by Naima Simone
The cold reminder accomplished what her ragged resolve couldn’t. The need simmering in her chest and between her legs cooled until not even embers remained. Troy had demolished her pride and self-esteem. She refused to offer both up to Ari along with a battering ram.
Minutes later, she removed his scraped clean plate and scooted hers over to him. He wolfed down the remaining pieces of bacon and eggs.
“I take it you aren’t feeling any after-effects from getting drunk off your ass?” She crossed the kitchen to the refrigerator and removed the orange juice.
“If you mean am I hung over, no.” He popped the last of the food into his mouth. “I didn’t drink yesterday, though. Just crashed.” A frown creased his brow for a second, and Neveah held her breath. Was he thinking about Monday night? Did he remember?
His forehead cleared, and she silently expelled the air trapped in her lungs. “It’s been,” his full mouth firmed into a grim line, “hectic. I guess I was more exhausted than I thought. Everything caught up with me, and I slept all day.”
“Well that’s good.” She poured the juice into a tall glass and placed it in front of him.
He studied the drink for several quiet seconds, his elegant, musician fingers wrapped around the glass. When he raised his eyes to meet hers, they were inscrutable. But his penetrating examination left her unnerved. Bothered.
“What?” she demanded, unable to stand his scrutiny and silence any longer.
“I’m trying to remember the last time I drank orange juice without gin or Vodka in it. Or the last time someone fixed breakfast for me. It’s been years…for both.” He paused. “Thank you.”
Warmth having nothing to do with the beauty of his face or body suffused her. Troy had often accused her of hovering, of being too obsequious. So, she’d stifled the part of her that enjoyed taking care of others, of comforting and serving so her ex wouldn’t feel smothered. Now here, a man who people probably catered to and tripped over themselves to pamper and dote on, had thanked her for a simple breakfast and glass of juice.
Unbidden tears stung her eyes, and she squeezed them close. Ashamed and horrified at her reaction to his kindness, she whipped around. Christ, really? They were words. Just words. She mentally shook her head, replacing the carton in the refrigerator. Yet…yet her heart—her bruised and battered heart—pounded at the simple “thank you.” Because it had been so fucking long since she’d heard those two words. From family, from Troy…
“Hey.” Big, strong hands closed over her shoulders and, for the second time that morning she jumped, startled. Except, this time, a tall, hard body pressed against her back and ass. Goddamn, was that his… Oh, hell yes, it was. Surely the long, thick length nudging her bottom was a biological, morning-wood-man thing, and not due to his standing so close to her. She froze, snared like a fish on a hook between shrinking away from him and crowding closer.
“Look at me.” The command was soft, but his firm grip brooked no argument. He didn’t wait for her to obey, but turned her around to face him. His musician’s fingers pinched her chin and tilted her head back. She didn’t have a choice but to do as he directed. Those too-knowing eyes studied her until she fought not to squirm like the aforementioned fish. “What’s wrong? And don’t tell me nothing when I can see the tears in your eyes.” She parted her lips to object, but he placed a finger against her mouth. “What did I say?”
Maybe she should confess. Maybe she should admit that, with a simple phrase—thank you—he’d reminded her how she’d allowed herself to be taken advantage of for so long. Admit she’d willingly subjugated a part of herself to conform to her ex’s endless and impossible expectations.
Sure. She could come clean right now…and appear pathetic and weak in his eyes.
“Nothing.” His gaze narrowed, and she shrugged. “I’m just PMSing.” Any red-blooded male would turn tail and run at those three dreaded letters.
He snorted, not releasing his grasp on her face or appearing the least bit intimidated. Well, shit.
“Nice try. Now,” he whisked the pad of his thumb along the tender skin beneath her bottom lip, “tell me who hurt you.”
Shock stampeded over her. The combination of his incisive—and intrusive—statement and the sensual touch grazing her mouth… She shivered. Jerked out of his grip. But not before she caught the darkening of his eyes. Standing this close, no way could he have missed her body’s reaction to his caress. Humiliation crawled through her.
