Don't Break This Kiss (Top Shelf Romance Book 5)

by Jessica Hawkins

  She shrugged and fixed his tie, even though it was perfectly straight. “I’ve been thinking—about us.” She glanced up at him from under her lashes. “About the rules.”

  He took a handful of her backside. “Probably not as much as I have.”

  “I’m ready, Beau. Tonight.”

  His expression didn’t change, but she caught the slight twitch of his eye. “Don’t tease me,” he said. “It wouldn’t be wise to put chocolate cake in front of a starving man.”

  Lola removed her arms to take his cheeks in her hands. “I know it’s been difficult these past three weeks—”

  “Two and a half.”

  This time, Lola flinched. As if she needed a reminder of how dangerous it could be to let her guard down for even a second. She ignored the comment. “You’ve been patient,” she continued. “I haven’t forgotten anything, but I’m ready to start moving forward.”

  With his hand on her ass, Beau pulled her against him, forcing her feet to shuffle forward the last few inches. “Why wait until tonight? I can be a couple minutes late.”

  Lola’s heart hammered once, the way it always did when Beau got like this—impatient. He could be convincing in a way that was hard for her to resist, but she had to. Giving in to him now could unravel everything. “I want it to be special—not in the doorway on your way to work. You can survive until tonight.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” he said. “I’ve never slept next to the same woman this many nights in a row without so much as a handjob. It’s miraculous I’m still upright.”

  Lola shook her head but smiled. “You are a true romantic, Mr. Olivier. I’m a lucky woman.”

  He put his knuckle under her chin to keep her eyes on him. “I’m the lucky one.”

  “Are you?” The words came out of her mouth too fast. Now, around him, she filtered everything. But today was a day she’d been anticipating for a while, and that alone was a reason to be even more careful.

  Along with excitement came a tiny crack of doubt inside her, though. It was silly. She knew how Beau felt. He was happy she was there, even if he wasn’t around all the time. He loved her, despite the fact that he hadn’t told her. He didn’t always show it, but she was his priority. She had to believe those things were true, because if not, then all this had been for nothing.

  “Am I lucky?” he asked. “I’ve been given a second chance I didn’t deserve. I thought I had it all, Lola, but I was coming home to an empty house. I just didn’t realize that was a bad thing until I started coming home to you. I’m a lucky son of a bitch. And I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

  She glanced away, but only for a second—it was a telling habit she’d been trying to kick. Beau didn’t consider himself romantic. Lola disagreed. The rest of the world could keep their flowers and candy. For her, Beau was taking a dull hammer to his brick walls, a slow process, but one that meant more to her than anything money could buy. It still wasn’t enough.

  Despite fighting herself every waking moment, she loved him. She couldn’t have faked all the things she had without that. When he’d broken her heart, though, she’d buried that love—and she threw more dirt on it every day. Because Lola wasn’t happy. And if Beau thought she was, then he didn’t know her at all.

  “I should get to the office,” he said when she didn’t respond. “The sooner this day is over, the sooner I’ll be home with you.”

  Beau was sweeter in the morning, before the day had gotten to him. She didn’t doubt he meant what he said, but during the week, he only came home at a decent time when they had an event to attend. Those nights, he was always standing too close, touching her somewhere, as if assuring himself she was real.

  “Be home by seven o’clock.” She didn’t smile. She crossed her arms, tapping her index finger on her bicep. “And I don’t mean leave work at seven. We have a reservation at seven-thirty.”

  “We do?”

  “I told you last week I was making dinner plans and not to schedule anything.”

  “If I did, I’ll cancel it. Now that I know what’s in store for tonight.” He tucked some of her hair behind her ear. She knew the low-lidded look he was giving her well—she got it several times a day. She’d asked him once what he was thinking about when he made that expression, and he’d just said, “Us.”

