by Bethany-Kris
Liliana’s brow dipped. “I don’t—”
“You either don’t trust men—any men, unless they’re family—or I guess in Joe’s case, you take any hint of something you might not like as a rejection against you personally. So you’ve got walls up high, and when something does come up, it feels bigger than it is because you’ve been prepping and waiting for it like it had to happen or something. Like it’s fucking unavoidable.”
Christ.
Why did her sister have to know her so well?
“Daddy did say that Joe had been told … not to tell me,” Liliana muttered. “And I am quite aware that I look for failure because it’s easier to take when I’m expecting it, thank you. Don’t need you to shrink my head—Daddy paid someone to do that after the whole Rich thing.”
“For the record, the therapist came in when you were dealing with that mess, and not when you were anywhere near ready to date guys again, Liliana. That was not the topic of discussion at your sessions—I know, you told me.”
“Yeah, well.”
“I don’t think making conversation with only you, paying attention to only you, calming you out of a panic attack, going to see your show, and fucking you was part of the job for Joe,” Cella said dryly. “If anything, that’s the kind of thing that would probably make him lose his job, and his life.”
“True,” Liliana said under her breath. “But—”
“You know you acted a little on emotions, and you could have given him the chance to explain better. Or something, Liliana.”
Fine.
“You know, I’ve run off on him, kicked him out of my place, and whatever else; he’s probably looking at me like I am some kind of crazy mess that he doesn’t want to deal with.”
“You’re not crazy.”
Ouch.
The bite in her sister’s tone was enough to sting Liliana all the way through the phone. So, maybe with their brother being bipolar, and often getting teased growing up because they had to walk behind the path he left of destruction, chaos, and uncertainty, crazy was a slur in their house. A word people tossed around without care, and in some cases, used it as a way to harm.
Cella was particularly sensitive to it.
“I know I’m not crazy,” Liliana said.
“Listen,” her sister said after a long pause, “if I find a guy who looks at me the way Joe was looking at you the night you two met, then I would consider myself lucky. Guys who look at girls that way are going to keep coming back, trust me.”
“He wasn’t looking at me like any—”
“Yes, he was, Liliana.”
“No—”
“Yes.”
“Cella.”
“I swear he was,” her sister said firmly, not offering more room for argument. “You just don’t look for that kind of thing in guys anymore, and if you do, it’s secondary to everything else that you’re looking for. Think about it.”
She did.
Now, Liliana looked to see if a guy was a little too sweet, or if he got close to her too fast for her comfort. She tried to look for any signs of jealousy that might rear its ugly head, and she was careful to watch how a man treated others when he didn’t think people were looking. She was always trying to find signs of manipulation—of her, or others—because that’s where she fucked up the first time.
That’s what almost killed her.
“You know,” Liliana said quietly, “I never really looked for any of that with Joe, but I was still maybe … protecting me, too. I run; or I push someone away when things get uncomfortable. Except with Joe, uncomfortable only meant if I thought he was discarding me in some way.”
“Maybe you knew you didn’t need to look for it in Joe.”
She had felt safe with him.
From that very first second.
“Yeah, I mean, maybe that’s—”
Liliana’s words cut off as a breaking news banner scrolled across the screen of the television, and interrupted the anchors discussing the awful downtown traffic, and an accident that had caused it. She only stopped to take notice because of the large mansion that was showcased from an aerial view as a helicopter flew overhead.
A mansion she recognized.
She’d visited it several times.
Before.
“Liliana?”
She heard her sister, but she couldn’t answer.
Not yet.
The video spanned wider—it showed a circular driveway filled with emergency vehicles, a black limo, and luxury cars.
Liliana’s throat tightened.
Her chest ached.
“A breaking story this morning,” the redheaded anchor said, “we’ve just received news that Republican Senator George Earl was found dead from what investigators say they believe to be an accidental drowning in his pool. We will keep you updated as more information develops.”
Liliana blinked.
Cella was still calling her name. “Hey, where did you go?”
“George is dead.”
“What?”
“George Earl—Rich’s father. He’s dead. Accidental, they said.”
Cella made a noise under her breath. “Good fucking riddance. The world won’t miss that enabling piece of shit.”
They said accidental. And yet, Liliana still wondered …
Her father had promised the man, after all. Lucian promised death, and he said no one would know the difference. No one would suspect a thing.
Was he keeping that promise?
She didn’t know her father to break promises.
Yeah, they said accidental.
Liliana still felt cold.
“Well done today, Liliana,” Gordo said.
Liliana stiffened at the sound of the director’s voice coming from the door of the women’s private rooms. It was where all the ladies changed, showered, and kept their belongings. It certainly wasn’t a place for men.
Men had their own.
None of the other ladies getting dressed seemed to mind Gordo’s presence, but Liliana was just a little too sensitive to shit like that. It didn’t matter that Gordo had never once tried anything inappropriate on her, or someone else—as far as she knew.
