Twenty-One Days (Pleasure Series Book 3)

by Amber Rayne

  As he made his way to the door, he looked over his shoulder one more time to glare at me. I couldn’t get the smile of satisfaction off my face, so I doubted I could remove it from my voice when I said, “Good luck.”

  I was riding so high on my revenge on Jason that the rest of the workday flew by, and the invigorating feeling unweighted me. On my walk to the train, I inhaled the fresh air with hints of baked goods and spices from the various restaurants I passed. I walked past the café and couldn’t help but look in, though I didn’t expect to see him. It was only on rare occasions that I did. He wasn’t there. There was a slight emptiness that I pushed away. What was supposed to happen now?

  The next day I walked in expecting to see Aiden in his same spot, but he wasn’t there. I got my coffee to go, part of me expecting to run into him again like I had done the day before. Nothing. And once I was settled at my desk, I could no longer deny it. I missed him. I sent him a text. Good morning.

  And for several hours I waited for a response. By the third hour I realized I wasn’t going to get one. No matter how I tried to convince myself otherwise, I had fallen for Aiden Matthews, and essentially exchanged one heartache for another. And for the rest of the day, I busied myself with my work, unfortunately unable to keep myself from periodically checking my phone. Each time, the heaviness in my heart felt worse.

  This is what you agreed to, I scolded myself.

  By Friday I had gotten used to coming into the café and not seeing him. It didn’t hurt any less, but in fact it probably was what I needed, severing it without any reminders about our twenty-one days together. When my phone buzzed after lunch, I quickly grabbed it and sighed at the number before answering it.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “I didn’t expect to get you. It almost seems like you’re avoiding your mother.”

  Because having a conversation without guilting me would be too easy.

  “I’m sorry, I’m back at work and I’ve been busy.” She made the same disgruntled noise she always did when I discussed work. As far as she was concerned, I was a glorified administrative assistant, and I could do better by getting married to the “right guy” from the “right family” with the “right credentials” and the “right earning potential.”

  “Do you have plans this weekend?” She wasn’t asking whether or not I had plans; she wanted to know if I had plans to see Aiden Matthews.

  “No, I don’t have any plans.”

  There was a long pause. “You don’t have plans with Aiden? There’s a benefit dinner this weekend and from my understanding, his father will be attending. He has in the past.”

  “No. I won’t be going to that.”

  “Let’s meet for dinner after work. I’ll meet you at Antonio’s at six thirty.” And then she hung up. I looked down at my phone several times, contemplating texting her to cancel, but I knew that wouldn’t work. If I canceled dinner, she’d just suggest lunch. And if I couldn’t make lunch, I’d see her tomorrow for brunch, so I might as well get it over with. She’d inquire about Aiden, and pepper me with questions before trying to make an action plan to right my wrongs.

  Antonio’s was the type of restaurant my mother enjoyed. Fine wine, elegant atmosphere, and a reputation of excellence. I often felt that they were riding on their reputation rather than the quality of their food, but that meant little to my mom, because in her mind, if you had the right reputation, then people would forgive the quality. I must not have been one of those people.

  She was already waiting for me when I arrived at the restaurant, and the waiter quickly escorted me to her table. She smiled at my approach and stood, greeting me with a warm hug. Nothing like Jules, but not typical for my mother. She wore a business suit, adorned by a set of pearls and bracelet. Her hair was upswept into a bun that drew attention to her long neck and soft, refined features. I glanced over at her purse, a new Prada, something she’d wanted for years and which my father had refused her. It was odd how he had a discretionary fund to finance his screw-ups with my mother, and lately they seemed to happen often. She was in a good mood. I looked at her wineglass and wondered which number she was on.

  “What did Dad do?” I asked. Although my mother, as a realtor, could probably have purchased it herself years ago, gifts like these were things she left for my father. Vacations, dinners, and getaways were easily forgotten. Whatever he did, she liked expensive reminders of it. A warning of his offense. Although my father’s infidelity wasn’t something that I had proof of, I always wondered if that was the reason my mother didn’t have a problem with Jason’s.

