“We’ll talk about it later, baby,” he says, kissing the top of my head and dropping his arms. He tilts my head up to look at him. “I hope you’re hungry,” he says as the side of his lip curls into a smile.
“Always.”
He chuckles and places a chaste kiss on my lips. “That’s my girl.”
Mirielle beams at us when we walk back in and take a seat. Damien is talking to Isaac, leaning over the table to emphasize whatever point he’s making. I realize that he’s very expressive, like my brother, and the thought makes me smile. A tall man walks into the room as Damien is explaining to me the difference between two film cameras. He’s an independent film director and has already told me about two scripts he’s currently reading. The man looks identical to Nick. There is absolutely no room to question that he’s his father. He has the same body build: tall with very defined muscles. The same deep golden skin, the same aqua blue eyes and the same dark blond hair, the exception is his is long and gelled back. Upon looking at him I decide that Nick’s dad is a DILF. For real. He smiles at me, the same gorgeous panty-dropping smile that Nick gives me and I almost gasp as I shake his hand.
“Michael,” he introduces.
“Brooklyn,” I respond.
Nick nudges me under the table with his leg and I shrug at him, widening my eyes.
“Uncanny, right?” Mirielle says with a laugh.
I blink rapidly a couple of times. “I’ve never seen two people look more alike,” I respond.
She laughs. “I always used to joke that if Michael ever left me, he was going to have to take Nicky with him because I couldn’t deal with seeing him every day.”
“I don’t blame you,” I agree with a laugh.
We start eating the best food I’ve had in a very long time: white rice, black beans, and breaded chicken. It’s so good that I want to ask for a doggy bag and pretend that I’m giving it to Scooby when we get back to Nick’s place. I don’t, of course, because that would make me sound pathetic. And fat.
“So, Brooklyn,” Michael starts as he takes a sip of red wine. “You’re in the music business?”
I open my mouth, snap it shut, and open it again. Fuck, I hate this question. I sigh, conceding that he’s going to find out at some point. “Yes.” Michael raises an eyebrow and signals me to elaborate, so I do. “I’m a talent director for Harmon Records.”
Michael’s eyebrows shoot up as he puts down his glass. “Nice,” he says, nodding in approval. “How’d you get into that?”
Nick’s hand finds mine under the table. I think he can sense how uncomfortable I am talking about this. As he draws circles around my thumb, I find it in me to continue my explanation. I don’t even mind explaining it. I don’t mind saying who my family is. What bothers me is what comes after that—the assumption that I am what I am because of them. I hate that assumption, but it’s one I’ve learned to accept a little better.
“Chris Harmon is my father,” I say, making Damien drop his fork onto his plate loudly, but my eyes stay glued to Michael’s. His eyebrows knit slightly and he smiles. I can hear his thoughts. He doesn’t have to voice the typical “that makes sense” for me to know that’s what he’s thinking. He surprises me by not saying that, though.
“I knew you looked familiar,” Michael says, sounding like if he’s having an “aha” moment. “We’ll all have to get together for dinner one day. We used to go over to your house a lot, many moons ago,” he says, looking at Mirielle, who smiles back at him adoringly. “I’m sure your dad has calmed down a lot since then,” he says laughing. “I haven’t been to one of his parties in ages, but they used to get wild.”
“Tell me about it,” I mutter under my breath.
“Nicky finally picked a good one,” Michael says quietly, still looking at me. His words make me cringe inwardly. They’re the same words Shea’s mom used when we started dating. “You picked a keeper, Shea. Don’t let this one go,” she’d say. Her gold digging self thought Shea couldn’t make it by himself and needed to cling on to me to become anybody, but she was okay with him never becoming famous as long as he married into my family. I’m used to this.
Michael laughs suddenly. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, Brooklyn,” he says, I guess reading my expression. He signals around his house. “Trust me, we’re doing quite well. I just mean, he didn’t bring home another one of his gold diggers.”
For some reason, his words don’t make me feel any better, and the death grip Nick has on my hand lets me know that it makes two of us.
