by Beth Michele
“Oh shit,” she calls out, springing from the bed, “I need to shower quickly and get downstairs for the seminar.” She unzips her suitcase and begins digging through it, yanking out various items of clothing as I walk up behind her.
“So, listen, I have to get going.”
Immediately, she stops what she’s doing and faces me. “Okay,” she tells me, and I think I hear a touch of disappointment in her voice. Maybe I’m looking for something that isn’t there.
“I was thinking,” I ponder aloud, my fingers caressing her cheek, “maybe we could have dinner tonight when the seminar’s over?”
“Yes, I’d like that,” she responds, making me instantly grin.
“Great. I’m going to spend the day with my brother.” I drape her tousled hair over her shoulders. “How about if I pick you up at… say, six?”
“That’s perfect. Oh, can we go somewhere casual? I didn’t bring anything that dressy to wear.”
“Absolutely. I’d prefer it.”
“I’ll walk you out,” she offers, and I stare down at her delicious body. The only place I want to go is back to bed.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart. I’ll never leave.”
She giggles before rising up on her tippy toes, softly brushing her lips against mine. “I had a great time yesterday, thank you.”
“As did I, Autumn,” I reply, noticing she winces when I say her name. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she claims, painting on a smile.
“Hmph. Okay,” I relent, though I’m not sure I believe her. “So I’ll see you tonight.” I grab the handle on the door, but turn back. “I think I need one more kiss before I leave. You know, just to tide me over.”
A larger than life smile envelops her face before she takes two steps to stand in front of me. She holds up a finger, waving it. “One kiss.”
My arms dart out to grab her, catching her by surprise, towing her to my chest. She giggles, the happy sound tugging at my heartstrings.
I won’t lie. Not about this. I like the sound of it—a lot.
With one gaze into Autumn’s soulful blue eyes, my mouth tenderly meet hers. She parts her lips, luring me in with that warm tongue, and I groan at her sweet taste, willing her closer. Angling her head to the side, I deepen the kiss and she melts into me, curling the fingers of her hands into the hair at the nape of my neck, a shiver rippling down my back. I love the feel of her mouth, I’m not anxious to leave it.
All too soon, though, her lips become lighter against mine and she breaks the kiss, leaving me wanting more of this, more of her.
“Until tonight, sweet Autumn.” I wink, roving her body and those magnificent blue eyes one last time before I head out.
“Until tonight,” I hear her say, as the door closes behind me.
“Great. The elevator’s out of service,” I mutter to myself, scanning the fifteen flights of stairs I have to climb to get to Rex’s apartment. Exhausted, I lift my suitcase, trudging up the stairs at a snail’s pace, wiping a bucket of sweat along the way. By the time I make it to Rex’s door, beads of moisture are dripping from my forehead. They need to get that damn elevator fixed.
He opens the door just as I’m about to knock. “Well, well, if it isn’t my rich tycoon of a brother. Nice of you to show up whenever you feel like it.”
“Good to see you, too, Rex,” I retort, walking inside, dropping my suitcase, and plopping down on the brown leather couch. “Man, those stairs are killer. You need to make sure they get that elevator fixed.”
“What’s wrong, pretty boy?” he cackles. “Upset we don’t have all the modern luxuries that you have in Manhattan?” He drops down beside me on the sofa, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.
“Fuck you,” I sneer.
“Ooooh, you swear now?” He chuckles, and I smack him across the head.
When his head falls forward, I spot yet another tattoo that I don’t recognize. It’s a pair of angel wings with a dagger running through their center. “You got another tatt?”
“Yeah.” He touches his hand to the back of his neck. “I got it about two weeks ago. One of the guys at the shop did it.”
“It’s really good.”
“Thanks. You should think about it, bro. I’d love to ink that virgin skin of yours.”
I knot my hands behind my head. “I know you would.”
“You want a beer?” He pushes up from the couch and heads toward the galley kitchen.
I glance down at my watch. “It’s only ten, but sure, what the hell.”