  She sighed, dismissing the question with a wave of her hand. “What hasn’t he done?” I knew she wanted me to drop the subject, so I did.

  “How long have you been here?” I asked.

  “About a half an hour,” she said. I looked down at the merlot. It was probably her second glass.

  “How was your first week?”

  “It was fine. It feels good to be back.”

  “I’m sure they’re glad to have you back.” The mundane conversation continued, and by the time we had appetizers, she’d started on her third glass of wine. I continued to sip on my white wine, waiting to hear the real reason for our meeting.

  “Is Aiden in town this week?” she asked between sips.

  I shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him since Sunday.”

  She put her glass down and just stared at me. “Why is that? Are you two having a fight?”

  I took another draw for my glass bigger. “It wasn’t anything serious. Just two people hanging out.”

  She sat up straighter as she looked at me, her gaze roving over me, her lips pulled into a tight line, her irritation palpable. “Aiden isn’t the type of man that you should just be ‘hanging out with.’ His father will be a congressman soon. And Aiden is in a good position to follow his father’s path. What more do you want? I told you the type of woman he’s dated in the past. You can’t keep a man like that interested just doing your typical things, Ella. Tell me what happened. Perhaps—”

  “Stop,” I whispered. When she continued, I said it loud enough for the people at the next table to look up.

  Her eyes narrowed on me in a disapproving glare. Leaning into the table, she hissed through her teeth, “That will be enough of that.”

  “No, it will not be enough. Each time I meet with you, I always leave feeling worse. It should not be like that, and I refuse to let it be that way anymore. Things didn’t work out with Aiden. That’s it. I don’t need you to try to fix it, or tell me what I need to do to fix it, because you obviously think it’s my fault. You always think it’s my fault. I refuse to let you do this to me anymore.”

  “Ella, I’m doing this for your own good. You’ve always been—”

  “Been what? A person who valued happiness on the inside as opposed to the optics of how things looked on outside? I don’t care if my marriage doesn’t look like the perfect marriage or my husband doesn’t look like the perfect guy. I want the perfect person for me. Aiden wasn’t it. And Jason damn sure wasn’t it. But I stayed in that relationship because of you. Instead of wanting what made me happy, you wanted what made me look happy, and I don’t want that for myself.”

  My mother’s face was pulled into a scowl, and I could see the anger brewing inside of her. “I’m tired of having this discussion with you, Ella. I’ve never intervened with your sister because she had things together. You’ve always needed a little bit more assistance.”

  I closed my eyes for a few seconds and inhaled as I tried to calm myself. I didn’t want to fight with my mother, nor did I want her to feel guilty for wanting us to be happy. But I didn’t think I could ever get my mom to see that I’d rather be happy than look like I was happy, which seemed so important to her.

  “I understand that Jason and Rebecca are having problems,” my mother said softly as she took a sip from her glass. The little smirk quivered at her lips. It was the first time she’d shown any form of approval, and
it was for one of my least admirable acts. “It’s my understanding you had something to do with that.”

  “I did.”

  “He never loved her. You know that, right?”

  “He didn’t love me either,” I offered. “I didn’t do it because I wanted him back. I just wanted him miserable.”

  There was a long, weighted silence before my mom spoke. “Jason isn’t a terrible person,” she said softly. “Anyone can have a lapse of judgment, and he did. Why do you think he’s pursued you so aggressively? He misses you, Ella. He’s a good man.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me!” I didn’t care about my voice being raised or people looking at me as I came to my feet. All the breath I took wasn’t enough to calm me. My mother was ready to send me off to the lion’s den because she considered Jason a “good man”—the “right man”—and her screw-up daughter couldn’t possibly do better.

