Tempt Me: A Stark International Novella

by J. Kenner

  "I'm not walking," I say stubbornly. "He's pushing."

  She doesn't say anything. But that's okay. I speak fluent silence. So I understand exactly what she's saying.

  Hell, I even know she's right.

  I sigh. "It's just that I--"

  I cut myself off. Just that I what? Don't really love him? That's not true at all. That I'm terrified? That's closer to the truth, but still not all of it. Because terrified of what? That he doesn't really love me?

  No, I'm certain he does.

  That he'll change his mind and stop pushing on the marriage front?

  I frown, but that's not it either. It's close, though, because the one thing I am sure of is that my parents' separation is fueling this dark hole inside my gut. But knowing the cause doesn't mean I know the solution.

  I tap the brake and exit the freeway, then tell Nikki that I have to go.

  "Okay," she says. "But call me if you need to."

  I assure her I will. Frankly, I hope that I do need to call her. At least that might mean that I need help moving forward. Right now, all I'm doing is floundering. And I can manage that all on my own.

  When I get home, I glance at my phone to check any texts that came in while I was talking to Nikki. There's only one, and it's from Moira with the time and place of her mother's birthday dinner. She says she can't wait to see you, Moira has added, and I frown at those words, wondering if Mrs. Hunter really said that, or if Moira is doing her own brand of manipulation.

  If it's really Mrs. Hunter--whom I adore--I hate to disappoint her. But at the same time, it's Ryan who I want to hear from. Ryan who I want telling me to come to the dinner.

  I don't understand how two people who are so close can now be so far apart, and I can't deny that I'm afraid. Because what had started with the vibe of a fight now has the putrid scent of forever.

  And forever's not a place I can go without Ryan at my side.

  Vault is a new Culver City restaurant that is the latest dining hotspot. The chef is supposedly a genius, and the building itself is fun because it used to be an old bank, and many of the bank-type fixtures still remain.

  For example, customers can actually reserve the old vault and have a private dinner inside the room, now decorated with art that sports a monetary theme.

  That's the room that the hostess leads me to when I ask for the Hunter party, and as I stand by the safe-style door and look at the huge steel cylinders that form the now-defunct locking mechanism, I can't help but think that if I go into that room, there will be no way out.

  I wonder if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

  My nerves are jangling, and I'm actually considering turning around and leaving when Ryan looks up from where he's standing by his mother. His eyes land on me, and I freeze--I just literally freeze in place. I try to read his expression, but there's nothing on his face. Not joy, not anger, not irritation, not indifference. It's as if I'm nothing, and my heart squeezes painfully at the realization that this is how it could be. That I could actually end up being nothing to this man.

  Could I? Even if I walked away, could I ever truly not be a part of him? Because I know damn well that he will always be a part of me.

  I'm still staring--my heart twisting at his nonchalance--when his lips curve into a slow smile and I see a spark of something I think is relief in his eyes.

  His lips move, and I smile at the simple, silent greeting as he mouths a single word--Hi.

  It's a truce, and I accept it gratefully. I enter the room, expecting him to come to me, but it's Moira who is at my side first, though Ryan joins a moment later and pulls my chair out for me.

  It's just the four of us--me, Ryan, Moira, and Mrs. Hunter--so the meal is intimate. And though Ryan sits next to me, he never touches me during the meal. I'm not sure if Mrs. Hunter notices. Or at least I'm not sure until Ryan excuses himself for the men's room.

  "Now then," she says, peering at me. "What's going on with you and my son? Are you two okay?"

  Moira props her elbows on the table and leans forward.

  And with both of them looking so earnestly at me, I can't fight the tears that spring immediately to my eyes. "Honestly, Mrs. Hunter, I don't know."

  "Angela," she says. "Haven't I told you to call me Angela?"

  "Angela," I say gratefully, and a sweet warmth fills me simply from the thought that I'm part of this family, even if only for a moment.

  "I won't ask why--he'll be back soon. But I will say that he loves you. Whatever else is going on between you, if you love him too, then you'll get back where you need to be. Trust me."

  "Thanks." I catch Moira's eyes, and see that she's nodding, too. "Thanks to both of you."