He spins around, gesturing with his hands as if he’s balancing them. “Wow, what’s with all the swearing? You’re really teetering on the edge. I like it.”
A gust of air leaves my mouth and I shake my head. As he walks off, I can’t help but notice his relaxed swagger, a twinge of jealousy puncturing my chest. Ripped jeans, concert t-shirt, tattoos. He has such a laid-back attitude and loves what he does. I release a frustrated sigh. If only it were that simple.
I’m a bit of an overachiever, always have been. I knew from a young age that I wanted to be successful, but the need to have it happen consumed me after my father died. There was no way I’d live under my mother’s thumb. I didn’t want to have to rely on her for anything. Plus, she always acted like I owed her something, and I owed her nothing.
I drove myself into the ground with my studies. Everything else fell to the wayside. Nothing else seemed important. Straight A’s through middle school, honors classes in high school, and then finally achieving my ultimate goal—admission into Harvard.
By the time I graduated, I had my pick of offers with various companies around the country. Still wanting to be in New York City, I took a position at a venture capital firm. I worked my ass off, earned several promotions, then took that knowledge, and moved on. A few years later, at the age of twenty-five, I started my own software company, and the rest is history.
Rex comes back out with two beers, handing me one. “Here, man.” Collapsing back down on the leather couch, he flicks the cap off, tossing it on the table. He tips the neck of his bottle against mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” I chug the liquid, draining the bottle quickly.
“Whoa. That was fast.” He takes a sip, nodding toward the kitchen. “Another?”
“No thanks. Maybe in a bit.”
“So, you want to tell me why you didn’t show up last night?”
I recline my head back against the sofa, exhaling a breath. “I met someone.” My mind immediately drifts to Autumn and I smile.
“Damn, that good, huh?” he asks with interest, setting his beer on the table, slanting his body in my direction, his arm propped against the back of the sofa.
“Yeah, that good.”
“Which billionaire’s daughter is she?” He laughs, slapping his knee, and I turn my head to glare at him.
“She’s not a billionaire’s daughter. She’s just a normal girl.” I hesitate for a beat, regretting the words once they leave my mouth. “I told her about Tyler.”
“What the fuck?” he snarls, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
Sitting up, I lean my elbows on my knees, steepling my fingers against my chin. “I’m not sure. It just happened, and to be honest, Rex, I felt a lot better once I told her. She actually said some things that helped me.”
“I’m sorry, bro,” he apologizes, grasping my shoulder. “That wasn’t fair. You’re entitled to tell whoever you want about it. I guess… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking about Ty a lot, you know, seeing as his birthday’s coming up.”
“Yeah, I know. I had a nightmare last night for the first time in years. I was a mess. She helped get me through it.” I drop my head in my hands, a sigh traveling up my throat. “Do you… blame me, Rex?” I ask, eluding his gaze, not wanting to see the look in his eyes when he answers the question I’ve been avoiding all these years.
“What?”
Astonished pal
e brown eyes stare back at me when I finally glance up at him. “Do you blame me, for not looking after him, for not protecting him? Because if I had, maybe he would still be here,” I admit, my stomach hardening, heart heavy with grief.
“Fuuuuck. Is that what you think? Fuck no, Hunter. I’ve never blamed you. You want to know who I blame?” he bites out, his teeth grinding together, tattoo pulsing violently against his neck. “I blame our fucking mother, that’s who I blame. For not being present when she should’ve been, for not knowing there was something wrong. For cheating on Dad. Shit, I blame her for fucking everything.” He moves closer, cupping my knee, expelling a deep breath. “But not you, bro, never you.”
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, forcing back the years of guilt threatening to pour out, tearing me apart, draining oxygen from my lungs. I don’t want any of it. I just want my baby brother back.
“I think we need more beer,” he calls out, before bounding to the kitchen to grab a whole six-pack. “I know it’s kind of early to be drinking, but what the hell, right?” He comes back a minute later, and with a flick of his thumb, pops the caps on both our beers. “To Ty!” he shouts, raising his beer bottle high in the air.
