by Evans, Katy
“So you supported her too?” I can’t wrap my head around it. “How old were you?”
“I’d just turned eighteen.”
“James.”
He shakes his head and sticks his hand up. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I did what I had to do. I did what I wanted to do.”
“And Maria?”
He smiles slowly. “She graduated with honors. Fell in love with radiology and became a tech. Married her first patient. Can you believe that?”
“I’m so happy for her, for them!”
His laugh is easy and hypnotic. “So am I. If you’re ever around them for a minute, you’ll know that they’re exactly where they need to be. They can’t keep their hands off each other.”
“If only the rest of us could be so lucky.” My eyes meet his, and I become increasingly twitchy and look away.
So that’s why he’s a daredevil. That’s why he does what he does. He was all alone. And that’s why maybe . . . in some subconscious part of him . . . his troublesome relationship with death keeps him coming back to taunt it over and over again. Or maybe it’s not all that complicated. Maybe he just likes the adrenaline rush.
As I think these things, I realize James is stealing fries from my basket.
I glare at him and pull my basket a little closer. “Hey. Don’t put your fingers in my basket unless you want to lose them, okay?”
He lifts his hands, palm up, as if he’s innocent. Yeah, right.
“What?” he demands as he lowers his hand suspiciously close to my basket again. “You’re a pinchpenny with your fries?” He steals one from my basket again, popping it into his mouth and munching, savoring it.
When he grabs yet another one, he sticks half into his mouth and leans forward. As if expecting that I—me—will lean over and bite the other end straight out of his mouth.
“Ew. I’m not. Here. Have them all.”
I push my basket toward him, flustered when he smirks and grabs the end of the fry, pushing the rest into his wickedly sexy, smirking mouth.
James tsks and pushes back my basket. “I’ve got some, thanks. Just want to eat a few of yours. Taste better, for some reason. Yep.” He nods when I can only gape with an open jaw. “What? Did they give you special ones?”
Noting the twinkle in his eye, I shove at his hard shoulder and shoot him a glare. “Of course they do. I’m special everywhere. And if you paid attention, I’m trying to make you special too,” I joke.
“Your money is the same as everyone else’s here, Elizabeth,” he says with exaggerated somberness; then he lifts his lidded drink, sipping from the straw.
I smile, suddenly not being able to remember an evening like this one. Where I didn’t have to worry about anything and simply enjoyed. “Thank you for the burgers. I was thinking that maybe it’s too stressful for you to be trying on all our suits with Michael and the Banks team milling around. So maybe we can continue with you trying on our suits at my place tomorrow—gives us more privacy until you’re ready?”
“You mean you don’t want me to be out in public yet,” he says, setting down his drink and looking around. “At least, your public. Got it.”
“What? No . . .”
His glance falls momentarily to my lips. “It’s okay. I do what the boss tells me. And believe me. I’d dig the alone time.”
Trying to distract him and get rid of the awful knots in my stomach, I reach out to toss a fry to his chest. “I need a good night’s rest. Take me home, kind sir.” I raise my hand exaggeratedly.
He stares at the back of my hand. “Now what?” He lifts those thick-lashed eyes of his to mine.
I realize I’m making a fool of myself and lower my hand. “You gently help me to my feet, offer me your elbow, and escort me home,” I say, rolling my eyes and laughing as I stand.
He shoots me a curious glance as if wondering where the hell I left my uptight persona. “Just checking how drunk you are.”
“You can’t get drunk on Diet Coke.”
“Ah, but what do I know of what they give the special people in their drinks here?”
He sets his hand on the small of my back and leads me out to the parking lot.
I’m keenly aware of that hand and the fact that his thumb is moving very slightly on my back as we approach my car when voices halt us.
“Hey, JIMMY. Jimmy Rowan? Shit, I hardly recognized you! Remember me?” One of the blond twentysomethings peels away from his group and walks over to shake his hand. “Man, it is you. You did a dare to help get a wheelchair for my sister. Remember how we emailed you?”