At eighteen, she’d fantasized about him giving her “the look” and choosing her out of all the screaming, half-naked women in the audience. The wish had been a school girl dream. And, years later, never would she have believed one day she would meet the object of those fantasies in real life. On stage, on television, on posters, he was charismatic, vibrant. In life—less than five feet away—he was irresistible. Potent. Dangerous. An unrealistic, impossible fantasy had suddenly sprang to life, and the odds of her falling hard scared the shit out of her.
Troy she could get over—had gotten over.
But Ari?
He would leave a hole no man could fill.
Okay, she needed space. From him. From the heat radiating from his bared flesh. From the temptation of skin begging to be petted, kissed, licked. Worshipped.
Her hips bumped the edge of the counter as she backed away from him. Grasping on to the only weapon he’d left her, she hurled words at him like a Hail Mary grenade.
“Share with me why you got wasted. What had you locked up in a room drinking alone? And don’t tell me nothing,” she mocked, throwing his demand back at him.
His lashes lowered, concealing his gaze. A cold mask descended over his face, the sharp angles stark and harsh. Instantly, she regretted the words and wished she could renege and snatch them back. Desperation—hell, survival—had propelled the verbal slap from her mouth. She had to spend the next five days with him. If she wanted to survive with her pride and, God forbid, her heart intact, she had to place distance—emotional and physical distance—between them.
Because she knew herself. Too well.
Troy. Jacob. Harrison.
Their names were etched into the tombstones littering her love life. Men she’d believed she’d loved. Believed had loved her in return. All because she’d fallen so hard, so fast. Greedy for someone to need her, want her, adore her, she’d turned a blind eye to the glaring, neon caution signs—Asshole Ahead.
Yes, she knew herself. It would be easy to dive head and heart first into an infatuation with Ari. What woman with working ovaries wouldn’t? Gorgeous. Fierce. Sensual. And with a wounded heart still grieving for a woman he’d lost three years earlier.
She needed to keep her distance.
Because if she didn’t, five days from now she would walk away from this castle with her heart ripped to shreds by a rock star.
Five
“To forget.”
Neveah skidded to a halt several feet from the door of their suite and turned toward Ari, confusion etched on her face. Not that he blamed her bewilderment. An hour and a half had passed since she’d basically run from the kitchen—and him. Ninety minutes was a huge lag in conversation time.
She frowned. “I’m sorry. What?”
Propping a shoulder against the wall next to his bedroom door jamb, he crossed his arms. “You asked me why I was alone in the room getting wasted. To forget.”
He forced the explanation past his throat and lips even though his brain roared a WTF? The subject of Caro was taboo. He didn’t talk about her to anyone. Joseph had tried to convince him to grant interviews about her death, but Ari had refused. And when overzealous reporters had tried to sneak in questions, he’d cut the interviews short, leaving them staring at their cameras and his empty seat. She was off-limits.
So why he’d broached the subject, even peripherally, with Neveah, a woman he’d known for days? Hell, he didn’t know, couldn’t explain it to his damn self. But whenever he studied he
r pretty face, the vulnerable curve of her lips and the liquid darkness of her eyes where shadows and old—and not-so-old—hurts seemed to linger, he trusted her. Trusted her to not betray his confidence. Trusted her to not judge him by his demons.
The past had taught him confiding his secrets, cares and pain in the wrong person wounded the soul worse than a lethal gunshot or knife wound. Living with the scars of betrayal, disillusionment, bitterness and lack of belief in his own judgment lasted much longer than the brutal abruptness and finality of death.
Yet, here he stood, ready to risk stepping off the shaky ledge called Faith and expose himself to a woman he barely knew. Earlier in the kitchen, he’d asked her to share her past hurt with him. As if he could squeeze into a suit of armor and fight the monster responsible for inflicting the pain reflected so clearly in her eyes. But she’d just stared at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted fur, dagger-sharp teeth and claws, and had threatened to huff, puff and blow down the protective shields she’d erected.
He knew a little something about those shields. His kept him safe and others out.
