by Krista Holt
Dinner. Tonight.
My finger taps the back of my phone as I wait for her reply. It comes within seconds.
Maybe I already have plans.
My lips twitch. Cute.
You do, with me.
The tow truck beeps as it backs up to the Mercedes and broken glass hits the pavement as it’s dragged onto the flat truck bed. All that noise almost drowns out the sound of her incoming text.
No, with someone other than you.
I shake my head.
Nice try. I’ll be there by 6.
My phone beeps almost immediately.
I might be here, I might not.
I can’t stop my grin.
You’ll be there.
Sliding the phone into my pocket, I ignore her reply. It really doesn’t matter what she said, I’ll be at her place anyway. I can’t stay away.
CHAPTER 25
I didn’t even bother to shower or change once I got back into town.
The thought of waiting one more hour was agony, and now, I only have to wait a few more seconds because she’s unlocking the door.
“Hey, stranger.”
“Hello, yourself.” I bend down and pick her up, not caring about the soreness in my already bruised back. I carry her to the couch and drop her on it, leaning down to take a kiss. “I missed you.”
Her face softens as she runs a hand around the back of my neck. And then it all turns to shit. She pulls her hand away, frowning at the grime on her fingers. “What happened to you?” Her eyes travel over my body.
The suit is looking a little worse for wear, wrinkled in weird places from the time spent in the car. But other than that—wait, is that blood? My eyes narrow in on the ripped fabric at my knee.
She sees it, too. “Are you bleeding?”
I really should have gone back to my place first. “It’s nothing,” I tell her.
“It doesn’t look like nothing.” She grabs my hand and pulls me behind her, leading me through her room and into her bathroom. “Sit.”
I do as she says, lowering myself onto the edge of the tub and fighting off a wince when my back protests. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take my pants off first?”
She glares at me, and I fight a smile as she digs for something in the cabinet underneath her sink. “Roll your pant leg up,” she orders, pulling out a first aid kit.
“When did you get so authoritative?”
She fixes me with another glare. “Up.”
“Sure thing, sweetheart.”
She mumbles something under her breath as I yank the dirty fabric up my leg. “This might hurt.” She rips open a packet and pulls out a pad that reeks of alcohol.
I reach down and brush my fingers through her hair. “Promise me you won’t enjoy it.”
She wipes the pad over the scrape with a little more force than necessary. I shouldn’t be irritating her, I know, but it’s too hard to sit here and let her take care of me. It’s easier to crack a joke, and rile her up. I can accept her help if she’s a little pissed about it. How’s that for screwed up?
She twists away to grab some salve and a gauze bandage, then gently presses them on my leg and fastens it into place with a few strips of medical tape.
“What happened?” She sits back on her heels.
“Long story.” I try to brush off her concern, but she bites her lip, and not in a cute way. More like she’s holding back from asking more questions. So I relent. “Would you believe I fell?”
“You fell?” she repeats the words, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“Yeah.”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?”
I try to keep a straight face. “Will you kiss it and make it better?”
She rolls her eyes.
“I’m fine, I swear,” I assure her. She gathers up the mess around her and rises from the ground to discard it. I shake my pant back down my leg, only to have the white bandage stick out through the tear in the fabric. “Is Becca here?”
“No, she left for California this morning. She’ll be back after the new year.”
“So, I have you to myself for the foreseeable future.”
“That depends.” She props her hip against the bathroom counter and crosses her arms over her chest. “What are you going to do with me?”
I reach for her. “Oh, I have plans for you, and they include not leaving this apartment for at least the next five hours.”
She gives me an amused look as I tug her into my lap. “That’ll never happen. You’ll be summoned away by hour three.”
“Care to wager?”
“Are you going to rig it?”
“What? Me?” I’d turn off my phone if it meant winning this bet, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“So that’s a yes. I could always tell. You have that fake offended tone when you know the outcome. Cheater.” Her hand rests on my face, her thumb rubbing the stubble I didn’t get a chance to shave away.
I lean into it, needing her to touch me. “So, no bet?”
“No.” Her hand grips my jacket, trying to pull me even closer. I tilt my head down to kiss her. This, this is what I needed. I close my eyes and breathe her in, relaxing for the first time in hours.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go out?” she asks.
“Yes, I’m sure.” I don’t want to dodge questions about the rental car I’m driving. “Let’s order in and talk, like we used to.”
Her blue eyes stare back at me intently, like she’s trying to read my thoughts.
“You get your fill?” I smirk at her. “’Cause I’m here all night. Feed me, and then you can resume your staring.”
She groans, climbing off me. “You think you’re something else, don’t you?”
I ignore her question, because I don’t really think that. I’m not special. I’m damaged. I clear my throat. “I want Italian.”
“That doesn’t surprise me in the least. Where from?”
“That place on the corner of Edwards and Bingham. See if they deliver.”
“And you call me bossy.”
Ignoring the sting of my injured knee, I follow her into the main room. She’s on her phone, getting ready to place our order, when I walk into her kitchen and search for some wine.