“Damn, Bert! Of course I remember you and your sis.” James whistles as if amazed they’re face to face again. Then his eyes shift to me, and they widen as he realizes his blunder.
“Man, you remember my name! You’re so cool!” Bert gushes as he shakes his hand. “Hey, when’s the next video?”
James’s voice is suddenly stiff. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
The guy leans closer, staring at him. “Are you kidding me?”
He shakes his head. “No. Sorry. Have a good night.”
Then he jogs in front of me, away from the guy, who’s staring after him. A wheelchair?
I glance at him as we board the car, surprised that he swings the door open for me.
Guilt creeps in when I think of me being the reason he had to shut down his fan’s enthusiasm.
“Fan of your channel?” I ask as I climb in.
“For a long time.” There’s a bite in his voice. I can tell he hates having to turn a fan away.
He shuts the door and walks around the front of the car toward the passenger side.
He’s learning.
He’s doing everything I’ve asked for.
But for the first time, I wonder if I’m teaching him the right things.
I try to reassure myself that I’m not doing this to be mean. My future position as CEO rides on the success of this project. I found James in a filthy bar, brawling like some uncivilized beast come from the Middle Ages! For the people of my crowd, someone like James is not worth their time—it’s true that they would look down on him. How can I get them to purchase what he’s selling if they believe he’s beneath them? Nobody can know where I found him.
For his efforts, he’s getting a million dollars out of this deal, a new wardrobe, a new life for his kid brother, and a lesson in how to act like a civil human being. He’s going to be thanking me one of these days, just like Bert just thanked him.
I repeat that to myself over and over, trying to feel good about my project once again as he gives me directions to his house.
His place is a small crumbling little piece of crap in a bad neighborhood, with an overgrown postage-stamp lawn and a few garbage cans strewn all over the driveway. People sit out on their stoops, watching with interest as I pull up in my Audi. Besides Tim’s Bar, I don’t think I’ve ever been in such a bad neighborhood, ever.
I can’t help thinking, though, about that fan he had to turn away. The knot in my stomach that appeared when James turned him away doesn’t ease. “James, I—”
“I’d invite you in. But my brother’s there.”
I nod.
He looks at me briefly, then gives me a grin and says, “See you tomorrow, boss.”
And then he slams the door.
As I watch him jog up the steps to his front door, I realize it’s the first time he didn’t try anything.
And it may have been the first time that I would have let him.
Strange that even though I told myself I didn’t want to go anywhere with him, when I pull into his driveway to turn around, I sort of don’t want to leave.
Jimmy
As I climb the steps to my house, I’m thinking of that guy I met in the parking lot of Shake Shack.
If there’s one thing I hate about this arrangement, it’s dismissing my fans. Denying where I come from. Pretending like I’m above it all. Because these people? They’re the reason I still exist. This neighborhood
might not be flashy, but I like it. People look out for one another. I like Tim’s; I like doing stunts. Just because I’m playing her damn fantasy man for a few months, I don’t want to turn my back on the things that make me who I really am.
But Lizzy doesn’t go for any of that shit. And something tells me her ideal guy wouldn’t either.
Inside, I hear Charlie run up to the door to see if it’s me. “You’re home!”
“Hey, tiger.”
“Where were you? You hungry?” he asks.
I slam my palm to my forehead. “Goddammit. I was out for burgers. I should’ve brought you some.” I eye him. “What’ll you have?”
“I’ve had dinner already. Maria made me.”
“She still here?”
He shakes his head. “Just left. Told me to tell you to text her when you got in.”
I shoot her a text saying, I’m home. Thx. I owe u.
Maria: Anytime. And no. You don’t!
I toss my phone aside as Charlie buzzes around me like a little bee.
“Hell, what’d she give you? A bucket of sugar?” I ask.
“No. Pizza. Want to play Call of Duty?”
