No Romance Required

by Cari Quinn

  What was she supposed to say to him now? She could always tell him she didn’t really love him. Or pretend it hadn’t ever happened. Better yet, she could avoid his calls until she absolutely had to see him tomorrow for their magazine meeting.

  Option three worked for her.

  By the time she entered his office on Tuesday, she’d snapped her impenetrable emotional guards on nice and tight.

  Then he opened his mouth.

  “Why the hell haven’t you returned my calls?” He stood behind his desk and gestured for her to shut the door. When she didn’t, he did the honors himself with a slam. “I’ve been worried.”

  She gestured at her belted wool dress and knee-length leather boots. After a brief warm-up, the temperatures had dipped yet again. “Don’t I look fine?”

  He stalked toward her and jerked her face up to his, staring so deep into her eyes that she would’ve sworn her soul quivered. Then he crushed his lips onto hers, staking his claim. His fingers tensed on her chin while he destroyed her composure with thorough licks of his tongue. He gentled the kiss after a moment and drew back, reaching up to trace her jawline.

  It took everything she possessed not to respond to the tenderness in his gaze. That was just fool’s gold. A false reflection of what he didn’t truly feel. If he cared for her at all, he wouldn’t have left her alone in bed after the night they’d shared. Without a note, without a text, nothing. He’d fit her in after lunch, which was just too damn late.

  She turned away and dragged the back of her hand over her mouth, eager to wipe his taste away. “Let’s get to work,” she said, walking to the side table.

  “I asked you a question. I called you. Why didn’t you respond?”

  “I’ve been busy. I told you I had meetings yesterday. I’m here now, aren’t I?” Catching a glimpse of a trimmed stack of glossy paper on his blotter, she stepped forward and slammed her hands on the desk. “What the hell is this, Cory?”

  He picked up the object in question. “That is the printer’s page proof of Simply Home. Take a look at your cover shot.”

  She was already looking, through the steam she knew had to be shooting out of every available orifice. She snatched the pages from him, not caring that she was crumpling the expensive paper. “I didn’t pick this shot. I didn’t even get to see the photographs. I thought we’d agreed I’d be with you on every step.” Fat freaking chance there. She wasn’t part of every step of anything with him. Sex, maybe. But what came after? Nope. Fury swelled in her chest and she forced it down, focusing on the magazine. She couldn’t do a frigging thing about what he did—or didn’t—feel for her, but she sure could demand her rights regarding Simply Home. The amount of creative control she had over his magazine wasn’t usual, but he’d agreed to it, dammit. “Since when do you cut me out of this part of the process?”

  “Since there was an issue at the printer and schedules changed. If you’ll just calm down, I’ll—”

  “You did not just tell me to calm down like I’m a spastic child.” He’d already broken—no, not broken, nicked—her heart. She wasn’t going to let him affect her professional life, too.

  “If you stop acting like one, I won’t treat you that way.” He took back the proof and spread it open on his desk. “Why don’t you see how it looks before you get your panties twisted?”

  She white-knuckled the edge of his desk to keep from hitting him—hard. It wouldn’t be the first time, but she’d vowed to be cool in all further dealings with him, at least until the crust of ice on her heart grew thick enough to stand on.

  “How it looks isn’t the point.” Even through her narrowed eyes, the cover looked incredible. He’d chosen well. Of course. “Our arrangement was that we’d mutually agree on what photos were used. What happened to joint quality control? Or did that go out the door the minute you fucked me?”

  His jaw cracked. “Keep your voice down. This is a place of business, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “How could I? It’s all that matters to you, isn’t it?” She started to whirl away, but she got as far as a half step before he grabbed her elbow and whirled her right back. How he altered her position with such force without hurting her, she couldn’t fathom. “Let me go.”

  “Make me.” He drew her up on her heels so they were practically nose to nose. “Speaking of fucking, is that your problem? Do you need me to bend you over this desk until you aren’t so edgy anymore? I told you to call when you needed it.”