I shrug. “It’s fine. I can see how that would be a concern,” I respond, because it’s true. I’m hesitant to trust people because in the past I’ve been burned. Being Chris Harmon’s daughter means attracting a lot of the wrong kind of guys. Other than Shea, my other exes have also been musicians and most of our conversations have revolved around the business. I let out a relieved breath when Michael changes the subject to talk to Damien about his film company, and smile at Nick reassuringly. There are still a million questions running through my mind, but I’m not sure I’ll ask him any. I think more than anything, I’m scared that if I ask him something and he gives me the wrong answer, I’ll shut him away.
We eat the rest of our meal in peace and say our goodbyes. Michael and Mirielle both welcome me to come over again and send their regards to my parents. Isaac and Damien both give me a hug, followed by Mima, whose hug lasts longest. When I sit in the car, I can smell the fried food and spices on both Nick and me and it makes me smile.
“You’re a lucky guy,” I say, as we drive away from his parent’s house.
Nick smiles and takes my hand, bringing it up to his mouth and caressing it with his soft lips. “I am.”
His words zip-line to my heart, making it skip a beat. I turn away, hiding a smile as I look out into the bay, my eyes lingering on the bridge.
“When did you know?” I ask quietly, still looking at the bridge. I know I look different. I refuse to look at photos of myself back then. I looked anorexic with barely any meat on my bones, and my hair was bleached blond, much to my mother’s dismay, which is why I did it.
“You mean after I saw you again?” he asks, just as quietly.
I nod, hoping he’s looking at me.
Nick lets out a long loud exhale. “Will you look at me?” he asks. I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s expecting me to say no. “Please,” he adds, and it’s a plea I can’t deny, so I do, even though there’s a sadness in his eyes that I wish I could erase. “I think I always knew … but I knew for sure the second time I saw you. You look so different. So different. But those eyes … God, I’ve dreamt about your eyes so many times, I don’t think I could ever forget them.”
My heart stops when he says that, and I close my eyes for a moment, not wanting to forget those words and the way they sound coming out of his mouth. I wish I could walk around recording him and the things he says to me.
“Can I ask you something?” he asks suddenly.
My eyes blink open. “Sure.”
“Why were you there? Why were you doing it?” he asks.
I bite my lip and lower my eyes. Even though it’s been years, the pain is still so raw to me, which is why I try not to think about it. “I had a million reasons,” I say when I can bring myself to look at him again.
He nods as he switches lanes. “How many reasons did you have not to?” he asks.
“One,” I say automatically, not even having to think about it.
“Which was?” he asks, his voice wavering as if he’s unsure he wants to hear it.
“Isaac.”
We’re stopped at a red light now and I can see Nick’s eyes glistening. He blinks a couple of times and clears his throat. “Do you know how hard it is for me to hear that?” he asks, his voice a raw whisper.
“It’s not like you didn’t help me,” I mutter. “Thank you for that, by the way.”
He shakes his head and looks at me, pinning me with his eyes. He looks pissed off. “Yo
u’re thanking me for helping you?” He closes his eyes and takes a breath before opening them back up. “Brooklyn, do you realize you were within an inch of your life by the time we got you there? Do you know how scared we were? Do you know how fucking scary it is to wake up in the morning, thinking you’re going to help your brother train for a fucking marathon and have him call you on the verge of tears when you’re on the other side of a bridge timing his run? I had to make him drive halfway there so I could hold you as you shook uncontrollably in the backseat of my car. Your mouth was fucking foaming. Fuck. That was the single scariest thing that has ever happened to me. I waited for two days in that fucking hospital until you woke up from that coma. Two days without sleeping or eating because I was that freaked out. Then your uncle Robert comes and thanks me, and your fucking mom demands that I leave. Demands it because you were awake already.” Nick is seething by the end of his statement, completely ignoring the cars honking behind us, telling us that the light is green.