If he wanted her to permit him inside, he would have to lower his own walls.
Why he craved to be allowed past her defenses…he’d analyze that enigma later. Maybe. “This time of year is…difficult.”
“Ari.” Neveah shook her head, gaze soft and too understanding. “You don’t have to explain.”
He shoved off the wall and slid his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “Getting fucked up has been my way of getting through. And this year,” he clenched his jaw before forcibly relaxing it, “has been especially rough.”
Because Everett Graves, the long-haul truck driver who’d fallen asleep at the wheel and plowed into Caro’s car, killing her instantly, was up for parole next week. Ari balled his fingers into fists, squeezing, squeezing until his bones protested. The dull ache helped center him.
“Thank you.” Lashes lowered, Neveah rubbed her gloved palms over the dark blue denim molded to her long, lovely legs. “You must really love her.”
He nodded, the gesture short, abrupt. Yeah, he had. With all the passion and fire of a boy’s first love. And, as a man, he’d tenaciously clung to that teenage love even when the gilded edges of it had started to tarnish and flake. Even when the cracks under the surface refused to remain hidden. Even when the path they’d started together forked, leaving them to travel different roads.
Even then.
Now, remnants of his devotion remained, but it’d become so tangled and snarled with guilt, shame and anger, he could no longer remember what he and Caro had shared without tormenting himself over how they’d lost it.
How he’d lost her.
“Where are you headed?” Desperation to change the subject clawed at his throat, roughening his voice.
After not talking about Caro for so long, even this small conversation almost proved to be too much. He jerked his chin at Neveah’s heavy coat and fur-trimmed, knee-high boots. Though the outerwear covered her from head to foot, he didn’t have to wonder about the sexy curves hidden underneath. Not as of this morning. She might be petite, but breasts capable of fitting his palms pushed against a black turtleneck. Hips perfect for gripping, along with an ass that should be worshipped as a religion, filled out a tight pair of jeans. He wouldn’t have to worry about leaving bruises or holding back or going easy on her. She had a body created for fucking. The kind of fucking he loved. No holds barred, dirty, rough.
Christ. With the eyes, hair and face of an angel, how could he have guessed Neveah possessed the body of a porn star? The mouth. He dropped his gaze to the plump, sinful curves. Yeah, that mouth should’ve been his first clue. This angel was fallen. And damn if he didn’t want to contribute to her corruption.
“I’m going sledding.” She removed a knit, page boy-style cap from her coat pocket.
“Sledding?” He couldn’t contain his disbelief. “As in…sledding?”
“Yes.” A corner of her mouth quirked. “You know, snow, the outdoors. Whoosh.” She held her hand high and mimicked sliding down a hill.
“Oh ri-i-ight.” He nodded. “Whoosh.”
She snorted, tugging on her hat. “Unlike you, I have been taking advantage of what this place has to offer. And sledding is number three on my bucket list.”
“Yeah? What were numbers one and two?” And why did a flash of jealously flicker within him at the thought of her enjoying herself with other people—men—while he’d been passed out? Fucking ridiculous.
“Ice skating and Irish set dancing.”
Ari blinked. “Apparently, I’m still drunk because I could’ve sworn you just said Irish set dancing.”
She scowled. “Considering how you spent the past forty-eight hours, I’ll thank you not to judge.”
“Hey.” He held up his hands, palms out. For the first time in longer than he could remember, honest-to-God laughter bubbled up inside him. It was unfamiliar…and damn good. Cleansing. “You have every right to get your Lord of the Dance on.”
She defiantly hiked her chin. “It’s called a bucket list for a reason. Now, if you don’t mind, number three awaits.” She turned but, after a step toward the door, she halted and slowly pivoted back around. “Do you want to come?”
Surprise winged through him. Sledding? For real? Growing up in LA, opportunities to slide down a snow-covered hill hadn’t arisen very often. When the Sincero clan had indulged in the rare family vacation, they’d traveled to his homesick mother’s India instead of Aspen or Sun Valley. He’d never…but wasn’t trying new things the point?