“To Ty,” I cheer, sucking it down before smacking it hard on the table.
Rex finishes off the last of his beer and opens another. “So tell me more about this chick from last night. How did you meet?”
“We met in the train station, actually,” I answer, fighting back a smile. “We ended up sitting together on the way here. I don’t know, Rex. She’s not like the women I usually spend time with and I like that. There’s something about her that kind of sticks with me.”
“I gotta hand it to you, bro, women just flock to you. The money, the good looks, the Rolex watch,” he jokes, honing in on my wrist.
“You’re one to talk. I’ve seen those women fawning all over you in the tattoo shop.”
“Speaking of which,” he details, blowing out a breath. “I did a nipple tattoo the other day, and holy shit, this chick had some of the nicest tits I’ve seen in a long time. It’s times like that where professionalism really sucks.” He laughs to himself. “So… are you gonna see her again?”
“Yup. Tonight.” I feel another smile coming on, and I’m helpless to stop it. It’s genuine, just like Autumn.
“Motherfuck,” he utters, running a hand through his dark, spiked hair, “there goes our trip to the strip club and my lap dance.”
Chapter Seven
~Olivia~
The seminar ended early and it was a complete waste of my energy. The entire time I sat there, only one thought ran through my brain on repeat—Hunter. Actually, there was one more. When the hell am I going to get out of here so I can head over to Victoria’s Secret to pick up sexy lingerie for our date tonight?
That’s where I am now, standing right outside the door to the store. It’s pretty sad, actually. All of my friends shop here on a regular basis, but not me, not the erotic romance author. She sleeps in a tank top and shorts, flannel pajamas in the winter. But I want to be sexy for him. For the first time in a long time, I feel sexy, desirable.
I smooth down the sides of my skirt as I walk in. The early twenty-something sales girl with bleached blonde hair, perky breasts and personality to match makes me feel old, and I’m not old by a long shot. I know I have a pretty nice figure; hourglass curves, firm breasts, fairly nice ass. Yet, for some reason, when I walk in here, I always feel inferior. My fingers absentmindedly fidget with the bracelet on my wrist as I attempt to push away years of insecurity, trying to shed my old skin, which for me, isn’t easy.
My parents didn’t help matters. Growing up, our house was completely closed off in every sense of the word. No one walked around naked, and I can only recall seeing my mother in her bra and panties once. Most of my adolescence was spent in the dark, not knowing what was happening to me, or what to expect. I relied on books from the library, the ones I snuck home and read in my closet.
“Can I help you?” the sales clerk chimes in, sweet-talking me out of my little walk down menstruation lane.
“Actually, I’m good, thanks,” I reply, feeling confident enough that I can pick out sexy underwear, knowing what Hunter will like. My heart gallops thinking about seeing him tonight and I beg it to slow down. After all, I hardly know him.
An hour later, with a satisfied smile on my face and three Victoria’s Secret bags slung over my shoulder, I make my way out the door. I practically bought every matching set they had: red and black, blue and black, pink and black, cream and red, cream and pink. I’ll admit I also bought a couple of cotton tees and sweatpants. The lingerie may be sexy, but let’s be honest, it’s not all that comfortable.
I casually stroll around Faneuil Hall, stopping at a street vendor selling coffee. I need my caffeine. After ordering a mocha latte, I spot a nearby bench and take a seat, dropping my bags down beside me. The sun feels warm and welcome on my skin, as I sip my coffee and people-watch for a while. It’s one of my favorite things to do actually, and often times my mind will wander into various scenes for my novels. For some reason, my eyes venture up to the sky. It’s a clear blue, only one cloud marring the otherwise perfect vista, and I blanch, like it’s shining a blaring light on the fact that I’m playing a part, reminding me of the hole in my façade.
There’s a rustling beside me, my gaze following the sound to find a disheveled woman slumped over. Her hair is matted and tangled, jacket filled with holes as if moths have been biting at it, shoes mismatched. My stomach tightens at her appearance, and when she lifts her head, it practically suffocates me from the inside out. She’s not old, yet her skin is weathered, lips cracked, eyes carrying years of sadness. There’s a story behind those eyes, and my limbs are suddenly heavy at the thought of her turmoil, what’s brought her to this point in her life.