  God, he could be such an arrogant jack-off. Edgy? She’d show him edgy. “What I need you can’t give me.”

  “Try me, Vic.” His breath coasted over her lips and made them part with want. He glanced from her eyes to her mouth and back again. “Right now, I think I could give you plenty.”

  “In your office in the middle of the day? With the blinds up? I highly doubt it.”

  He had her bent over his desk so fast that she had no chance of countering the move. Then his hand was under her dress and shoving aside her panties. Her shocked gasp burst from her lips, silenced only by the knuckles he pressed against her mouth. She bit him, but she didn’t even leave a mark.

  Dammit, she couldn’t even make him bleed.

  He didn’t waste time on pleasantries. This was a full-on sensual assault, his fingers on overdrive, his mouth on the back of her neck. Teeth scraping her skin, breath hot on her ear. “Do you see what you do to me? You make me into this, and I should hate it. But I don’t. I want more.” He pressed her down on the blotter with his hand spanning her back, forcing her to widen her stance for him. “Admit you want it, too. You want me, Vic.”

  Wasn’t it obvious how much she wanted him? Her body quivered with her longing even as her throat closed around the words she refused to say. This wasn’t about her wanting him. It was about him opening his eyes to all they could be, if he would finally just face the truth.

  She shook her head but couldn’t stave off the tingling sensation geysering up inside her as he frantically thrust his fingers between her legs and sucked hard on the sensitive flesh behind her ear. Sparks showered in her vision and her cries escaped against his palm, trapped there so that her hot breath warmed her damp face.

  He was on top of her, behind her, surrounding her. Kissing her, holding her still, letting her fly.

  She didn’t come so much as break apart, shattering into so many pieces she knew there was no hope of ever collecting them all. Before she’d even sunk down to earth again, he flipped her on her back, looming over her where she laid panting on his desk. He gripped her chin with fingers that smelled of her, his eyes glittering slits of gray.

  “That’s real,” he bit out. “If you can’t accept that, if you don’t want that like I do, then get the hell out of my office. And don’t come back.”

  She shoved him away, not able to breathe with his heavy weight imprisoning her. He stumbled back as if he was surprised she’d actually demanded that he let her up, then stepped clear as she yanked down her dress.

  Her mistake—the latest one—was looking back. His fury and his confusion dragged at her feet like stone anchors, imploring her to stay. She wasn’t her mother and he wasn’t his father, and neither of them were quitters. Running from the one thing she wanted more than her next breath didn’t make any sense. But this wasn’t about love, not for him. He wanted her body. What she wanted went so much deeper she couldn’t accept any pretty substitutes, even if it meant she’d end up alone.

  If he’d asked her to stay, if he’d even said her name, anything, she wouldn’t have gone. Just once, she needed him to fight for her. To prove she mattered.

  But he just let her walk out the door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cory didn’t tell anyone they’d broken up. He didn’t tell anyone anything at all, not even when his mom commented on Vic’s not coming to the packing party, because he had nothing to say. She’d agreed to be his fake girlfriend and they’d fallen into something very real that apparently didn’t matter one whit to her.r />
  He’d looked into her turbulent brown eyes and he hadn’t seen anything there but the desire to be free. Somehow he’d turned into manacles on her wrists and ankles, and she’d grown tired of chafing at her bonds.

  So he’d given her what she wanted: an open door. He hoped it hit her on her fine behind on the way through.

  Now he was out a lover, a designer, and his favorite person to fight with. Two of the three were replaceable. The last wasn’t, and never would be. Vicky was the biggest reason he’d looked forward to working on the magazine, even though he hadn’t been able to admit it.

  And those two people who’d been so damned determined for Cory to find a relationship they’d driven him out to that gazebo the night of the Value Hardware gala? They had other priorities now.