  “Listen—why don’t you let my assistant handle tonight?” he asked. “Pick any restaurant, I don’t care how exclusive. She’ll make it happen. I want the best for…”

  Lola stopped listening, pressing her lips together, her jaw tingling. She wanted to ask him what the hell made him think she’d prefer an expensive restaurant to anything else. Hell, an In-N-Out burger and a chocolate shake was enough to make her mouth water. Despite the staggering amount of cash she had stashed in a locker downtown, she was still the same Lola who wore beat-up Converse and regularly chose beer over wine.

  “You surprised me with balcony seats to the ballet last week,” Lola said, interrupting whatever he was saying. “I want to return the favor.”

  Beau arched an eyebrow. “It’s a surprise?”

  She smoothed her hand over his tie. “You’re always in charge. Just relax. Let me do this for you.”

  “I like being in charge.”

  With the drop in his tone, an unexpected thrill ran up her spine. If Beau did one thing well, it was taking charge. That was how she’d ended up on her stomach on his hotel bed their second night together, letting him have her in ways Johnny hadn’t in their nine years together. It was also the reason she had to be on alert at all times.

  “At least let me send you a new dress,” he said.

  “If you keep buying me dresses, we’ll have to add on another wing just to store them.”

  Beau smiled. “That can be arranged.”

  Lola had never owned so much in her life. But what was actually hers? Beau didn’t like her to spend her own money. He thought she’d deposited it into a savings account where it was earning interest, and he’d made her promise she wouldn’t use it. “Save it for something nice here and there,” he’d said. As if ‘something nice’ was the real reason she’d accepted a million dollars to fuck him.

  “I already have an outfit planned,” Lola said slowly, “and I think you’ll like it very much.”

  Beau ran his hand up over her backside, lingering, slow. There were some things she never had to fake, like swooning at his touch, or the gradual but electric creep of warmth it sent through her.

  He liked the dress she’d chosen that morning. She could tell by the way he absentmindedly touched it while they talked—rubbing the soft wool, playing with the tail of the zipper. It was short, which was fine, because she had great legs, and the neckline was high. Conservative but sexy, the kind of woman Beau should have on his arm. Her leather pants were still stuffed at the bottom of her duffel bag, though to his credit, Beau had asked about them. He liked those too.

  “What’re your plans today?”

  Lola lifted one shoulder. “Shopping. I have some small things to get for tonight.”

  “Good. Put everything on my card, all right? I don’t want you spending money on me.”

  Had this been the special evening Beau thought it was, Lola would’ve given it more thought. She would’ve taken him up to Mulholland Drive, brought some hotdogs since they’d never gotten to eat theirs, played Pink Floyd on the car stereo and made love to him under the stars. Money wouldn’t’ve even crossed her mind, but that was where Beau always went, and that was one of the reasons he and Lola were very, very different.

  That was the life he’d chosen not to have with her. Lola agreed to charge her shopping to him—not because she felt good about spending his money, but because she’d cut up all except one of her credit cards the night before.

  Beau leaned in, kissed her once on the lips and walked away. “Warner can take you today. I’ll drive myself.”

  “Beau?”

  He turned partway around and nodded at her. “Yeah?”

&nbs
p; Lola’s throat constricted, as if she physically couldn’t speak. She had tried many times to tell him she loved him for the sake of making this work, but each time, she’d choked on the words. It was the truth, but it felt like a lie.

  “Can I take the Range Rover?” she asked instead. She needed to be alone today, and while Beau’s driver was good at blending into the background, he wasn’t much for disappearing completely.

  “Of course. You know you don’t have to ask. But I don’t mind driving—”

  “I hate it.” Lola sucked in a tiny breath. She was getting sloppy. She couldn’t go around blurting things without thinking first.

  “You hate what?” He faced her completely, his attention snagged.

  Being treated like a doll. Lavished with expensive things I don’t care about. Sitting around all day, waiting for you to come home. “Warner driving me around,” she said. “It feels extravagant.”

  He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “Warner drives me all the time. It’s more normal than you think.”

  “Maybe for people like you.”