And, in this moment, studying Neveah’s carefully composed features and shuttered eyes, there was nothing else he wanted more than to zoom down a Colorado hill at a death-defying speed. With her. “Yeah, I do.”
Her eyes widened, astonishment and pleasure lighting her deep-brown gaze. A small smile curved her mouth.
“Well, get dressed—oh, wait.” She arched an eyebrow, tapping a finger against her bottom lip. Huh. Jealous of a finger. A first. “You can’t go in those clothes.” She flicked a hand at his long-sleeved white thermal shirt and jeans. “You’ll freeze. Do you have a sweater and coat?”
“I packed for Mexico, not the Rockies.”
“Oh.” A wicked—and scary as hell—gleam entered her eyes. “In that case, I have the perfect solution.”
Shit.
* * * *
“Shit.”
“What?” Neveah grinned. Even under his sunglasses and a slouched, brimmed hat, she could detect Ari’s dark scowl. “You’re not cold.”
The corner of his mouth curled into a sexy snarl as he surveyed the black down ski jacket and gloves he’d bought at the resort’s small, in-house boutique. “I look like an asshole.”
She snickered. “A warm asshole, though.”
She couldn’t glimpse his eyes through the black lenses of his shades, but she could easily imagine his narrowed, gold-green glare.
“You are enjoying this entirely too much.” He fidgeted, tugging at the sleeve and bottom of the coat. “Thank fuck my brother can’t see me now.”
Scoffing, she turned toward the glistening, white landscape that served as the golf course in the spring and summer. The November wind, frigid and biting, whipped around them. In a defiant “eff you” the sun shone bright, reflecting off the snow in a blinding show of light. She adjusted her sunglasses and tightened her scarf to prevent the sneaky, icy fingers of the winter air from creeping beneath her coat.
Besides, the cold couldn’t compete with the warmth heating her chest like a glass hurricane lamp sheltering a flame. The reason rested solely on the down-padded shoulders of the rock star standing next to her.
The invitation she’d extended to Ari had been impulsive. If she’d thought it through, she wouldn’t have asked him to come with her. Why would he, a man whose idea of fun probably included clubs, high-priced alcohol, five-star treatment and half-naked women, want to
do something as juvenile as sledding? Just because she was excited over finally being able to go for the first time in years, didn’t mean he would share her enthusiasm. The fear of rejection had writhed inside her like snakes as she’d turned around to face him in the suite, bracing for his kind—and awful—refusal.
Only he hadn’t bowed out. He’d accepted.
The leaping spurt of joy inside her should’ve been a blaring, red caution flag about becoming too attached, too invested in a man so far out of her league she resembled a T-ball munchkin trying out for the Seattle Mariners.
Yet, here she was, crouched on a sled at the top of a steep hill, hoarding every moment in Ari’s company. Because this time next week, she would wake up from this teenage girl fantasy and find herself back in her office, slowly stagnating at her father’s mortgage company.
Sighing, she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting off the swell of frustration and helplessness.
“What’s the matter?” Ari’s taunting interrupted her morose thoughts. “Change your mind?”
“Keep your pretty, new jacket on, rock star.” She snickered before stretching out on the board on her stomach and gripping the guides. Her belly rolled and flipped. Damn, this hill was steep. She inhaled a deep breath. “Okay, on three. One…”
“Three.” He shoved the back of the sled and she flew down the incline.
The wind whistled around her, ripping the “son-of-a-bitch” she screamed at him from her throat. Fear and exhilaration raced through her veins like a freight train as the world zipped past in a blur of white, brown trees and blue sky.
As the terrifying and exciting ride slowed, she released a laugh and it rumbled from the deepest part of her. Holy shit! What a rush! She hooted, scrambling to her feet. Again. She so had to do it again.
A roar was her only warning to get out of the way.
Ari zoomed past her with a wild whoop and the delight inside her bubbled like the finest, most expensive champagne. With another war cry, he leaped to his feet. “Fuck, yes! Again!”