  Like moving thousands of miles away. Leaving him here to deal with the fallout from the mess he’d created. It would have been easy for him to try to point fingers in his parents’ direction and blame them for what had happened, but that would’ve been his guilt and regret talking. A year ago he might’ve cast his own actions in a better light, even tried to paint himself as the aggrieved party. Not so anymore. He knew exactly who was at fault—and he was looking at him in the hall mirror of his parents’ house.

  Swallowing hard, he turned to face another slice of reality. Bit by bit the house was being packed up, his childhood being put in boxes. His parents were radiantly happy, on the cusp of their new adventure, while his world had gone blacker than the inside of a tornado.

  He’d never felt rage before. Not like this. For the most part, he didn’t suffer from wild swings of emotion. There was work and more work. He didn’t have time for flights of fancy, and he most certainly didn’t have time to rocket up his parents’ driveway and slam through the door to confront them over his own stupidity.

  But he’d done it, and now that he was there, no one was going to stop him.

  He walked down the hall to the kitchen and came to a halt at the lack of…well, everything. The place looked deserted. Over the past few weeks when he’d been occupied with loving and losing Victoria, he hadn’t fully realized what his parents’ moving away truly meant. The house wouldn’t be there for him anymore. The tree house still in the backyard, waiting for phantom children who would never come; the porch swing, listing in the fall breeze; the triangle of flowers in the pasture where they’d buried his dog, Rusty—they would all belong to someone else, and he wouldn’t get to see them unless he asked for permission. And the answer might very well be no.

  Fuck that.

  This was his home base, the place he felt most like himself. He’d be damned if he let it be sold out from under him just so he could keep his sterile penthouse. He didn’t want to be alone on top of the city anymore. He wanted this house. These memories, mixed with all new ones he made with—

  “Sweetheart.” His mom rushed into the kitchen. “You must’ve heard.”

  “Heard what?”

  “About Misty. She’s gone.”

  He frowned. “But she was fine the last time I was here.” Over a week ago. He’d been in the barn, but he sure hadn’t been hanging out there because of the horse. “What happened?”

  “She was old, honey.”

  “Not that old. She was only…shit.” She’d been around his entire life. And he’d assumed she would always be there, just because he wanted it to be so. He didn’t have time to deal with her, but when he took that vacation he’d been putting off, he’d come out here and spend a day riding. He’d make up for all the years he hadn’t so much as stopped by to brush her or even sneak her carrots.

  His life had turned into one big regret. He might as well just write his epitaph now.

  Cory Santangelo meant to do better, but he died before he could spare the time.

  “If you didn’t know about Misty, why did you come?”

  She knew him too well. There were no visits simply to say hello, especially in the middle of the workday. No trips out just because. There was intention, followed by a strategy and its execution. Hesitation meant failure.

  So he didn’t hesitate.

  “I want this house,” he said, his voice clearer than it had been in months. Years. “I’ll buy it from you. Whatever amount you deem fair.”

  Corinne’s mouth trembled around her smile. “You really mean it?”

  “Yes. Call the real estate agent, get the sign down out of the yard. It’s mine.” He stepped forward and gripped her hands, bringing them to his mouth. “I’m sorry about Misty. She was a beautiful horse. And I’m sorry I haven’t been around for a while.”

  Her eyes filled. “You’ve always been around.”

  “No, I haven’t. I was always in my head, in my work. Misty got older and I barely even looked up long enough to notice. That’s going to stop.”

  “You’re devoted, honey.”

  “I’m a workaholic.” He gave her a half smile. “Isn’t that why you and Dad demanded I get a woman?”

  Something flickered through her gaze. “And you got one, didn’t you?”

  “I did. And I lost her.” He let go of his mother’s hands and paced to the bare window that looked out on the leaf-sprinkled side yard. It was time he come clean. All along he’d known he would come to this moment, and he’d lied anyway. Delaying the inevitable. “We weren’t really dating, Mom. We got together for the sole purpose of getting you and Dad off my back.”

  “We know, honey.”