I slump down on the couch and automatically grab a remote, exhaling as I resist the urge to rub my chest and get rid of this odd pressure I felt during dinner with Lizzy.
Lizzy.
I saw her working today. I was impressed, to say the least. She rolls her sleeves up and gets right down to it. Smart, organized, with a touch of sweet that makes me want to take a bite out of her.
Within seconds she’d taken control of the situation with getting me dressed. Measuring me head to toe. Trying out slacks. Shirts. Jackets. Tuxes. Showing me how and when to put them on and wear them. I was floored by how good I looked, and even more floored that I didn’t hate it half as much as I thought I would.
And what the hell was it with me telling her about my family? I never talk about that. Never.
And there I was spilling the beans with Elizabeth.
Who would have thought an uppity socialite from Midtown like her would get me?
Except she’s not uppity. Hell, I saw her today. I admire any woman who can work. But it’s more than her work ethic. Somehow, not sure if it’s as clear to others as it’s clear to me . . . but I see her vulnerable side. I saw it clear as day when her father was mentioned earlier.
Yeah. Her old man doesn’t have the reputation of a softy.
I can’t imagine what being the only daughter of Harold Banks is like.
But judging by what she said, it’s not damn easy.
She wants to impress her dad.
And I want to help her. I want to shed this rough exterior and be the person she thinks I can be. And maybe even impress her a little in the process.
“I just shot you in the face!” Charlie whoops.
“I wasn’t concentrated. Click restart. I’m going to getcha.” I rumple his hair, and he groans.
“Fine. I’ll get you,” he mumbles, restarting the whole thing.
On first instance, back in Tim’s Bar, I was blown away by how fucking stunning Elizabeth is in person. I’d heard of her. Seen her in the society pages. In person . . . all that beauty is fucking exponentiated to the tenth power. Gorgeous, shoulder-length dark hair. Wide green eyes.
More than ever tonight, my hands itched with the need to touch her. My tongue feels restless in my goddamn mouth with the need to lick her.
Not just because I know we’d be damn good together, if I can just be the person she wants me to be.
Because I see beyond those gorgeous dark locks and green eyes. I see something in her. Just like she saw something in me.
I LIKE what I see.
And I want it. Bad.
“I got you again!”
Giving up, I groan and toss the controller aside. “Yeah, I love you, too, brother.”
“Why are you dressed all fancy?”
“Work.”
“Work is here.” He reaches out and taps my phone.
“I told you. I got a new gig. A good one. I’m not going to ruin it.”
Charlie’s busy unlocking my phone.
“How many times have I told you that’s private?”
Like any good little brother . . . Charlie ignores me. “Your subscriber list is up. When are we doing another video? Everyone’s asking.”
“When I’m done with this gig.” I shrug then, adding, “Maybe.”
YOUTUBE
Elizabeth
I have to send LB pics and a bio of our new model. He’s asked me for it three times, each time with increasing urgency. That’s what I opened my computer to do.
Instead, all I’ve been doing is sitting on the couch in my apartment, watching James’s videos obsessively on YouTube, when he arrives the next morning at nine a.m.
I swing the door open, and the sight of him slams into me.
“Hey,” I blurt out.
James Rowan is freshly showered. Hands in his jeans pockets. Looking as big or even bigger than before.
And for some reason, my heart gives an odd little skip of joy at the sight of him.
Trying to recover, I quickly step back to let him in.
“Hey, the suits haven’t arrived—”
There’s a deep, familiarly rumbly voice behind me, and he lifts his head to look past my shoulders.
At my laptop.
My open laptop.
My jaw drops when I realize I forgot to close the video.
“Oh.” Damn it, Elizabeth!
Aware of James’s sparkling blue gaze on my profile, I rush over to shut the laptop. “I was just . . . you know.” I shrug.
He’s slowly approaching.
“You haven’t cashed the check yet,” I say, trying to distract him.
