why? Why did he have to do that to her with a single look? Turn her body inside out and flip her around, spin her and land her onto her ass so that she felt winded and ruined, helpless and so freaking hopeful?
“I don’t want to talk to you.” She ripped her eyes away, turning her head towards the road.
It was a fatal mistake, turning her attention, because he reached in, like the bastard he was, and flipped the locks on the car. He strode around before she could fumble to find the lock again, pulled open the passenger seat, and slid in beside her.
“What are you doing? Don’t you have ears? I said I don’t want to talk to you.”
“You don’t have to talk.” Byron’s voice was far too cheerful, even though she refused to look at him. “I’ll do the talking. You just have to listen.”
“I don’t want to do that either.”
“Well, I’m not going to get out of this seat, so it doesn’t look like you have a choice.”
“I do. I could get out right now and leave you sitting there.”
He reached across her faster than she thought possible and ripped the keys from the ignition. “You could get out if you want, but you’ll have to abandon your rental, because I’m not giving the keys back until you hear me out.”
“You’re the worst scum I could ever imagine.” Noemi pouted. She crossed her arms like a child and stared out the window, even though it hurt to have her neck cranked so far to the side.
“I might be, but why don’t you just give me a chance? You left New York when you obviously didn’t even know what I even looked like. You don’t know the first thing about me. You made all these assumptions about me being a total asshole-”
“Judging from what you did here, I’m pretty sure every assumption I made was correct.”
Byron huffed. “They might be. Actually, most of them probably were. Including the part where you assumed that while you were in the mood to let your hair down a little, I’d be a good candidate for a good lay.”
Noemi buttoned her lips at that, because what could she honestly say to that? She’d initiated almost every single thing they’d done the evening before and the night before. Maybe even the morning before too. It was astoundingly mortifying to have to face up to it, not just on a walk of shame, but on a marathon of shame.
Byron took pity on her and changed the subject to whatever nefarious course he obviously wanted to be on. “I came searching for you because I wanted you to hear me out. I had this grand plan about how we’d get married and how we could help each other out, keep it platonic, then get a divorce in due course. We could claim that it didn’t work out and people would get it. Most marriages end in divorce, so I was sure that your dad wouldn’t be too disappointed. You’d be young. I’d give you a portion of the company so you’d be set for life, even if your dad was pissed and wouldn’t give you shares in his. You’d walk away from the marriage a rich woman. You could literally do anything you wanted with your life. I had this plan… and then I met you.”
“And what? It just went out the window because you liked the taste of my pussy?” She’d never been so crass before and she winced. She was glad he couldn’t see her do it.
“Actually, no. It was before that. You were beautiful. Far prettier in person. I don’t know. It’s like from the second you talked to me after I nudged your bumper, I was hooked. I didn’t want to let you go. Whatever plan I had I just kind of… fucking forgot about it. I know it sounds stupid.”
“It does sound stupid.”
“Okay, maybe it is stupid.” Byron rubbed a hand over his face. She thought so, at any rate, since she could hear the rasp of stubble echoing through the silent car.
It was starting to get warm in there, the sun filtering in through the windows as the afternoon ticked on. She wished she could get out of the car and leave it behind like she’d threatened, but she didn’t want to deal with the rental company and have to confess that she’d lost the keys to the vehicle. It would probably have to be towed all the way back to Denver. She couldn’t imagine the hassle and shuddered at the thought of the cost.
“Maybe it is stupid, but you’re the first person I’ve ever told about my family. I mean that. That, at least, is true. Everything I told you about my dad and my mom was true. I- I’ve never… I’ve been with quite a few women, I’ll be upfront about that, but none if it ever meant anything.”
She snorted, even though something in her chest twanged, like she was made of strings and he knew just which ones to pluck to make it hurt. “Let me guess. Until me. I meant something. You felt something with me, and it was magical, like unicorns and rainbow farts and now you want to marry me for real because you think one night and a few orgasms are enough to last a lifetime.”
“I thought you said you faked those.”
She ground her teeth audibly. “That’s right. But you obviously thought they were real.”
“My cock did. Your vagina is one hell of an actress. I didn’t think it was possible to fake all that spasming and grasping. And are rainbow farts truly a thing? Are they visible? Do they smell like watermelon?”
“You’re truly disgusting, you know that?”
“Yeah.” Without asking her permission, Byron reached over and set his hand gently on her knee. He rested in there, but didn’t apply any pressure, so that it was more like a brush of his fingers even though his whole palm was there. “Noemi… can you look at me?”
She did, but she told herself she did it just so that he’d get the heck out of her car and let her get on with her day. She wanted to turn the engine on and run the AC. She was starting to stick to the chair, and it wasn’t even leather.
Unfortunately, Byron’s eyes were big and wide and blue and she found herself sinking deeper and deeper into them, helpless, like she’d just been shoved into quicksand. She remembered as a kid, she and her friends would play that game, the quicksand thing, and take turns pulling each other off the ground, out of an imaginary bog. She was actually afraid of quicksand, but she didn’t want anyone to know it. Turned out, not much had changed.
“Look. I haven’t spent my life being as nice as I should. I haven’t bothered to be as good or as kind or as compassionate. All I’ve done
is sold shoes that I don’t really even care about, because my father, right before he died, literally told me that I’d never succeed at it. I needed to prove him wrong, but the problem is, there was never a cap on it. It doesn’t matter how successful I am, I’m never going to feel like it’s enough. I’m tired. I’m tired of shoes. I’m tired of meaningless encounters with people who just want to fuck me because they either know I’m rich or because I look the way I do. I know, a man crying about it. It sounds pathetic. I’m just tired of everything. I’m exhausted actually. I came out here after you because I convinced myself I had to find you and if I didn’t, then I’d fail. I found something else. I don’t know what that is, but I just know that it feels like waking up. I haven’t felt that way since before my mom died. I don’t know what it is about you, but when I’m with you, I feel nearly… I don’t know. Would it sound fucked up to say whole?”
“Yeah. A little.”
“I do though. I know it’s been, like, less than a day. I know that this whole thing is messed up. I did it all wrong. I think that once, I might have been a good person. Better than I am now. Once, I would have cared about people and really cared about the business for the right reasons. I let a lot of things that happened to me mess me up.”
“That might not be your fault.” Damn it. She shouldn’t have said that. Worse, she shouldn’t feel bad for him.
“Yeah. Well. I guess it kind of is. I made all those choices along the way after the fact. Anyway. Here it is, plain and simple. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I’m scared to death to even think about it. I haven’t given anyone the opportunity to hurt me, because first my mom tore a big gaping hole in my heart and then my dad tore it right out. There is just about nothing left, but the little there is… I can feel it. I can feel it and it hurts and it feels really fucking good at the same time and that’s because of you. Even we don’t get married, even if I don’t sell another shoe anywhere in my lifetime, I’m just hoping you’ll give me the chance to take you out for those waffles I promised. Just give me a chance. If it doesn’t go anywhere, that’s okay. I just- I never had someone actually look at me like I wasn’t some fucking billionaire who owned some damn shoe empire that he never even really wanted. You did, though. You saw me. You touched me. All of me. Even the parts that aren’t accessible from the outside.”
