by S. Moose
I smile, and my heart fills, knowing my son’s having a great time. “I’m glad, Dawson. Don’t get too wound up on sugar. You don’t want to crash tonight or get to bed too late. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry. I’m six, almost seven, so I’m not a baby anymore.”
“Uh-huh.” I look up and don’t see Reagan, so I go back to my conversation with Dawson. “Have fun tonight. I’ll see you in the morning. I love you.”
“Love you, too!”
When I disconnect from the call, I still don’t see Reagan. I walk to the restroom and lean against the opposite wall. I give it another two minutes before opening the door, but I back away when she comes out and jumps back a little.
“Um, hello? Stalker much?”
“I’m not a stalker. I was worried. You were gone for a while, so I was checking to make sure you were okay.”
“Everything’s fine. My best friend, Aimee, needed to talk, but as you can see, I’m in one piece. I don’t need you checking up on me. It’s sweet you came to check. Not necessary though.”
“Everything about you is necessary, Reagan.”
“Okay,” she says, seeming unsure as she walks away.
We return to our table, and I listen as she tells me about college and moving to Chicago. What she’s telling me is vague. She doesn’t expand on too much, and I don’t want to push her to tell me more.
“What made you decide to move?”
“Oh, just a change,” she answers.
“Do you visit your family often?”
“No. It’s just me and my mom. She’s retired and traveling to all the places she’s always wanted to see. After I left Boston, I didn’t keep in close contact with anyone until Aimee and I reconnected and that’s how I ended up in Chicago.”
I don’t press her for more details, but I find it a bit alarming that she walked away from Boston without a second thought.
After dinner, I suggest we head to Andy’s Jazz Club. The cab ride’s quiet, and I take every chance I can to sneak a glance at her beauty. She’s staring out the window, and I want so badly to know what’s on her mind.
Once we’re there, I lead her through the doors, and the hostess immediately seats us. A woman’s onstage, playing the piano, and she gains Reagan’s attention. Her soft and relaxing voice croons out an old blues song, and I watch Reagan, who is mesmerized by the song. I lean in closer and her hear softly singing.
“You have a beautiful voice.”
She jerks in surprise to the sound of my voice, yet continues to sing and watch the performance. When the singer is finished, to my surprise, Remy takes the stage, and Reagan sits straighter and watches him.
“Did you know about this?” she asks, pointing toward Remy and giving me a quick, questioning glance.
I only shake my head, feeling just as surprised to see him as she is.
Remy’s played the piano since he was little. He’s a talented pianist, and he could’ve done more but decided to follow in the business track that had been pushed on him when he was younger.
A slow rhythm starts, and I look at Reagan swaying back and forth to the song. She’s smiling, and her face lights up. I’m fighting my insane jealousy. I swallow hard and rest my fists on my thighs, so I’m not tempted to grab her and leave.
When I look up at the stage, Remy notices us and smirks, eyeing Reagan more than I’d like him to.
Fucking asshole.
As he finishes his slow ballad, the room erupts with applause, and I clap as well.
“Fancy seeing you two here,” he says, stopping in front of our table and reaching over to squeeze Reagan’s shoulder. Her very bare and sexy shoulder.
All I can focus on is how close they are, almost like intimate lovers.
“Drew?”
I look toward Remy. “What?” I didn’t mean for my tone to be harsh. Okay, fuck that, I did.
He smirks again. “I’m done for the night. Was thinking about being the third wheel on your date, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, yes. Please join us! We already had dinner, and I’d like to go see Navy Pier, especially at night.”
“Remy,” I slowly bite out, “don’t you have something to do tonight?”
“Nope.” He smirks again and turns toward Reagan. “Ah, you know what?” He taps the tip of her nose, and I’m ready to knock him on the ground and claim her as mine. “I do have plans, sweet Reagan, but if you’d like to join me for lunch tomorrow, I can show you around more of Chicago.”
“I’d love to.”
Remy claps and helps Reagan up, so they’re standing side by side.
“You two have a great night. Reagan, I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at noon. Andrew, I’ll talk to you later, man.”
“Yeah.” Never have I ever wanted to kill Remy before—until now.
When Remy leaves, I extend my hand out to Reagan, and she willingly takes it as we walk out of the club and toward an awaiting cab. I suggested a location near the Navy Pier, and when he starts driving, I listen to Reagan talk endlessly about Remy and how talented he is.
Fucking wonderful.
I tell the cab to wait for us, and he does when I hand him two hundred dollars. As we walk together, she stops and turns, watching the water.
“It’s so beautiful and calm tonight. I can sit here for hours and let my mind go free. What I’d love is to go somewhere with a beach, stand on the sand, look out toward the ocean, and feel free. Do you ever come here to think? Or to get a new perspective on life?”
“Sometimes.”
Noticing a slight shiver from her, I place my suit jacket over her shoulders and bring her close to me.
“I had an amazing night with you, Reagan, and I hope to do this again very soon.”
She smiles, and I lean down to kiss the corner of her lips. The softness of her skin pulses down to my hard cock, but when she pushes me away, I’m left standing there, confused.
“What is it?”