She puts her hand on my arm and I startle. Not because I’m afraid. Simply because I realize in this moment that I could be her, any one of us could be her. We never know where the course of our lives will lead us, what will break us versus what will make us stronger, motivate us to go on. Something has obviously broken her spirit, and my heart bleeds for her. There’s nothing worse.
“Do you have a dollar?” Her voice is gravelly, hand shaking against my arm. “I’m hungry.”
My eyes immediately well up with tears, thinking about how much I have, how blessed I am yet there are so many with so little. My mother’s words come back to haunt me. “Don’t give money to strangers, dear. They may have a sign that says they’re hungry, but they are most likely giving in to their demons, you know,” she whispered, “alcohol or drugs.”
Without a second thought, I unzip my purse, reaching for my wallet. I take out a fifty-dollar bill and hand it to her. Thinning eyes grow wide, as if seeing things, before darting up to meet mine.
“That’s too much,” she whispers, “I only asked for a dollar.”
“No,” I smile back, assuring her, “it’s not nearly enough.” I take my hand and enclose her fingers around the bill, pushing it toward her. “Please, take it.”
“Thank you,” she sputters, stumbling to her feet. “God bless you.”
My eyes are glued to her back as she walks way. “Wait!” I shout after her, when she’s just a few feet from me. I trot over to where she’s standing and remove my jacket. “Here. I’d like you to have this,” I persuade, and this time she doesn’t refuse me. She clutches the coat tightly in her arms, a small smile attending to her lips.
“Thank you,” she says, and I smile in return, hoping I’ve helped to lessen her burden.
I amble around a bit more, window-shopping, until a store called Funusual catches my attention. It makes me think of Vanessa. She’s got an eclectic personality and likes things that are a distant cry from the norm.
Vanessa Hilliard is my closest friend. She’s the only one who knows that I’m Autumn Winters. We bumped into each other in a coffee shop in Manhattan when I first
moved there, then ended up getting drunk together a few nights later, all of my secrets spilling out on the dance floor as if I needed to confess my sins.
The door jingles as I step inside. There are lots of cool items and I spot something for her almost immediately. It’s a small lamp with feet. Perfect.
With one more bag weighing me down, I plod back to the hotel, anxious to get ready for Hunter tonight. It’s only four, and I still have two hours before his arrival, plenty of time to pamper myself and relax.
An excitement that I haven’t felt in a while rockets through me as I dump out all of my purchases on the bed. My biggest decision will be what color lingerie to wear tonight. I let out a childish squeal before I skip to the bathroom, filling the marble tub with luxurious bubbles.
I spend way too much time in the bathtub, my skin shriveling to prune-worthy status, my mind distracted by images of rich, brown eyes, a strong jaw, his velvety cock. My teeth latch on to my lip again; thoughts of Hunter calling me an angel have my cheeks flushing, while memories of his cock in my mouth have my sex clenching. I hop out and grab a towel, drying myself off before wrapping up in one of those fluffy robes hanging on the back of the door.
With a renewed spring in my step, I float over to the bed, pondering my lingerie choice. The black with the red lace is very sexy, although I shake my head and laugh at the thong. It’s basically like wearing nothing, but then again, I guess that’s the whole point.
I’ve never been one to focus heavily on my appearance, but tonight is different. I spend extra time shaving my underarms and legs, perfecting my makeup: smoky eyeliner, mascara to thicken my lashes, and sheer, pink gloss to accentuate my full lips. My hair is behaving nicely, sleek waves that tumble over my shoulders. The mirror reflects sparkling eyes and a radiant complexion, but only I can detect the relentless thumping inside my chest.
By the time I pull on my skirt, sling-backs, and a cropped sweater over my cami, the clock reads 5:55 p.m. I blow out a couple of breaths, my fingers combing through my hair a few more times, the carpet wearing down beneath my feet.