Tears begin running freely down my face. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper, remembering my mother giving me hell over the whole thing. She was so sure that whoever helped me get to the hospital was going to go sell their story to the first gossip magazine they found, but they didn’t. There was no news about me ever being on that bridge or in that hospital. The only news they reported was when I entered rehab. Then it was “Chris and Roxy Harmon’s daughter, torn up about breakup with Shea Roberts, turns to drugs. Seeks help” everywhere for about a week until everybody forgot about me again.
When he pulls into the parking spot in his building, he puts the gear in park, unbuckles my seatbelt and pulls me into his arms, cradling me, letting me sob freely into his shirt.
“You don’t get to apologize. You don’t get to thank me for doing the right thing, and you don’t get to apologize to me for making me go through it. I would have done that for anybody. It just fucking kills me that it was you—the most gorgeous woman on earth with the most beautiful smile and the best sense of humor. I hate that you ever considered ending your life. I hate that nobody was there to make you want to fight for it, and I hate that it took me so long to find you again.”
Wiping my tears with my hands, I bring my face to his, grab his head and kiss him deeply, thanking him for that day and for every time he’s ever looked at me and made me feel like everything. He carries me to the elevator, not letting go of me as he unlocks his door and stalks straight to his room, lying me down on his bed. I let out a breath as my body sinks into the softness of his comforter and prop myself up on my elbows to watch him kick off his shoes.
“Can I take a shower?” I ask, feeling rundown from the long day and knowing I still have a lot ahead of me to get through.
He tilts his head and smiles at me. “We can do anything you want to do,” he responds.
“Anything?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
His smile widens and he stalks toward me, pulling his shirt over his head on the way. My eyes trail from the Wilde tattoo on his inner arm to the music notes over his ribs. Once again, his body takes my breath away, but the look in his eyes, the one that tells me he wants to devour me in one sitting, that’s what makes me stop breathing all together.
“Do you have wine?” I ask, almost panting and he hasn’t even kissed me yet.
Nick chuckles as he pulls me to stand. “Yes, but you can’t have any.”
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “What?”
“You heard me,” he murmurs, kissing my neck, making my head loll to the other side on its own accord. “No drinking. I want you sober.”
It’s almost as if he can read my damn thoughts and I hate it. Except I don’t. I am worried about how this is going to happen, though. Thankfully his blinds are shielding the light that the setting sun is bathing the bedroom in.
“Can we shower together?” I ask, my voice small. I feel like a coward suddenly. I feel like I’ve been stripped bare for him, and even though I’m still fully dressed, I’ve never felt so naked in my life.
“You sure?” he asks quietly, sweeping my hair from my eyes to look at me. I respond by leaning up on the balls of my feet and wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. He moans when my tongue touches his and lifts me up, holding my bottom as he carries me into the bathroom.
Without letting me go or breaking our kiss, he switches on the shower. The fleeting thought that he must have done this a million times before crosses my mind, but I don’t let it sit there, I push it right out. When he sets me on my feet and releases me, looking at me as if I’m a pond of water in the desert, I pull my shirt over my head and toss it to the side, my bra quickly following. His eyes stay on my face, searching, and then trail down to my breasts. He throws his head back with a groan before looking at me and kissing me again.
This isn’t a sweet kiss like the one before; it’s a possessive kiss that leaves my head swimming in desire. His lips graze down my jaw, my neck, the valley of my breasts, until he finally pulls a nipple into his mouth. My body begins to shiver at the sensation. It feels so good that I have to hold on to his head with both hands, losing myself in the power of his tongue as it swirls around each one. He falls to his knees suddenly and continues his exploration with his mouth until he reaches the top of my jeans, which he unbuttons and peels off along with my boy short underwear.