It still put her on edge.
“Thanks,” she tossed over her shoulder.
“You know I wasn’t sure you were right to be the lead of Swan Lake, but you’re proving me wrong.”
Liliana wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a backhanded compliment, or not. Her entire ballet career was muddied by the fact she hadn’t gotten a position in a company until later in her life than most other dancers, and people often mistook that as her being incapable, or a lesser dancer.
Their mistake.
She didn’t care to explain.
Tossing her bag over her shoulder, Liliana slammed her locker shut, and turned around to face Gordo. “I’m glad you feel like you’ve made the right choice.”
I guess.
What else could she say?
“Of course.” Gordo smiled, and tipped his head to the side. “Also, someone dropped off a little gift for you. You’ll find it at the front desk.”
“What gift?”
“You’ll see—I’m sure you’ll love it. All women do, it seems.”
Liliana frowned. “Who dropped it off?”
Gordo only shrugged.
Knowing she wasn’t going to get anything out of this man, Liliana simply passed him by. She answered the echoing goodbyes of the dancers with a wave of her hand over her shoulder. She was ready to get home, and relax.
Maybe, if she could convince herself to stop acting like a child, she could even call Joe. Apologize … or something.
It might have taken her a couple of days—and a difficult conversation or two with her sister—but she recognized that perhaps she had overreacted. Or at the very least, she owed Joe the chance to explain himself.
Even if she didn’t treat Joe like every other guy since the whole Rich debacle, she was still letting negative things bleed
into her perspective. She was going to try to do better with that whole thing.
Try being the keyword.
“Oh, Liliana,” the girl behind the front desk said. “Come to get your beauties before you go?”
“Yeah, Gordo said someone dropped something off for me?”
Margie smiled widely, and waved at the huge bushel of white roses on the side of her desk. Liliana stared at the ostentatious bundle for a long while, and then reached out to stroke one of the silky petals between her fingertips.
Joe, maybe?
“Any card?” Liliana asked.
Margie shook her head. “Nope—the guy just dropped them off, and said they were to be delivered to you before you left for the day.”
Likely Joe, then.
If he was watching her—still the one watching her—then she suspected he would have her schedule, and know she was at the studio.
“They’re a little big for me to be carrying home.”
Well, she would take a cab. Still, she didn’t want to hold that huge bushel in her lap the whole way, either.
“I could have them sent over,” Margie said, picking up on Liliana’s dilemma.
“Would you?”
“They’re too lovely to keep them here. Gordo hates flowers, anyway. He’ll just complain about them until someone throws them away.”
Figures.
“That would be a shame,” Liliana said.
Margie smiled in that way of hers again. “Exactly. Go ahead, and I will get someone to have them delivered to your apartment.”
“You’re a godsend.”
The woman behind the desk laughed. “Be sure to tell Gordo that the next time he’s in one of his moods.”
“You know I will.”
Really, though, when was that man not in a mood?
The sight of Joe leaning against Liliana’s door made her pause as she rounded the final steps. With his shoulder against the wall, he looked like every woman’s wet dream in dark-wash jeans, a white T-shirt, and his leather jacket. He kept his head tilted down, and his gaze on the small pocket knife he twirled between his fingers.
Bad.
Good-looking.
Dangerous.
Yeah, literally every woman’s wet dream.
What little resolve Liliana had left about her anger with him was quickly bleeding away the longer she stared at Joe.
How strange that was …
“Aren’t you supposed to be trailing me?” she asked. “If that’s your job, and all, to watch me.”
Joe lifted his chin a fraction of an inch, and his gaze found Liliana at the top of the stairs down the hall. He didn’t look the least bit surprised to find her standing there; it was almost as though he knew she was there the whole time.
Maybe he did.
Who was she to say?
“Not today,” he said. “Maybe not tomorrow, either. I have … other things to handle right now.”
Liliana’s brow furrowed. “Well, who is watching me then?”
Joe shrugged. “I’m not given those details.”
And the better question …
Something she had been thinking about for a couple of days—ever since she saw the news broadcast, anyway.
“Why are they having people watch me? Does it have anything to do with the Earl family, considering I’ve been approached twice now by them—or someone close to them?”
Joe’s face gave nothing away when he said, “I think you should ask your father those questions, Liliana. It’s definitely not my place to give out their business. They wouldn’t appreciate it, and I’m sure you understand when I say the last thing I need to do is piss off any of those kind of men.”
Liliana wet her lips, and looked away. “Yeah, that’s fair.”
“Are you going to stay down there, or come closer?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“Still pissed at me, then.”
Liliana took one step forward, and then another as she said, “Maybe I should have let you explain, Joe.”
His lips pulled into a smirk, and he cocked one eyebrow high. “Maybe?”
She sighed. “You’re going to make this hard on me, huh?”
“Not really.”