“Why’d you kiss me?”
“Because I like you. Did you want me to kiss you?” I ask.
Her eyes dart away from mine again, and her face turns pale. Even in the moonlight, I can see the tightness of her brows and her shallow breathing. The walls that she once had are back up.
“Did you want me to kiss you?” I ask again, lifting her face to meet mine. I need to see what she’s feeling.
“Yes.”
“And what’s the problem?”
She sighs in frustration. “Because I wanted to kiss you. I’m not normally like this. This isn’t who I am. I don’t kiss and go on romantic dates, and I sure as hell don’t allow my dates to buy me gorgeous dresses. It scares the hell out of me that I’m having fun and that I want your lips on mine.”
“You’re scared? Why? I won’t hurt you.”
I’m expecting her to yell at me and demand to go home. Her silence is making me nervous, and I don’t know what’s going through her mind. When her gaze connects with my own, I’m lost in her emerald colored eyes.
My hand cups her face. “I like you, and I don’t mind taking things slow. Anything you need and want, I’ll do for you.” My thumb sweeps over her soft skin. “Tell me I can take you out again.”
“Okay.”
18
Reagan
My body’s screaming for more. More kisses, more of Andrew’s gentle touches and sweet words. But there’s still that part of me that’s on guard. Being cautious is a part of who I am now. As if waiting for the ball to drop or for that kindness to change to a vicious form of the man standing before me. It’s something I can’t control.
“Whatever you’re thinking, please stop.”
“I’m not thinking about anything,” I lie, attempting to turn my face away to hide my blush.
He cups my face with his strong, smooth hands, and I damn near melt.
“I can tell there’s something bothering you, and whatever it is, please know, I want this with you—whatever this is. Whatever you’re willing
to give me, I’ll take. Even if this is our only date, then I’ll cherish it because you’re an exceptional and beautiful woman. So sweet and kindhearted. I’m drawn to you, Reagan, and I don’t want you to think I have any ulterior motives. I assure you, I don’t.”
His words cut me so deep. I’m internalizing everything, and deep in the depths of my soul, I know he’s telling me the truth. That cruel part that’s in so many rich and powerful men doesn’t exist in him. He’s not Zane. He’s Andrew. I’m with Andrew.
“I’m trying,” I admit. “It’s hard.”
“I get it.”
“Please be patient with me.”
“I will.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and leans down to brush his lips against my cheek. “Maybe our next date, we could go casual,” he adds, still holding my full attention. “We could put our toes in the sand.”
“What are you suggesting?” I ask playfully, knowing that he must be referring to something local. I enjoy the way his face lights up at the mere thought of whisking me away.
Andrew places his hand on my hip, stepping in close. “I’d take you anywhere you wanted to go, if given the opportunity. But I was thinking Lake Michigan or maybe biking along Navy Pier or a picnic possibly.”
“I love that idea,” I confess. “Can’t say I can picture you riding a bike or wearing something other than a high-dollar suit though.”
He smiles, a smile that reaches his eyes.
I’ve found that I love that smile. It gives me a warm feeling, a comfort I never expected to experience.
“I’ll have you know, I’ve ridden a bicycle on many occasions.”
I arch a brow at him, and he chuckles at my questioning stare.
“I also have a closetful of clothing other than my designer suits. I’m quite fond of Under Armour and Nike.” His wink following his words makes it impossible for me not to laugh.
“I’m surprised, Mr. Powers. I imagined you slept in Gucci and Prada. The finest fabrics touching your body.”
I must admit, it feels great to be so relaxed in the presence of Andrew. My attraction for him is something I’ve focused on daily. It’s a constant inner tug-of-war.
“So, you imagine me in bed,” he says playfully.
Before I can respond, Andrew leans in closer and presses a soft kiss to my lips. Any thoughts of him lying in bed alone are washed away, and in their place are those of us together. The idea of taking that step terrifies me, but it also makes my heart rate spike as my body grows warm.
“Soft and alluring,” he whispers as he pulls back for only a moment before he moves in once again.
I reach out, gripping his jacket, and fist it in my hand. The firmness of his lips pressing on mine and the gentle sweep of his tongue surprise me, yet it doesn’t frighten me. It feels exhilarating, and I accept his advances without hesitation. The tip of my tongue meets his, and a deep groan escapes him as his fingers weave through my hair, holding me close.
I feel so alive. My body vibrates with excitement as I lean into him, his chest now firmly pressing against mine.
“Kissing you,” he speaks against my lips, “is like nothing I’ve ever felt.”
His confession only heightens my need for more.
“I know,” I agree.
I feel him smile against my lips and only imagine his relief after weeks of hesitation on my part.
Suddenly, Andrew pulls back, resting his forehead on mine, as we both take a moment to breathe evenly. My eyes remain closed as I still hold on to his jacket for support.
“If I bring you coffee in the morning, are you going to get angry with me?”
His question makes me laugh. Not just a giggle, but a laugh that has me leaning back from him as I look up at the darkened sky.
“I’m just saying that I will most likely bring you a venti caramel latte, and I need to prepare myself for the backlash.”
