by M. S. Parker
His eyes narrowed. “Considering I've already seen one man who wasn't pleased with your skill set, I don't believe it's a stretch to assume that you aren't exactly doing a bang-up job.”
I was starting to wish I'd been born a lesbian.
“I already have one big brother, Dean. I don't need another one.”
He took a step toward me, dropping his voice a register. “I don't want to be your brother.”
“Then stop acting like him,” I shot back.
“I just want you to be safe.”
“No,” I argued. “You may want me to be safe, but there's no just about it. You think you know best, so you want me to do things your way. But I had a life before I met you, made my own choices. How would you feel if I expected you to completely change up everything you've done in your life simply because I told you that you should do things my way?”
A muscle in his jaw clenched, and my shoulders slumped. I sighed, all of the fight leaving me. I was too tired to keep doing this. I'd come to LA for a new life, not new complications.
“I don't know why I thought this could work.” I moved around Dean to flag down an approaching taxi. “We're too different.”
I didn't wait for him to argue, didn't wait to see if he even would argue. He had to see it too, had to realize that we'd been fooling ourselves thinking that we could turn a few sexual experiences into something more. Great sex didn't necessarily translate into anything else, and starting a relationship founded on sex was rarely a good idea.
I was supposed to be smart. Hell, I'd just been bragging to Dean about my IQ. Then again, smart didn't always mean wise, so I supposed that trying to make things work with Dean was one of those moments. Now, I would do the smart thing.
We'd gone three blocks before I realized that I didn't want to go home yet. “Can you take me to Santa Monica Pier instead?”
“Sure thing.” The cabbie made a turn. “You from LA?”
“No,” I said absently. “Up north.”
“Ever been to the Pier?”
“Once, when I was five or six,” I said. “Never this late though.”
“It's a whole other thing at night,” he said. “They've got some indie bands doing a battle of the bands kind of thing tonight.”
Between the music and the people, there'd be constant noise. Lights. All sorts of distractions. I'd barely be able to hear myself think.
“Perfect.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Dean
“I told you I was good at this.”
I glared at her across the table as I hooked my thumbs underneath the waistband of my boxer-briefs. Okay, so maybe challenging her to a game of strip poker hadn't been as good of an idea as I'd originally thought, but it was the first thing I'd thought of when she'd said that she made money playing cards.
“Are you going to welch on a bet, Stokes?” She raised an eyebrow. “You owe me a pair of underwear.”
I muttered a few choice curses under my breath, then pushed off my last stitch of clothing. Kyndall, on the other hand, hadn't even lost her shoes. She'd taken those off on her own when she said her feet were hurting.
“Tell me again why you chose LA over Vegas?” I put my hands on my hips and tried not to think about the fact that I was standing here stark naked.
“Because counting cards is illegal.” She grinned at me.
“But you count cards anyway, right?” I tried not to let her hear how concerned I was. “Isn't that dangerous?”
“Not if I'm smart.” She reached behind her and unzipped her dress. “And I may have mentioned that I'm very smart.”
I swallowed hard as she slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders and let them fall. “You won.”
“So I did.” She stood, showing off that glorious body of hers. Her bra could barely hold her breasts, and her panties covered very little. The tease was somehow more alluring than flat-out nudity, and the sight sent blood straight to my cock.
“I'd like to collect my winnings.”
“I'm fairly certain you've taken all I have, love.”
She turned and walked into the living room, swinging her hips as she went. I watched, my hand wrapping around my cock almost unconsciously. She sat on one of the overstuffed chairs, licking her lips as her gaze dropped to where I was now stroking myself to a full erection.
“I think there should be some sort of penalty for losing every single hand.”
“Is that so?”
She draped one leg over one of the chair's arms, then the other. “Come here.” She crooked a finger at me.
I went to my knees in front of her, the irony of the position not lost on me. She was supposed to be the submissive here, but I was in the position of the subservient. I didn't mind though. I would give up my control for now, then take it back later in a way that was equally pleasing.
Her skin was like silk as I ran my hands up her legs, brushed my thumbs over the crease of her thighs. When I leaned forward, I ran my tongue over the dark lace covering her pussy, and she moaned. Smiling, I pulled the crotch of her panties to the side and licked her slow and deep.
Damn, she tasted good.
I took my time with her, circling her clit, teasing her entrance. I coaxed one orgasm after the other from her, reveling in the sounds she made, the way her fingers dug into my hair. All that existed for me was her.
I didn't know when it happened, but at some point, she'd become my world.
My center.
When I finally slid inside her, I knew my home was no longer London where my parents were or LA where my new business pursuits had taken me. It was wherever she was.
This sucked.
All I'd been able to do all night was think about all the ways I'd royally fucked up. All the way things could've gone better because they couldn't have gotten worse. I supposed that wasn't possible since things had gone so sideways. But thinking of what I should have said, or shouldn't have said, just made things worse. Knowing – or guessing, I supposed – how things could have been was something akin to taunting someone with something they wanted, while at the same time, telling them they could never have it.