“I’ll get to it when I get to it, which will be soon. Don’t worry. I’m still getting money from my YouTube views for what I need. In the meantime . . . thought we’d get started.”
“Of course.” I rummage through my desk. “I have my list. While we wait for the suits to get here, we’ll start checking off a few things—”
“First things first.”
He grabs my face and lifts it up at an angle so that our eyes connect.
He leans down and suddenly teases my lips apart with his own.
I inhale sharply when his tongue flicks over the tip of mine.
What the . . . oh gawwwd.
I grab fistfuls of his shirt and try to make the kiss go faster, suddenly wanting nothing more than this, but James slows me down. His tongue smoothing, calming.
I’m trembling head to toe as he leads the kiss. It’s like he doesn’t want to be rushed, like we have all the time in the world.
He peels his lips away from my wet ones and looks down at me with dark-blue eyes, sliding his fingers under the fall of my hair. He studies me for what feels like forever. I can see every dark fleck in his blue eyes as I study him back, unsure that this is happening. Here. In broad daylight. In NOT a dream.
He lets out a rough growl, my hair fisted in his hand as he leans back down again.
I shudder on contact, letting him seize my lips again. Fisting his T-shirt, harder this time. The heat of his mouth, the touch of our lips, I’m swimming in it. In him. He’s so electric I gasp as the fire spreads through my veins, and this time I pull back too.
Our eyes meet again—hold. “What is that for?”
“For being irresistible.”
“I shouldn’t . . . ,” I breathe out.
“Fuck this, I shouldn’t have started it. It’s in the contract. But I couldn’t stop thinking of you last night.”
Fuck the contract, I think, my eyes slipping down to his perfect pink lips, wet and red with the heat of our kiss.
He knows what I want.
“Give me one more, heiress.”
He tilts my head back, parting his mouth wider, smothering my lips with his a third time.
I’ve never been kissed like this. Or kissed anyone back lik
e this.
He kisses me as if this kiss is his whole reason for being . . . and me? As if it’s my reason for existing.
His hand slides from my hair to grip my nape—and he devours me as I loosen my fingers and flatten them on the hard planes of his chest.
I can’t get enough of him. The taste of him. The feel of him.
It’s as if lately I’ve wanted nothing but to see him again. Pretending that I wanted to see him to change him—when I didn’t realize until this very second that NO. NO. I was wrong. All I wanted was to kiss him.
He cups my jaw in his hand now, holding me still as he savors me. His stubble rasping against my cheek as he moves to trail a path of kisses down my neck, then back up. To catch my gasping breaths as he returns to kiss me.
I hear myself moan. Shaking from the heat of his kiss, and how much I want him.
When we pause, I stare at his mouth. His mouth that’s red and swollen by how much we’ve kissed. Right here. Very un-Elizabeth-like.
I have to peel away with effort, panting as I wonder what got into him.
What’s gotten into me?
HE did.
He has gotten to me.
He studies my lips with hooded eyes, his eyelids heavy, his pupils so blown up his eyes are nearly black.
My throat feels swollen and thick.
“Have a good day?” he asks thickly as he runs his gaze over my face.
“Yes. You? Beat anyone up?” My voice is just as thick and very faint.
“No. But it’s still early.”
“So it’s . . .” I’m unsure. “Not a good day?”
“Oh, it’s a good day.”
I lick my lips, returning his devilish smile as I shake my head and try to recover.
“It really is,” I admit.
Realization dawns.
We just kissed like crazy. During work hours. In my apartment. And if I had my way, I’d do more than that.
What the fuck is wrong with me? It doesn’t matter if the contract will forgive me for having this fling. Sleeping with the face of our new line—what would Dad think of me if he found out? Do I really want to bring my whole future down because I can’t keep my hormones in check?
I need to keep a distance from sexy devil James Rowan because of my dad. Because of me. Because I don’t trust myself with him and he’s so not what I need in my personal life.