  I leaned into the table and looked my mom squarely in the eye. Although I was oblivious to everyone around me, she wasn’t. I didn’t care anymore, but I did keep my voice down because I wanted her to hear me. I didn’t want her to be distracted by the people around us looking. Though anger infused my words, I managed to keep my voice down enough not to draw more attention. “I’m not going back to Jason. Period. I don’t want him, and I will never love him. He wasn’t the right guy for me. He was the right guy for you. You want him to be part of the family so bad, you marry him. Mom, I love you, but I will not keep doing this. If you can’t respect me and want the same things for me as I want, then don’t waste your time asking me to these dinners or little gatherings, because I will not come again. I will not sit around idly while you sell off my happiness and my self-respect to the highest bidder because you want someone who will make me look good to your friends. If what I am is not enough, so be it.”

  I left. It wasn’t as if I expected her to come after me. She would never do anything like that. I wondered how long it would take for her to demand an apology for my behavior. As I walked out of the restaurant, the cool air bristling against my face made me feel freer than before. I wished I had running shoes on instead of heels. It was the type of weather I loved to run in, and I needed to clear my head.

  I hailed a cab, and once I was in the back of it, my intention was to go home. I called Natalie several times, but the calls went to voicemail. It was Friday, date night, one of their marital rules. Their phones would be turned off until the next morning. As the driver negotiated the busy Friday night streets, he was just five blocks from my work, and seven from Biscot, my favorite café, and where I’d met Aiden. And before we could pass it, I stopped the driver and paid him. I didn’t want to be in a crowded place like a bar, but I didn’t necessarily want to be alone. I peeked into the café, and as it was on most weekend nights, the little spot had transitioned from a bustling café into an intimate place where you could listen to acoustic guitar and singing. I didn’t want to be there, either, so I stepped out of the café, picked up the phone and called Aiden. What a foolish thing to do. I called three times but hung up and started walking towards the train. My phone buzzed. It was Aiden.

  “What’s wrong, Ella?” Aiden silky voice came over the speaker.

  “Nothing.”

  “Where are you?” he asked softly. I could hear the concern in his voice.

  “I’m fine.” There was a long pause. I had been lost for words, and the silence continued as he waited for me to speak.

  “Ella,” he said, a raspy whisper and a gentle command. “Tell me where you are.”

  I moistened my drying lips. “I’m at the café.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” And then he hung up.

  It didn’t take him twenty minutes, more like fifteen. I had been sitting for less than ten minutes, listening to the angelic sound of the siren who had the room enthralled by her sultry, melancholy vocals that emanated from her.

  Aiden walked in, still wearing a suit, his hair slightly tousled as though he’d run his fingers through it. A light shadow along his strong jawline gave him a sexy appearance. He emanated raw sexuality and dominance. Even with the lights dimmed, I connected with his penetrating, emotive eyes that were fixed on me.

  Curiosity moved along his features as I approached. His brow furrowed, and once I was within reach, he cradled my face, thumb moving gently over my cheeks. “You called me—what’s wrong?”

  “I shouldn’t have,” I admitted. Although, standing next to him, inhaling the musky scent of his cologne, feeling the warmth of his body close to me, and seeing the alluring way he looked at me, I was sure glad that I had. I missed Aiden. It was a foolish thing to do, but denying it didn’t make it any less real.

  “But you did. Why did you call?”

  “You didn’t return my message earlier this week,” I said, casting my eyes to the floor, embarrassed at how painful it was.

  “It wasn’t to hurt you.”

  I looked up. I didn’t care what he saw in my face. Meeting his gaze, I held it.

  “Let’s go,” he said. His hand encircled my wrist and he guided me to his car. After several minutes of driving in silence, he asked, “How was your meeting with your mother?”

  “How did you know I met with my mother today?”

  With a slight curl of his lips, he smiled. “You always look like that: out of control, sad, insecure.” His eyes stayed rooted on me. “You’re totally in control. And you have nothing to be sad or insecure about.”