“Not—”
She was close enough for him to grab, and it seemed like that’s exactly what he wanted to do with her. In a blink, she found herself pulled into Joe’s embrace, and his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders. It was like she couldn’t help herself but bury her face into his chest, and hug him back.
A part of her wanted it.
Another part needed it.
“Been driving me crazy for days,” she heard him mumble.
“I don’t want to be a job, Joe.”
She felt his lips press to the top of her head. “Yeah, I got that.”
“So, I guess there’s not much for you to explain,” she said.
Joe let out a heavy exhale. “Nothing that I really can—nothing more than you already know. I get why it might have messed with your head, though. I didn’t really consider that, so my bad.”
“That’s a shitty apology.”
He laughed. “That’s because it wasn’t an apology.”
His hands slipped under her chin, and he tipped her head back. Through her lowered lashes, she stared at Joe as he stroked her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. And then, he closed the bit of distance between them, and kissed her soft, sweet, and slow.
Usually, he owned her with his kiss. Fast, hard, and deep. A lot like the way he enjoyed fucking her, really.
Not this.
Soft strokes of his lips. A gentle dance with his tongue. His gaze locked with hers.
Liliana smiled when Joe pulled away. “Was that the apology?”
“No.”
“Joe.”
He grinned. “This is the apology.”
“Get on with it, then.”
“I’m sorry if I made you feel like anything less than the amazing, interesting, and perfect woman you are, Liliana,” he murmured, stroking her cheeks again with his thumbs. “You’ve got this strange way about you—like a siren, or something. Captivating me, and pulling me in for more. That was all before I had to watch you, and I just considered the rest a bonus. I should have let you know, though. You may be part of the job I have to do, but when it’s just me and you … it’s just me and you.”
“And what does that mean—me and you?”
Joe tipped his head back and forth, considering. “I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“But you want to.”
“Hmm?”
“Figure it out.”
Joe smirked. “With you, yeah.”
Liliana pursed her lips, and gave him a look. “All right. Apology accepted.”
“I thought so.”
Cocky asshole.
She kind of liked it, though.
“Before I forget,” Joe said, digging into the pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a small white card, and offered it to Liliana. “This was taped on your door when I got here—someone delivered you flowers, huh?”
Liliana blinked as she took the card from him.
Already, her fingers trembled.
Worse, her heart thundered.
Frighteningly, she couldn’t take in enough air.
If not him—she’d thought it’d been Joe who sent the flowers—then who?
Liliana flipped the card over.
Anxiety swelled.
She saw familiar handwriting.
Pain exploded in her chest.
No name was attached—it didn’t need to be.
Her vision blurred.
“Liliana, hey,” she heard Joe say.
The panic attack came on hard, swift, and unforgiving.
Like it always did whenever Rich Earl took her off guard.
The fucking bastard.
Why wouldn’t he leave her alone?
ELEVEN
SHIT.
Liliana was losing it.
&nbs
p; Panicking—again.
Gasping breaths, heaving shoulders, and fists clenched so tightly he thought her manicured nails might be cutting her skin. She had to be seeing tunnel vision because she sure as hell wasn’t seeing him even when he stepped in front of her, and called her name. Even tipping her head back, and speaking softly didn’t help.
Yeah, shit was right.
Carefully, Joe pulled the little card from Liliana’s clenched hand. He didn’t need to look over the words—he’d already read them when he yanked it off her door. At the time, he’d been more focused on the fact someone else, who wasn’t him, had been sending her flowers. He felt a little fucking stupid for that, now.
“Hey, hey,” Joe said, keeping one arm tight around Liliana’s trembling shoulders. “Remember that thing we did on the street?”
Subtly, he saw her nod.
“You try that, and I’m going to grab your keys.”
Another nod.
She wasn’t speaking, but at least she was giving him something. Nods were better than fucking nothing. And he really needed to get her breathing under control, or she was going to black out from the way she was huffing.
Tears streaked lines down her face, and Joe took a quick second to wipe them away. It didn’t do very much good, though. Not a blink later, and more of her tears fell. A never-ending stream, really.
Jesus.
“Touch, see, feel, smell, and hear,” he told her. “Say them out loud, or in your head, but focus on that for a minute.”
Joe slipped the messenger bag Liliana had been carrying up from the floor, and dug through it. It was just his luck that he had to search through to the bottom of the bag to find the goddamn keys.
Once he had them, though, all was good. He unlocked her apartment, and practically kicked the door open as he turned the knob. Her dark studio apartment smelled like that cinnamon and cupcake candle he’d seen on her table once.
With the door at least opened, Liliana calmed a bit.
Not a lot.
Just a little.
Good enough for me.
Comforting, familiar places did wonders to sometimes help soothe anxiety. It could shorten the time of a panic attack for some people, too. He figured that was probably Liliana’s biggest thing—something, or someone familiar could help pull her out.