Finding a bottle of merlot, I uncork it and pour two glasses. She swipes one of them before I can stop her and waltzes to the couch.
“Did you fix your problem?” she asks as I sit down beside her. “The one you disappeared for?”
“Yes” I take a long drink, not wanting to talk about my day anymore. “Anything interesting happen here today?”
She pauses, and I know the redirection didn’t go unnoticed. “Nothing exciting. I slept in, went to the gym, did some research for work.”
“What kind of research?”
She hesitates, opening her mouth and then closing it. She doesn’t want to tell me. That’s fine, I get it. It’s probably better for my conscience if she doesn’t say anything. But she watches me for a second and then shrugs her shoulders. “I was researching past bills.”
“Huh,” I grunt. “Sounds boring.”
“It’s not the most . . . stimulating thing ever.” She swallows some wine and lets her head drop to my chest. I take her hand, interlocking our fingers together. Silence stretches between us. But it’s not the uncomfortable kind. It’s peaceful, content even. Like knowing you’re exactly where you should be.
“You have the strongest heartbeat I’ve ever heard,” she says quietly.
I wrap my arm around her shoulders, and hold her close, whispering in Italian, “That’s because it beats for you.”
She inhales quickly, and I think for a moment she understood me, but then she asks, “What does that mean?”
I swallow hard. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
I grin, brushing some hair out of her face as we lapse back into silence. The food finally arrives, and we eat stretched out on her floor in front of the couch. My lasagna disappears in
record time, but she picks at her food.
“Is everything okay?”
“Are you worried about something?” She looks at me warily.
Always answering a question with a question. “I worry about you.”
“Me?” She trades her fork for the wine glass, taking several swallows before setting it down.
“I worry you’re going to change your mind and send me on my way.” Her shoulders fall a little. “You’ve had some time to think about everything. Any regrets?”
She looks at the bandage on my leg. “No.”
Despite her reassurance, I’m unable to shake the feeling that there’s something she’s not telling me. She may have given me another chance, but she’s still not sure. I know it doesn’t help that there are things I keep from her, to protect her. She knows me though, probably better than any other human being. I’ve always been myself with her. She’s the only one that has that part of me, whether she knows it or not.
She picks up our trash and carries it to the kitchen. Giving her a few minutes alone, I unlock the door to the small balcony and step outside. Freezing cold air surrounds me and the chill makes me miss California. I don’t think I ever wore a coat or gloves there.
I pull a cigar out of my inner jacket pocket and pat my pockets down for the cutter I always keep on hand. It works surprisingly well on fingers, but that’s a story for another time. I cut the tip of the cigar, light it, and inhale slowly.
“You’ve picked up some nasty habits since you’ve been gone.” She steps next to me, rubbing her arms.
I grunt a laugh as a string of smoke leaves my lips and disappears into the night air. She doesn’t know the half of it.
We stand there until she tries to hide a shiver. With the cigar stuck in between my teeth, I unbutton my jacket and slip it off. She gives me a look of appreciation as I drop it on her shoulders.
“Thanks.” She presses in next to me, shoulder to hip. “Are you happy, Nic?”
“I am. With you.” Her cheeks turn pink. It’s a beautiful thing. I really want to kiss her, but I stop myself. “How’s your master plan going? Are you happy?”
She smiles softly, leaning against the railing. “I forgot you knew all about that.”
“Graduate with honors, move to D.C., work on the Hill, and run for office when you’re older,” I recite it from memory. “Three out of four isn’t bad, right?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You ever want anything else?”
“Like what?” Her eyes dart toward me.
“You know what I mean.”
“Marriage, kids, a white picket fence?”
“Yeah.” I exhale another mouthful of smoke.
“Maybe. With the right guy.”
I chuckle, and she gives me a satisfied smirk. “What would happen if you didn’t finish the fourth thing?”
She looks away from me, staring at the snow-covered high rises that surround her place. “I guess if I were happy, I could let that go.”
“What about your job? Would you ever leave it?”
“I don’t know. There are things I like about it, and things I love about it. But do I exist for it?” Her delicate forehead creases, as tilts her head to the side. “No.”
“So there’s something out there that you love more than work?”
She stills. “Possibly.”
“What if tomorrow you had to pick between the two? The job or the thing you loved more? What would win?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Nothing in life is ever fair.” I stamp the cigar out and brush away the ashes. They float to the ground below, sullying the pure snow. “And if it seems that way, it’s probably a set-up.” I hold the unused portion in between my fingers, watching her as she watches me. “So what would it be, Reagan? What would you choose?”
She grabs the edges of my jacket, pulling it tighter around her. Exhaling softly, she turns around and starts to walk away. I think she’s not going to answer me until I hear her softly say, “I’d choose what I loved the most.”
I inhale deeply. She just told me everything I need to know.
CHAPTER 26
Reagan
He’s going to drown me.
I can feel it happening with every word that spills from his tongue. It’s becoming an ocean, sweeping me away. I’m forgetting the pain, the heartbreak. I’m forgetting everything he put me through before.