Kyndall was what I wanted the most, and I was all too certain that I had lost her for good.
I'd witnessed firsthand what a similar accusation had done to her relationship with her brother, and I knew she valued him a whole hell of a lot more than she valued me.
Fuck it.
I threw off the covers and finally climbed out of bed. It was still morning, but later than I usually got up. I shouldn't have been laying around, daydreaming about what-might-have-been or what I wished I'd done. I needed to make things right, even if she didn't forgive me, even if she decided that the two of us had too much shit between us to ever be anything but cordial. I couldn't let her go with her thinking of me this way.
Hell, who was I trying to fool?
She'd gotten so far under my skin that I didn't believe I could ever walk away, not under my own strength. If she asked it of me, though, I would try. If it meant her happiness, I'd try.
But first, I’d try everything in my power to fix what I'd broken.
Actually, before I headed over to Kyndall's place, I needed to shower. An unpleasant aroma would not be the best way to ingratiate myself. I didn't believe that Kyndall was the sort of woman who focused on physicality, but it wouldn't hurt to, as the Americans said, cover my bases.
Twenty minutes later, I was bathed, clothed, and still trying to figure out what to say beyond I'm sorry.
I smiled at the doorman when I passed by, but I didn't really feel it. I wouldn't feel like smiling until Kyndall forgave me. If she forgave me.
I'd never felt less in control, less sure of myself than I did when I stopped in front of her door. I knocked and tried not to look as impatient as I felt while I waited for her to answer. A minute passed. Then a second. I knocked again, working on keeping a frown off my face. I didn't want her to think I was upset with her.
Still nothi
ng.
I hated to think of her being so petty as to ignore me when I was right here, but I tried one more time. When she still didn't answer, I pulled out my phone. I didn't like the idea of calling her rather than having our entire conversation face-to-face, but I needed to know where she was before I could do that.
The call rang through, but midway through the second ring, I was sent to voicemail. I scowled at the screen, knowing that meant she'd purposefully declined my call. After our argument, I could understand her reluctance to speak with me, but that didn't mean I had to like it.
I headed toward the elevator and told myself that I wasn't retreating, merely regrouping and analyzing my approach. Clearly what I'd originally planned wasn't working, so I needed to think of something else. Giving up wasn't an option.
A small café around the corner from the building was the perfect place for some thinking, so I went inside, grateful to be back in the air-conditioning. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, but the day was already promising to be a hot one. I ordered an iced coffee and found a seat in the farthest back corner I could find.
Kyndall was ignoring me, but that could be because she didn't know I was calling to apologize, so I needed to try to get that message across before anything else. If she still chose to ignore me, I'd take things from there. Where I'd take them, I had no idea, but it was, at the very least, a place to begin.
I kept my text simple: I was a complete and utter ass. Please call me so I can apologize properly.
Send.
And then I waited, watching as my phone showed the message delivered, then read.
But no response came through.
I checked my email, typed out a few replies, and finished my drink. Still nothing. I went back to the counter for another iced coffee, hoping that if I dawdled long enough, Kyndall would finally respond and I could go back to her place and start on making things right.
“Excuse me.”
I half-turned toward the tall blonde standing next to me at the counter.
“Are you English?”
I gave her a polite smile. “I am.”
I'd hoped my brief answer would convey a lack of interest, but she either didn't get it or didn't care.
“I've always wanted to go to England,” she said, sidling closer. “Do you know the Queen?”
I stared at her, waiting for the punchline. Because that had to be a joke. No one was that naive. But she didn't laugh and say that she was joking. Instead, she just looked up at me with wide hazel eyes, clearly anticipating my answer.
“I don't,” I said as I turned back to the counter and prayed that my drink was coming soon.
“I'd love to meet the Queen,” she continued as if I hadn't said anything at all. “I'd love to ask her what it's like to be in charge of everything and get to do whatever you wanted.”
I debated explaining to her that the Queen of England didn't actually rule the country like the kings and queens used to, and that good royalty rarely were able to do what they wished, but I suspected all that would do was make her think I wanted to talk to her. So I said nothing.
And it didn't help.
“My ex-boyfriend and I used to pretend that I was the Queen, and he was my handsome bodyguard who I ordered to–”
I walked away without waiting for my drink. That was one sentence I didn't need to hear finished. Even if I hadn't been preoccupied with thoughts of Kyndall, I wouldn't have been interested. The blonde was pretty enough, but even my one-night stands needed to have at least some intelligence about them. Either this woman was truly ignorant, or she convincingly played the part in an attempt to appeal to the sort of men who preferred beauty over brains. Whichever it was, she perpetuated the stereotype of the dumb blonde, and all that succeeded in doing was aggravate me.
I went back outside and walked a couple blocks before ducking inside a bodega to send off another text, this one much longer.