  Ryan steps back into the vault. "What are you thanking them for?"

  "For letting me be here tonight," I say. "Thank you, too."

  For just a second, I think he's going to not respond at all. Then he says, very softly, "Tonight, this is right where you belong."

  I cling to those words, and for the rest of the meal and dessert, the conversation flows easier. And when Ryan's hand brushes mine as we both reach for the fudge sauce at the same time, I feel a shock of awareness cut through me. But when his eyes meet mine, all I feel is loss. Because tonight I'm going home alone, even though what I want is to be in Ryan's arms.

  I know I could make that happen right now--all I have to do is say that I want to marry him. But when I let my thoughts linger on those simple words, my chest tightens, and suddenly I'm having a hard time breathing.

  "Jamie?" Ryan's hand is on my shoulder. "Are you okay?"

  I nod, wishing he wasn't touching me because it's so damn distracting--and at the same time wishing he'd never let go. "I'm fine," I lie. "My wine went down wrong."

  I manage to keep a smile on my face for the short duration of the meal after that, then I stand and make my excuses, telling them I'm sure they want some family time alone.

  I step out of the vault, and as I pause to make sure my phone is in my purse, Ryan joins me. "I'm glad you came," he says, taking my arm and pulling me aside. It's not an embrace, but I wish it were. I want him to hold me. To let me use his strength to get past this muck in my head.

  I want to tell him as much, but somehow I can't find the words. Instead, I say, "I'm glad I came, too. Angela's great. Your whole family is," I add, thinking of Moira.

  "I adore all of the women in my life," he says. "I'd do anything for them." He's looking at me as he says it, and my heart flutters in my chest. But I'm not sure if he's including me in that group, or if the hint of meaning I hear in his voice is nothing more than my imagination.

  I shake my head as I frown, trying to clear my thoughts.

  "You okay?"

  "Fine," I say, though it's not true. Our rhythm is off, and it's scaring me. We've always been in sync, even before we were dating. And now--well, now it almost feels like he's deliberately keeping me off balance.

  I want to get back to normal, and I don't know the path, and my lack of confidence is frustrating me.

  "Are you heading home?" Ryan asks.

  I shake my head. "Oh, I don't know. I haven't decided. You?"

  "Moira and I are taking Mom back to the hotel."

  I wait for him to invite me along, and when he doesn't, I say, "It'll be nice for you guys to have time to chat in the car. But she usually crashes early, doesn't she?"

  "Usually. Why?"

  "Oh. Um." I lick my lips. "Because I was wondering if you wanted to meet me somewhere. We could get a drink. We could talk."

  "Talk," he repeats. He meets my eyes, and I see the question in them--have I changed my mind? Am I going to say yes?

  I glance down at the floor.

  "Talk," he repeats. "No, I'm sorry. I can't do that."

  I look up, frustrated. "But, Ryan, I just--"

  "I have plans. I'm going to Westerfield's."

  "Oh." Westerfield's is one of the hottest clubs in town. It's also a Stark property, which means when Ryan goes he get
s the full VIP treatment. Something that never fails to snag the attention of the female patrons. Most of whom are usually drunk. And wearing outfits that are barely big enough to keep a Barbie doll modest.

  "Oh," I repeat.

  I wait for him to suggest I join him there, but all he says is, "It really was great that you came." Then the bastard leans in and kisses my cheek. He kisses my fucking cheek.

  And all that muck in my head starts churning, and all the anger and frustration I'm feeling toward myself comes spewing out--and, naturally, Ryan gets the brunt of my wrath.

  "You're going clubbing?" I snap, pulling back to look at his face. "You're bussing my cheek? I thought I was the woman you loved? I thought you wanted to marry me. I hesitate for five seconds and suddenly you're over me?"

  We're standing half-in and half-out of the vault. Inside that private room, Moira and Angela are trying very hard to pretend they aren't listening. In the main area, no one's pretending at all. They're gaping and enjoying the show.

  "You are the woman I love, and I do want to marry you. But you've made it clear you don't want that. This is the world where we aren't together, Jamie. Did you think you could have it both ways?"