  “You’re not listening. I said we weren’t a real couple. She wasn’t ever my girlfriend, we never—” Her response finally sank in and he swiveled to face her. “Huh?”

  She shook her head, smiling wanly. “You always think you’re so much smarter than everyone else. Your intelligence is both your saving grace and your biggest downfall, because it only makes the holes you dig for yourself that much deeper and muddier.”

  “You’re saying you knew all along,” he said flatly. “I mean, I know you all confronted me at Sunday night dinner but I thought after we left you believed…”

  “Not so much, sweetheart.” She sounded remarkably cheerful.

  That rage he thought he’d tamped down on once he’d seen the utter barrenness of his family home came roaring back. “You…you set this whole thing up? You knew I’d fumble around for some woman just to get you off my back?”

  “Not some woman. Vicky. You were the only one who couldn’t see how perfect she was for you all along.”

  Cory ground the heel of his hand into his chest. He must’ve finally drunk too much coffee, or else his heart was trying to sear its way out of his body. “But you never even nudged me in her direction. What made you think I’d head there on my own?”

  “Faith.” If she smiled any wider, her cheeks would crack. “I figured that eventually you would both realize what Dad and I had known for years. You’re both as stubborn as…well, as each other. But you’re also both extremely smart.”

  “How could you be sure I’d—that Victoria and I would—” Christ, he couldn’t think straight. How could he have been maneuvered so easily? By his own mother?

  Who hadn’t really done anything at all, even if it felt as if she had?

  “We’ve watched you two dance around each other for years. It was time.” She shrugged. “Besides, who else but Vicky could put up with you long enough to pretend to be your girlfriend? That girl has the patience of Job.”

  “I’m not that bad,” he muttered. Then he thought of that scene in the kitchen. “How could you have assumed she would go for a fake relationship?”

  “Seems like that benefit made it pretty real, doesn’t it? At least according to those pictures.” At his sharp glance, his mom shrugged again, still wearing that annoying little smile. “Desperate times, sweetheart. When you have your own children, you’ll understand.”

  “I’ll understand manipulation for some supposed good? I highly doubt it.”

  Hearing himself, he frowned. For once he hadn’t denied he would ever have children.


  “I don’t see it as manipulation at all. We never once mentioned Vicky’s name to you, did we? Besides, you already understand that sort of manipulation quite well,” she continued, ignoring his glare. “Think back to the Helping Hands benefit when someone who won’t be named paid off Alexa’s rent bill so she and Dillon would have a chance. I think they would’ve gotten there anyway, but you did what you could to nudge them together.”

  “That wasn’t manipulation. Exactly.”

  “No? What do you call a man who uses whatever resources he has to try to help his brother fix things with his woman?”

  He groaned inwardly, not liking the conversation anymore. It was all going in circles, when one road in particular was clear as day. Standing around chatting was getting him no closer to getting Victoria. Now if only he could decide what would…

  He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and looked away from his mom. “I don’t know how to fix things with Vic,” he muttered, feeling like the biggest chump that had ever lived.

  Admitting he didn’t know something was akin to him showing weakness. He didn’t. Ever. Yet he’d been driven to that point by his own needs.

  Should he rejoice that he was human after all—despite all the evidence over the years to the contrary—or curse and throw things or whatever other men did when they’d been rejected?

  No. What he should do was stop stalling and come up with a damn solution.

  “Oh, sweetie. Do you love her?”

  Absently he rubbed his shoulder. The ever-present burn in his chest was slowly creeping upward to encompass the rest of him. “I think so. I don’t have anything to compare it to. What does love feel like? I mean, for the opposite sex.”

  “Much the same as it does for anyone.” Her indulgent smile eased his embarrassment for having to ask. “Except it’s about fifty times worse and a hundred times better. So wonderful you can’t breathe and so agonizing that the thought of being without them makes you want to die.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I figured it was either that or food poisoning. Since I’ve basically stopped eating, I suppose it must be love.” He sighed. “Jesus, this fucking sucks. Sorry,” he added.