“I’ve been awful to you,” I say as I look back at him, slowly running over the last few weeks in my mind. “Really awful,” I add as my rash behavior hits me.
“What do you say, we start over from tonight?” he insists.
“I like that idea,” I say, finally loosening my hold on his jacket.
This evening has taken a complete turn from what I originally imagined. I assumed I would be tense and praying for it to end halfway through. Only now, as we close out the evening, I find I’m doing the opposite. I don’t want it to end.
As promised, a venti latte is waiting on my desk the next morning along with a note.
Enjoy your coffee, beautiful. Lucky, lucky cup. I miss those lips already.
A sweet rush of excitement runs throughout my body as his words sink in. My reaction surprises me as I think of repeating those kisses we shared. Lifting my hand to my lips, I press my fingers against them, allowing my eyes to close for only a moment.
“We still on for lunch?”
I jump in surprise at the sound of Remy’s voice behind me. I hurriedly spin around and hold my hand to my chest.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s okay,” I say, waving it off, attempting to recover from my trip down memory lane. “Lunch,” I add quickly. “Sure.”
Remy questionably looks back at me. “I’ll meet you in the lobby at noon?”
I nod, but my attention is now completely focused on the man standing just a few feet behind Remy. Two very strong, extremely attractive men are hovering in one doorway, making my heart race. I realize in that moment how plenty of women would kill to be in this very situation.
Remy looks over his shoulder, but Andrew keeps his eyes focused on mine.
“Still on for lunch?” Andrew asks, causing my stomach to tense.
“Reagan and I,” Remy says with a smirk, “yes.”
I can’t quite weigh out the look Andrew’s offering. His eyes feel as if they are burning holes in me. That intense, deep longing mixed with possible irritation.
Then, a trace of a grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “It seems my lunch appointment has canceled,” Andrew says, finally looking at Remy. “I was thinking about being the third wheel on your lunch date, if you don’t mind.”
I instantly recognize that he’s repeating Remy’s words from the night before.
I sense that Remy wants to say no.
His jaw tenses as he leans back against the doorframe. “Why would Sydney Wilmington cancel?” he challenges Drew.
I witness it unfold.
“That woman practically drools over you. She makes appointments with you just to discuss the amount she spends on her stylist monthly.”
“That’s why the appointment is unnecessary.”
I don’t miss the way Andrew’s neck muscles tighten as he narrows his eyes at Remy.
I honestly don’t quite understand this power trip between the two men, but what I do know is that, whoever this Sydney person is, I instantly hate her. It is a foreign feeling really, something I have avoided, but with Andrew, it is unstoppable.
“So, noon then,” Andrew adds.
I find myself smiling, and Andrew notices, which only makes his smile brighter.
“I can’t wait,” he adds just before tossing me a wink. Stepping back from the doorway, he walks away, whistling, his hands tucked in the pockets of his slacks, only making the material pull a little tighter over his ass.
Have I mentioned just how nice of an ass it is?
19
Drew
Right before noon, my phone vibrates, and it’s Jennifer. I debate about answering the phone. After the fourth ring, I decide to answer, and she immediately starts talking.
“Drew,” she says, out of breath, “I’m running into the school. Dawson—he—high temperature.”
“I’m on my way.”
I rush out of my office and see Remy in Reagan’s office. She looks up at me and smiles for a brief moment.
Then, she hastily gets up and walks around her desk. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve got
to go to Dawson’s school. He’s sick, and Jennifer’s there now, but she’s leaving at three for Nashville for an event she can’t miss, so I need to go to him.” I look at Remy. “Can you handle the meetings?”
“Of course, man. Go, hurry.”
I hurry out of the building, and find an awaiting taxi by the curb. As soon as I'm in, I tell him where I need to go and if he can get me there in less than ten minutes I'll tip him extra. The cabbie speeds toward Dawson’s school. Luckily, it’s only a few miles away, and the traffic isn’t too bad. The thought of Dawson being sick worries me. He’s generally a healthy kid. On the occasions when he does get sick, it runs him down for a few days, and even when he’s better, it takes another day or two before he’s back to himself.
"Can you stay here for about fifteen minutes so I can get my son?"
"Yeah, sure. No problem, boss." He salutes me and I nod my head before hurrying inside.
The door to the office slams against the wall and I quickly apologize. I let the secretary in the office why I’m here. Before she can give me a name tag and check me in, Jennifer and Dawson walk inside the office.
“Hi, Dad.” His voice is low, and his face is pale.
I know he’s not feeling good. Jennifer hands me his bag and I take his other hand. She tells the secretary we’ll call when he’s better, and the nurse wishes Dawson well as we lead him from the room.
“What happened?” I look at Jennifer.
I haven’t seen him since last night after dropping him off, and he seemed fine. When we talked, he didn’t tell me he was feeling sick.
“I don’t know. I picked him up from your parents' this morning and he seemed perfectly fine. Then I dropped him off with a smile and a wave.”
“I’m really tired,” Dawson mutters as he leans into my side.
I pick him up, and he immediately rests his head on my shoulder.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“I called his pediatrician, and no one can see him,” I bite out. “What kind of doctors are they?”