  “I’m not in control when I’m with you.”

  He laughed, a deep rolling sound. Amused, he said, “Most people aren’t. That has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me.” The grin was still on his lips when he asked me about my week. And without a filter, I told him about it. By the time we’d driven into the parking lot, I had told him everything, including the situation with Jason.

  His jaw set and his eyes hardened at the mention of Jason, and they didn’t relax the whole time I talked about him. “I don’t like him.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s not very fond of himself at the moment, nor is his soon-to-be ex-wife,” I offered.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked as we entered his penthouse.

  Not for food, I thought but didn’t act on the urge. He went to his bar and made two drinks, handing me one. Brandy. I frowned at it and put it on the counter. He picked it up and half emptied the contents of it. Then he kissed me deeply. I tasted hints of it on his lips and tongue, but his kiss was far more intoxicating. “Is that better?” he asked. After a few moments, he said,“He’ll keep coming back for you. How do you feel about that?”

  “I feel like it will be an annoyance that I can handle.”

  He nodded and went to the bar again, taking a bottle of wine off the rack and turning it so I could see the label, waiting for my approval. Aiden didn’t have wine that I didn’t like, nor did he have any that I could afford. I nodded, and he took out a glass. I took a sip as Aiden positioned himself in front of me, close. His fingers grazed the front of my shirt, brushing over my nipples.

  Taking the cube of ice from his glass, he rubbed it over my lips before covering them with his warm lips. Again, he rolled the ice over my lips, melting it. He laved over the area, removing traces of it as he traveled along my jaw, down my neck.

  “Continue telling me about your day.”

  But I couldn’t. Distracted, my fingers curled around his shirt, digging into the defined lines of muscle along his back. I missed his body against mine when he pulled away and ran his fingers through his hair, mussing it.

  “Do you enjoy the things I do, honestly? Or do you enjoy that it pleases me?” he asked softly.

  “Both,” I admitted.

  “And if I did none of that, how would you feel?”

  I shrugged, “I’d still want to be here, with you.” He studied me for a long time, as if something that should have made him happy didn’t.

  He sucked in a ragged breath. “I’m finding it harder to sever my ties with
you,” he admitted. “And I really need to. It will not end well for you,” he said.

  “Just for me?” I asked.

  He nodded. The silence was uncomfortable, and I stayed still as he moved closer. Slowly he unbuttoned my shirt, keeping his eyes on me the entire time, and when the buttons were all undone, I shrugged it off. He kissed me on the shoulder and neck, sliding down.

  “How was your week?” I asked between kisses.

  “Well, there weren’t any aliens. When those buggers get to you, you’re stuck in a new city, in a crappy office, a worker drone,” he teased, referring to his explanation when we first met of him doing “this and that.”

  He led me to his bedroom, but I stopped him, digging my heels in. “I didn’t come here for sex.”

  “Then what did you come here for?”

  “You,” I said softly.

  He frowned, looking out the window, where his eyes stayed for several long moments. The intensity with which he focused on the view outside, I didn’t want directed at me. I tried not to feel silly about it, but there wasn’t any other way to feel. Sex and lust were the sordid foundation that our relationship was built on.

  “How did Jason respond when you sent the message to his wife?”

  I laughed. “He was pissed. Shocked and pissed. And disgusted. It was like watching each emotion he felt slowly wash over his face.” He laughed, grabbing the bottle of wine and nodding toward the sofa. I sunk into the soft seating and grabbed my glass.

  “You know she’s not going to divorce him, right?”

  “I know, but at least she’ll make his life a living hell.”

  And he listened quietly as I told him about the rest of the week, oddly interested in details about my work that seemed tedious.

  “And you like this place?”

  “I do. Sometimes it’s scary because I feel like one client leaving is all that keeps us from going bankrupt. Jules would never let us know. She’d sell everything she owned to make sure it stayed open.”

  “She seems like a nice person to work for.”