  “People like me?” Beau tilted his head with interest. She would’ve preferred to drop it, though, this conversation they would’ve had if things had been different. If she cared about making this work. “You are people like me. Now.”

  Lola kept a poker face, even as her blood simmered a little. Letting her emotions get the best of her was the kind of thing that got her into trouble, but that pissed her off. She wasn’t like him. She hadn’t even wanted the money—she’d just been a pawn in a transaction between Johnny and Beau.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Lola said, regaining her silky smoothness. “But it makes sense for you because you work in the car. I don’t. I just sit and stare out the window, so I might as well drive myself.”

  “Fine,” he said. “Take the Range Rover.”

  Lola walked over to him and touched his forearm. “Why don’t you give Warner the day off? I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”

  “Why don’t you just let me buy you a car?”

  She smiled up at him. “Because there are two in the garage, and two people in this house. Again, extravagant.”

  “Better get used to it, ma chatte.” He kissed her one more time. “I really have to run. See you tonight. Seven o’clock.”

  Beau walked out of the room, and she listened for the conclusion of the morning show—the rumbling garage door, the roar of the Lamborghini’s engine. No matter where in the house she was—eating toast in the breakfast nook, staring at Beau’s pillow in his bed—that was when everything in her body unclenched. Being around him was constant mental warfare.

  Lola went into the kitchen to locate the keys to the Range Rover. This would be the one day she’d enjoy spending Beau’s money. Her to-do list wasn’t very long, but each thing was an important cog in her plan.

  Not long ago, Beau’s kitchen was the last place she thought she’d be standing. As she’d fled his hotel room, doing her best to hold her broken heart together, she’d never wanted to see Beau’s face again—much less be living in his home. But this morning, knowing what was to come later that night, there was nowhere else she’d rather be. As it turned out, a hell of a lot could change in three weeks.

  Chapter 29

  Three weeks earlier

  There was a reason Beau never thought about that night at Cat Shoppe. He’d pushed Lola—and the memory of her on stage—down into his depths years ago. She was never meant to surface. It should’ve been the best day of his life—selling his first company for millions after a decade of struggle. It would’ve been, had he just gone home after his last celebratory drink.

  But he hadn’t, and now he stood in the Presidential Suite at the Four Seasons, staring at the door Lola had just left through. Their words echoed through the hotel room—cold, hard confessions and accusations. His normally steady heartbeat raced as if he’d just run a sprint. It unnerved him. Remaining calm was something he’d trained himself to do, a survival tactic for situations like leading a boardroom full of megalomaniacs.

  He couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow anyone that power over him. She’d done him a favor by walking out before he could explain, opening his eyes when he’d been blind for her. What had he thought—that Lola was anything more to him than another challenge? The thing that’d made her special, that’d set her apart from other women, ceased to exist. She no longer had his power. It’d been a struggle, but he’d taken it back. Now, she was just another defeated opponent, a discarded chess pawn.

  Beau returned to the suite’s master bedroom. It was hot in the room, as if the heat had been on all night. As if it’d all been some sort of fever dream—intense, vivid, colorful. Over with the new day’s dawn.

  Except that Lola was everywhere in that hotel room. Her red lipstick, smeared into the comforter. His white robe that she’d worn, strewn across a chair. His tie, still knotted, on the floor where he’d discarded it after blindfolding her. She’d really gotten to him, burrowing deep, making him think the ending he’d planned wasn’t what he wanted after all. It wasn’t the first time she’d drawn him under her spell.

  Ten years earlier, Beau had become the man he’d always wanted to be. Now, he and his money were respected in the business world. Sought after. The definition of power. And underneath it all had always been his weakness—the girl in the black kitten ears.

  Beau crouched at the footboard and picked up the gold dress he’d ripped off her body. Beads bit into his palms when he squeezed it. No—none of it’d been a dream. Thrusting inside her, wondering how it was possible, with all the fucking he’d done in his life, that he’d never felt anyone that way—that was real.