  A ball of red rage bubbles inside me, and instead of spilling out of my mouth in a string of curses, it comes out in my hand--and I slap the shit out of him. "It's been two days. Two days. And I love you, you bastard. Think about that while you're playing these goddamn games."

  And with that, I turn away from him, hike my purse strap more firmly on my shoulder, and storm out of the restaurant, a string of curses running like mutilated pearls through my head.

  Goddamn him. Goddamn, goddamn, goddamn him.

  And while I'm at it, goddamn me. Because maybe he is playing games. But maybe he's not.

  Maybe this is all on me. Maybe I'm the one playing the game, and he's just changed the rules around to suit him.

  I'm crying as I head home, but home isn't where I want to be. I pace. I drink. I pace some more.

  But the wine doesn't taste good, and the back and forth motion across my floor isn't doing a damn thing for my temper.

  Finally, I sit down at my kitchen table, press speed dial on my phone, and listen to the ringing at the other end of the line.

  He answers on the third ring. "Jamie?"

  I draw in a breath and realize tears are streaming down my face. "Daddy?"

  "Oh, baby. I'm sorry--I should have called you, but I've been in such a state."

  "A state," I repeat, my voice heavy with sarcasm. "What state are you in? Mom's in Hawaii."

  He sighs. Loudly.

  "Dammit, Daddy. What happened? Are you--I mean, are you having an affair?"

  "No," he says, and I sag with relief. "Nothing really happened until your mother and I officially split."

  Oh god.

  "You're telling me there really is someone else?"

  "Jamie, sweetie, I know this is hard--"

  "Hard? You guys love each other. You practically worship each other. You--" I close my eyes and my mouth and try to regroup. "What the hell happened?"

  "I don't know," he says, and though I don't like the answer, I think it's honest. There's a note of quiet resilience in his voice. As if he's come to terms with something unpleasant that he doesn't understand, but knows just simply is. "I think it's been happening for a long time. I think...well, I think somewhere along the way we took each other for granted. We assumed we knew the score, and we just stopped talking."

  "But..." I trail off because I don't know what to say. I was expecting him to dodge my questions. Instead, he's given me honesty.

  "So is this a forever thing? Do you think you'll get back together? Do you still love her?"

  There's a pause, and then he says gently, "We'll just have to see, won't we? Wouldn't be worth living this life if I knew exactly where it was going, now would it?"

  I blink and spill more fat tears down my cheeks. "That's what you used to say when I was a little girl."

  "Meant it then. Mean it now."

  I choke back another sob.

  "Enough about all this. You tell me what's going on with you. How's Ryan?"

  I squeeze my eyes tight in defense against another round of tears. "He's okay," I say. "We're both okay."

  "Is that a fact?" I can hear the question in his voice.

  "Honestly? No." I draw in a breath. "But we will be." I nod, those three simple words ringing in my mind--We will be. "Listen, Dad, I have to go. I'm--I'm sorry about you and Mom. I still can't really wrap my head around it."

  "Sometimes I can't either. But no matter what happens, know that your mother and I both love you very much."

  "I know," I whisper.

  I hang up and sit there at the table for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes. My mind is churning with thoughts that are too hard to pin down because they're flickering too fast, more emotion than reason. More heart than mind.

  I draw in a deep breath.

  I can do this. I can overcome my fear.

  I have to. Because the only thing I fear more than the great unknown of marriage is the certainty that I'll lose Ryan forever if I don't let him put a ring on my finger.

  I attach my phone to a small tripod, set it to video mode, and focus it on the couch.

  Right now, I know exactly what I need to do.

  Because smart or foolish, right or wrong, the bottom line is that I'll never really have a guarantee. I'll never be completely certain about anything I do with Ryan or with my life. All I can do is believe.

  Right now, the thing I believe the most in is Ryan.

  Chapter Nine

  I consider texting him the video, but this is something I want to hand to him personally. And since I happen to know where to find him, I make the short drive over the hill to the club on Sunset Boulevard.

  Fortunately, Damien added my name to the VIP list long ago, so I walk past the line and ease into the crowded venue. It's a Thursday, so the crowd is slightly less packed than it'll be come tomorrow, but that's not saying much.