Grabbing my hips, he presses his face to me, his tongue traveling over the inside of my legs, from one thigh to the other. He takes his time, gently teasing me, taking me to the edge without doing much other than massaging my ass in his hands and sucking every inch of skin between my thighs. He pushes me up to the counter and spreads my legs wide, placing a hand on the inside of each thigh, and runs his tongue up and down my folds at a slow, torturous pace. I throw my head back and moan deeply, trying to keep my hands on his head, tugging his hair, begging for more, but I can’t even form words. The feel of his tongue on me is too much as it is, so when he tweaks my nipples with his fingers, the way he tweaks the buttons on the soundboards, I fall over the edge, the orgasm hitting so hard that all I can do is scream his name.
Nick stands up, shedding his jeans and briefs as he does it, but I don’t have time to admire any of it because my eyes are still half closed. I bring my gaze up to his face and admire the way he looks at me through hooded eyes, making me feel desired, sexy; everything I’ve ever wanted to feel is bottled up in the look he’s giving me right now. His chest is rising and falling heavily as he scoops me up and takes me into the shower, walking under the water that sprays over us. He backs me against the wall, placing his lips against mine. He doesn’t give me a warning; he just squeezes my bottom and groans loudly as he pushes into me with a hard thrust that makes me gasp for air as I throw my head back on the wall behind me.
“Oh my God,” I scream, my fingernails digging into his flesh, making him pound into me harder. This is completely unlike the last time we had sex. This is rough, possessive; this is primal. His moans and dirty words make me feel like I’m about to go over the edge, and just when I gasp, feeling a bolt of electricity coursing through me, he slows down the pace and looks at me, his eyes wild with hunger, need.
“So fucking beautiful,” he says, his voice raspy and guttural, and that’s all it takes for me to fall.
“At what time are those people you’re supposed to watch going to perform?” Nick asks as we lay on his bed facing each other.
I groan at the reminder of all of the things I have to do. “They’ll be there at nine,” I mumble, pouting my lip at the thought of not having more alone time with Nick.
He bites my pout and sucks it into his mouth. “God, you’re sexy,” he growls before letting go of me to get out of bed. Wrapping the comforter around my body, I sit up to watch him pull his jeans over his briefs and loop his belt on. He stops at the belt buckle, glimpsing up at me with a smirk when he catches me watching him.
“You’re not going to get dressed?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
I fight a smi
le. “Soon. I’m just enjoying the show.”
He laughs, shaking his head as he pulls a soft grey T-shirt over his head. He pulls on his hair to style it in the middle, stops mid-finger comb, and yanks my exposed feet, making me yelp. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he raises my feet to his mouth and presses a kiss on each of the tiny anchors I have on the insides of my ankles.
“What’s the story behind these?” he asks. “You into pirates?”
My laughter comes out sounding more like a “pffft” as I look at him in amusement. “No. They keep me grounded.”
His brows raise as if that wasn’t the answer he was expecting, and he nods in appreciation. “They’re cute,” he comments, his face looking unsure about something.
“What?” I ask, sitting up.
He shrugs and brings his eyes to mine. “They sink … anchors,” he says quietly.
I smile slightly, bringing my hands to cup his worried face. “They also keep the vessel from moving into dangerous waters in the ocean. It depends how you look at it,” I reply with a shrug. Nick’s worried look begins to dissipate as he looks into my eyes, and a slow smile begins to form on his lips. He leans into my hands, pushing towards me until his nose is touching mine.
“I like that answer,” he whispers, his lips meeting mine in a slow sweet kiss that doesn’t fail to leave me breathless. He backs away from me slowly, his eyes intently on mine as if he’s searing this moment in his head, and I do the same. Watching him walk to the bathroom, I wonder if his lips will always feel that good against mine, if his kisses will always be that pure. After pondering that for a moment, I stand up and dress as quickly as I can, tying my hair back into a ponytail with the elastic I have in the back pocket of my jeans.
He reappears and leans on the threshold of the bathroom door, crossing his muscular arms over his chest as he looks at me. “That was fast,” he says, pushing off of the door and walking toward me. It doesn’t matter that we just had sex, not for the first time, and that I’ve seen him more times than I can count with both of my hands, the way he makes me feel when he looks at me as he walks towards me takes my breath away every time.
Catch Me Page 22