First it was our talk on the balcony, and now, as I stare at the ostentatious display of flowers that was just delivered to my place, I wonder how much longer I can resist. How much longer I can hold out before I fall back into all encompassing love with this man.
I love him. I do. But there’s being in love with someone and being aware of their flaws, and then there’s being so blinded by someone that you don’t see the truth coming, even when it’s bearing down on you like a runaway train.
I bend down and inhale the sweet scent rising from the blooms, still unable to read the note that was delivered as well. If I do, I‘m afraid I’ll forget what I need to remember. And I have to remember.
I reach for my phone and call him.
“Reagan?” he answers, out of breath.
“Yeah, it’s me. I got your flowers.”
He’s still breathing heavy. “Uh, yeah . . . give me a second . . .” There’s a grunt and something else I can’t quite identify before he returns. “Hey, sweetheart. Sorry about that. What’s up?”
“That’s okay, are you at the gym or something? I can call back.”
“Uh . . . its fine.” He snaps his fingers several times in the background. “Just work stuff.”
“Your flowers arrived,” I repeat.
“Oh, yeah?”
“They’re beautiful.” The arrangement is so similar to the one he sent for my graduation. This time it’s made up of red, pink, and white peonies with sprigs of dark green leaves.
“I’m glad you like them. Did you get the note, too?”
“Yes.” The unopened envelope is heavy in my hand.
“You didn’t open it?”
“No,” I swallow, “not yet.”
The noise in the background ramps up, there’s a loud bang followed by a dull thump. “Can’t you see I’m trying to carry on a conversation here?” he shouts at someone. “Do you not see the phone in my hand? What are you blind—knock it off!”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah. It is. Can we continue this discussion later, though? My hands are a little full at the moment.”
“Sure.” I set the envelope down. “Are you coming here?”
“Haven’t I been for the last couple nights?”
I bite back a smile. “Yes, you have.”
“Then, yes. I will be there. Give me a half hour.”
When he knocks on the door, the envelope is still sitting on the table by the flowers, unopened. I flick the lock and let him in.
My eyes hungrily travel down his body. “How do you manage to stay looking like that all day?”
His brow wrinkles as he inspects his spotless shirt. “Did I spill something?” He didn’t. The rest of his suit is immaculate, not even a single wrinkle alters the surface of the dark fabric.
“No, it’s like you just got dressed. Everything is pressed and perfect. Usually by the afternoon, I’ve been put through the wringer.”
His lips slowly curl upward. “You look good all the time, but to tell you the truth, I did just get dressed, again. I got something on the other one.”
“Moving legal briefs around?”
He doesn’t reply, other than leaning down to kiss me. “Let’s go out. Go get dressed.”
I run my fingers underneath the lapels of his jacket. “You seem tired.”
“I am, but I don’t care. We can’t hang out in your apartment forever. We’ll go out. Drink too much at someplace way too loud.”
“That sounds like a hangover in the making.”
“I know.”
I reluctantly un
tangle myself from him only to have him pull me back for one more kiss, and then another.
“Be back in a second,” I say, still wrapped up in him.
His lips brush against mine once more before he nudges me toward my room, eyes dark. “Hurry up.”
His phone rings as I shut the door. I strip off the jeans and T-shirt I had on and grab a deep red dress with a fitted bodice and short, flared skirt from my closet.
Zipping it up as far as I can, I slip on a pair of black heels, and toss some cash and my phones into a small clutch. My hair and makeup are still fresh from this morning, but I twist open a tube of red lipstick and apply it carefully.
When I open the door, Nic is leaning against the back of the couch, arched slightly forward, phone in one hand, the other in his pant pocket, and his eyes on me.
A flush sweeps over my cheeks, which only heats his gaze. He takes a step toward me, discarding the phone on the couch.
I turn around, revealing my half-zipped dress. “Can you help me with this?”
He emits a sound that has my heart racing and raises little dots on my flesh. “Out of this . . . help you out of this?” He presses a kiss to my bare shoulder.
I pull my hair over my shoulder, catching his gaze. He already knows my answer.
His hand brushes over my soft skin and it heats in the wake of his touch, turning my cheeks a vibrant shade of red. Slowly, dress shifts as his hands grasp the edges of the material at the nape of my neck. Metal against metal sounds as the zipper grabs the teeth, merging the gaping sides together. His hand follows its path.
“One day, Reagan . . . that answer is going to be different.” He kisses the back of my neck.
I turn around, giving thanks for my heels that bring me closer to his height. I take his chin in my hand and pull him toward me. His lips meet mine, and he kisses me passionately, evoking thoughts of what he’d rather be doing to me right now. And dressing me is not even close to what he wants.
His hand rests on the back of my head, preventing me from pulling back, the other presses my body flush against his. He tilts my head and moves his lips to my neck. My heart pounds against my chest, and oxygen tastes like water on a dry day. His soft kisses light me on fire.