  It was real, the way she’d approached the gas station the night before, a small smile on her face, her eyes turned up slightly as if lost in a daydream. With a gun to his head, he couldn’t move, couldn’t scream at her to run, couldn’t do anything but watch her pull open the door and step into a nightmare. He would’ve done anything to stop it, would’ve handed over everything he’d worked for, but he could only stand there.

  Beau tossed the dress aside and stood, running his hands over his hair. He needed to get ready for his day. He and Lola were done—there was nothing more to say. Warner had her now, and she’d be home soon—getting her things, breaking Johnny’s heart. Beau hoped she’d be brutal. No man should get off easy for selling the woman he claimed to love.

  He thought about calling Warner and telling him to stay with Lola. When she was finished, she’d need to leave quickly, shed that sorry excuse for a boyfriend. Warner could drop her off—where? It occurred to him she might not have anywhere to go. That she’d get in Warner’s car and feel like she had no one. That she might not get in Warner’s car at all. That without a reason to leave, she might—stay. With Johnny.

  Across the room, Beau’s cell was in pieces on the floor from when he’d hurled it at the wall. He went for the hotel phone. He was unreachable, having instructed the front desk to hold his calls so his time with Lola wouldn’t be interrupted.

  He began to dial Warner. Just because he didn’t want Lola didn’t mean he wanted her staying with Johnny. This part was easy for Beau, anyway. With one phone call and a little cash, Warner would handle it. Whatever Lola needed—a ride, a hotel room for a few days, a new job—Beau could give it to her without even a word between them.

  He paused, his finger hovering over the last number. His heart beat hard enough for him to notice. Lola wasn’t his problem to fix. And like Beau had told her—he wasn’t Johnny. He didn’t waver in his decisions. He didn’t backtrack. The game was over, and Warner was returning Lola to the past where she belonged. There’d be other women to fuck after an expensive dinner, new challenges to hold his interest, more ways to buy what he wanted. She had the money if she got into trouble. She didn’t need Beau. And he—he had an empire to run.

  Beau set the receiver back on its cradle and glanced out the door of the balcony. The sun was cresting over th
e mountains. From the start, Beau had always known there’d be a moment when it would all come to an end. This was that moment.

  Chapter 30

  It’d all started with a look.

  Lola had stepped out from behind Cat Shoppe’s curtains, center stage, the night’s main feature. Nineteen, lithe and limber, but what’d set her apart most was that she’d loved to dance—the owner’s words. Then again, the other girls had been at it much longer, and they’d seen a lot more than her. If they’d ever loved to dance, maybe they’d found more reasons not to.

  Seconds into her number, she’d glanced over her shoulder and met eyes with a strikingly handsome man who looked sorely out of place and with no clue about it. That man would change the course of her life. He’d buy her body for a night, and then he’d buy her heart, and that would bring her to this moment—arms full of money, legs stretching wider with each step. Unable to get away fast enough.

  The doorman just barely pulled the handle in time to let her out. She fled the Four Seasons hotel. The Beverly Hills concrete was smooth under her Converse, the opposite of the sidewalks around her apartment.

  “Wait!” a male voice cried behind her. She stopped. The sun was still behind the mountain, but it would be up soon. She turned around, squinting at the figure jogging toward her in the semi-dark, waving his arms.

  Lola would’ve reveled in the pitiful display if the man was Beau, but he wasn’t. Beau would never run after anything—or anyone. Not that it mattered. If Beau wanted something badly enough, he’d catch it anyway.

  She recognized Beau’s driver as he slowed to a stop in front of her, his breathing labored. “I’m supposed to take you home, Miss Winters.” He straightened his tie and left it even more crooked. With a nod back toward the hotel, he said, “I have the car waiting. I’m to take you home and stay out front until you’re ready to come back here.”

  Lola’s broken heart ached a quick second, a longing sigh. That’d been their plan, made only minutes ago, and it’d seemed solid. She and Beau were upside down, inside out, backward—and, somehow, they were just right. Until the truth had dropped into the room, diffusing their fantasy future like it’d been nothing more than a cloud.