I would prefer to do this in person, but it needs to be said no matter what. I was wrong. Not only in my accusations but for the entire incident. I should have believed you immediately, and no matter what, I shouldn't have judged. I didn't intend to hurt you, and I want to fix things between us. That's what couples do, right? When something happens, they try to work it out. I don't want to lose you simply because I was a jackass. Please, call me or meet me. Text me. Anything that lets me know that you're open to making this work, or even only allowing me to apologize properly.
I couldn't just stand around in this little shop, staring at my phone like a pathetic fool. I needed to be doing something, anything. If she wasn't in her apartment – and I still didn't know for certain that she hadn't been ignoring me – then I needed to find her. The problem was, the only place I could think of where she would likely go was her brother's apartment. Then again, if she was trying to avoid me, she probably would have wanted to stay away from any place I associated with her. Plus, I doubted she wanted Dalton involved in any of this. I knew I sure as hell didn't, especially if it meant Dalton discovering the conversation that had led to this fight. I'd probably earn a fist to the jaw for the things I'd said – no matter that he'd made essentially the same accusations – and Kyndall would be furious if I revealed the secret behind her income.
That was when I realized where she could be. Playing poker.
I checked my phone again, then tucked it into my pocket. I walked back outside with a new determination.
I had a poker game to find.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Kyndall
Spending all night at Santa Monica Pier had done exactly what I wanted it to do: kept my mind from turning over how things had gone with Dean. Every time I felt my thoughts going back to the fight, back to his accusations, I'd been able to find something new to distract myself with.
Three of the bands had been amazing, each with their own unique and fresh sound so that they hadn't bled into one another. The fourth hadn't been quite as good, but by then, I'd essentially had a contact high courtesy of the numerous audience members around me who'd been smoking pot, so that might've had something to do with it.
I tried marijuana once in college but hadn't liked the hazy, out of control feeling I'd felt. It was why I rarely got drunk. A little buzzed wasn't too bad, but I'd never liked being completely trashed. No, the only time I ever liked feeling like I wasn't in control was when I'd allowed Dean to be in charge. That'd been a completely different story because I'd known he wouldn't let anything hurt me.
Once I realized how fuzzy everything had been getting, I wandered away from the concerts to see what else I could find. With it being summer, the place had been packed, both with locals and tourists. The air had been heavy with the mingled scents of myriad foods, sweat, and the ocean. It'd almost been overwhelming, but I'd taken the time to distinguish between the different aromas. Buttered popcorn. Something spicy that I was sure would burn my taste buds. Meat. Vegetables. Cotton candy. The salty, fishy smell of the ocean.
At some point, I found myself on the Ferris Wheel, and I'd ridden that for hours, letting my mind wander. I didn't talk to anyone outside of what was necessary, smiling whenever a comment was directed my way but never engaging. Being surrounded by people was good for where my head was, but communication wasn't something I wanted at the moment.
As the sun rose, I found myself sitting at the end of the pier, watching the brilliant colors throwing themselves across the sky. I'd always been more of a night person, but since my nights sometimes ended at sunrise, watching it come up wasn't a new thing for me, but seeing it streak across the ocean was definitely something else. It was a reminder of all that was good and true and worth pursuing, and it twisted something deep inside of me.
My eyes stung, and I wiped at them, excusing the sudden welling up of tears as a reaction to the light and the brisk wind off of the water. I slipped on my sandals and got to my feet. I'd been out all night, and I was tired, but not as much as I would've thought. I didn't know if it was my second wind, or if my
brain knew that I still wasn't ready to go home yet.
I took my time strolling down the boardwalk, watching as attractions and restaurants opened. I stopped by one of the food carts as it was being set up and purchased a drink, the sun already hot on my skin. It was going to be another scorcher, and I hadn't put on any sunblock yesterday, so I made another stop.
Five minutes later, smelling strongly of coconut oil, I emerged from the restroom and continued my walk. I'd always liked getting to see things in two different ways, observing juxtaposition in real-life. Seeing everything on the pier in the early morning light after having seen it all in the darkness a few hours ago was one of those things. Sunlight versus shadows. Beginning of the day versus the end of the night.
Being with Dean was like that, I realized suddenly. Some people would look at him and see only his money. Others would hear his proper accent, or see how he kept his emotions from his expression, and think he was cold.
He did have money, and he definitely knew how to keep his feelings close to his chest, but those were only two small parts of who he was.
People at the club Dean had taken me to knew him as a Dom, and associated those common characteristics with him. Granted, he had a lot of the same traits as other Doms – strength and charisma, among other things – but he was more than those things as well.
In the short time I'd known him, I'd gotten to see all that, but I'd also gotten to see Dean's kindness. His passion, as well as his overprotective nature. I'd heard him laugh, and seen him vulnerable.
Even though all of the pieces that came together to make him seemed like they were opposites, I knew they were complementary pieces coming together to form a full picture. A picture that fascinated me in inexplicable ways.