  I maneuver my way through the throng, trying to find Ryan in the sea of faces and the colored light reflected from the dance floor.

  Since I'm having no luck, I head to the bar and signal for a drink. The bartender knows me and he nods in acknowledgement. While I wait, I turn and let my gaze roam the crowd one more time.

  Nothing.

  I'm just about to turn back to the bar to grab my Scotch when I see him. He's on the far side of the room, about to go up the stairs that lead to the manager's private office. And there's a very stacked blonde right beside him.

  Seriously?

  Two days since he gives me an ultimatum?

  Less than two hours since he confirmed that he loves me and wants to marry me, but says that it's all on me?

  Not even a fucking week before he's hitting on a blonde in a tight knit dress?

  Really? Really?

  I gulp down my drink, leave a twenty on the bar, and push my way through the crowd. They're halfway up the stairs when I pound up behind them, then tug at Ryan's elbow.

  "Jamie!"

  "Do you want to explain yourself?"

  For a second he looks confused, but when I shift my gaze quickly to blondie, he actually has the nerve to let his confusion morph into amusement. "No," he says. "I don't think I need to explain. I think the situation is perfectly clear."

  "What happened to you love me? What happened to you want to put a ring on my finger? Are you planning to put a ring on her finger, too? Are you--"

  "Wait," the girl says. "A ring? What?" She shifts her attention from me to Ryan. "Mr. Hunter, if you need some time to talk to--"

  "Mr. Hunter?" I repeat. For a moment, I'm legitimately confused. But that confusion only lasts a second or two.

  Soon enough, it fades away, replaced by something much, much worse: abject mortification.

  "Oh," I say, trying on a smile. "Um, who are you?"

  "Delaney Dawson," she says. />
  "Ms. Dawson is the new security specialist for Westerfield's," Ryan explains.

  "Really?" I flash my most camera-ready smile. "Wow. Well. Congratulations. Everyone here is great. I'm sure you're going to really enjoy working with everyone at Westerfield's."

  "I'm sure I will, too." Her smile is a little too bright, and I think she's trying very hard not to laugh.

  "Delaney," Ryan says, "I realize this may be a little inconvenient, but do you think we could continue this briefing tomorrow? I need to speak with Ms. Archer alone."

  "Not a problem," she says. She meets my eyes, amusement twinkling in hers. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

  "Yeah," I say, waving a limp hand after her as she heads back down the stairs. "A pleasure." I swallow. "Ryan, I'm so, so--"

  "With me," he says, hurrying the rest of the way up to the management office. He pulls me inside, then slams the door behind us. And, I notice, he locks it.

  "Ryan--"

  But he shakes his head, silencing me, his expression like a wolf on the prowl. He takes a step toward me, and I take a step back, then another and another until I'm right in front of the wall of one-way glass that looks down on the dance floor below.

  "You thought I was fucking Ms. Dawson?"

  "Well, I...yeah."

  He steps closer still, and now my back is to the glass and he's right in front of me, so close I can feel his heat and smell the scent of him, like earth and musk.

  "If you're not with me, I'm a free man, Jamie. That means I can fuck whomever I want. Right?"

  I swallow, but I don't speak. The thought of him with another woman is so horrible I can't quite wrap my mind around it, much less my words.

  "But here's the thing, kitten. I don't want anybody else. Not to fuck. Not to hang out with in front of the television. You've destroyed me, Jamie." He reaches out, then cups my face in his palm. "You've destroyed me completely. And for that, I think you need to be punished."

  "I--what?" My head is certain I've heard him wrong. But my body is right with the program. Heat has pooled between my thighs, and my nipples are tight against the lace bra I wore under the sheath dress I'd put on for dinner with Hunter's family.

  "Turn around, baby," he orders. "Put your hands on the glass."

  I do, and as I stare out at the dancers beyond, relief explodes through me, along with a wild desire that is so palpable it makes my skin burn. Ryan pulls up my dress, then rips down my panties. "Is this what you want?" he asks. "For me to take you hard and fast? To punish you for thinking I could ever fuck another woman?"