Too Good at Goodbyes

by RC Boldt

  With Kane hyper-vigilant by my side, I quickly sign a few autographs and take a few selfies with fans before I offer a little wave and disappear inside the safe confines of the car with him and Matty seated on opposite sides of me.

  Once we pull away from the curb, I breathe a small sigh of relief. Matty leans forward and lowers the privacy screen between the driver and us.

  “Hey, man. Would you mind dropping me off at the next Starbucks? The one on the corner of Center and Toomey?”

  The driver agrees, and Matty raises the privacy screen once again.

  I eye him curiously because he’s the furthest thing from being a huge coffee or tea drinker. “What’s at Starbucks?”

  My best friend shrugs but doesn’t meet my eyes. “Just meeting someone there for a coffee.”

  A slow smile spreads across my face. Drawing my words out slowly, I playfully ask, “Do you have a date?”

  A faint blush spreads along his cheeks, and he rolls his eyes and mumbles, “Shut it.”

  I nudge his shoulder with mine. “Come on. Tell me who she is.”

  He heaves out a breath before glancing my way. “I don’t wanna say yet. Not trying to get my hopes up.”

  My expression sobering, I grasp his hand and give it a quick squeeze. “Well, good luck.”

  He finally gives me a small smile tinged with nervousness. “Thanks.”

  The car draws to a stop, and within a flash, Matty bids us goodbye before darting out of the vehicle, and the driver heads back to our hotel.

  Silence hangs heavily between Kane and me, and I can’t resist the urge to withdraw my book from my bag once more. True collectors would never lay an ungloved hand on an item like this, but I can’t bring myself to care as I remove it from the plastic covering. There’s just something about the feel of a well-worn, well-loved book. The fact that so many others have held it and have read the story within.

  I often compare it to when fans sing my songs because they’re singing something I wrote with my emotions poured into each line. There’s a connection there that’s indescribable.

  “You collect them?”

  Kane’s softly spoken question contains the slightest hint of hesitation. Without looking over at him, I nod. “I try to find an edition with a cover I don’t yet own.” Closing the book, I trace the pad of my index finger lovingly along the spine. “It’s a bonus if I can find one signed by the author.

  “This is one of the first Canadian editions.” I turn it to show him the cover. “It’s unique because the capital A is in the center, surrounded by the title and author’s name.”

  I trace over the A, and my mind wanders as I muse internally, If I replaced Hester in my own version of the story, would I have to wear a capital IP for Ice Princess?

  When Kane remains quiet, not responding to my remark, I glance over at him, but he’s not looking at the book. Our eyes catch, and his gaze rakes over my features, leaving a visceral heat in its wake.

  I draw my eyes from his, unsettled, and force myself to remain professional. Feigning avid interest in the passing scenery—storefront, storefront, storefront, some trees, oh, look at that! Another storefront!—I clutch my book like it’s a lifeline preventing me from doing something reckless and stupid.

  Like hurling myself onto Kane’s lap and begging him to kiss me.

  Blanketed in silence for the few minutes it takes us to return to the hotel, it seems like no time passes before we’re back inside the suite. Just the two of us. Matty’s not here with his vibrant personality, drawing my attention from the elephant in the room.

  Kane had his hands and mouth on me last night. My temporary head of security. My employee.

  Carefully setting my new book on the end table between the couch and leather chair, I linger but don’t immediately look his way. But I sense his hesitation. Feel his uncertainty.

  “I’m sorry.” My voice is firm but hushed. I slowly raise my eyes to meet his.

  He stares at me, expressionless. “For?”

  I drag in a fortifying breath. “For being inappropriate last night.” When he doesn’t respond, I wince and blurt out, “I don’t want you to think I go around just—”

  “Lettin’ men shove you against walls and tongue fuck your pussy?”

  All breath is robbed from my lungs. Holy shit. Wide-eyed, all I can manage to do is gape at him. “Uh, well…that’s not quite how I was planning to say it, but yes.”

  His features turn stormy, that crease between his brows fierce, jaw clenched tight as he strides toward me. I back up only to bump into the dining room table, which blocks my escape. Once we’re toe-to-toe, his blue eyes bore into mine.

  “You think you took advantage of me?” he demands.

  My breath stutters past my lips. “Um, maybe?”

  There’s a tic in his jaw. “You think I go around shovin’ my tongue inside my boss’s mouth?”

  I frown, and my words come out slow, careful. Hesitant. “Isn’t your other boss a guy, though?”

  Our eyes are locked, and neither of us looks away until finally, it happens. One edge of his lips twitches in the barest hint of expression. As though his muscles are stiff and rusty like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz and he’s not used to smiling.

  Shifting slightly, he places his palms on the table on either side of me, caging me in. Leaning closer, he murmurs, “You didn’t take advantage of me.”

  “No?” I whisper.

  Eyes blazing with heat, they never leave mine, and he gives a subtle shake of his head. “No. But I need you to know I don’t make it a habit of doin’ this.”

  My words are breathless. With hope that he won’t stop. With the fear that he will. With longing for him to touch me again. “Of doing what?”

  “This.” One word. That’s all he utters before his mouth captures mine.

  26

  Kane

  I reckon I should know better. Hell, I do know better.

  I’ve never been one to buck the system, to dismiss rules that are in place for a damn good reason. I’ve always tried to navigate my way along the smartest path. Not saying I haven’t had some missteps here or there, but aside from those, I pride myself in staying on the up-and-up.

  I’ve never crossed the line, never put myself in a position like this. It might not state in my employment contract that I can’t do this, but anyone with half a brain knows this is dangerous. The situation can be easily misconstrued.

  When Simone rises and presses her lips against mine, silently telling me she’s on board, my worries are brushed aside.

  Urgency rushing through my veins, I grip her hips, lifting her to settle on the table and step between her thighs. Moving a hand to her nape, I tunnel my fingers in her long hair and tip her head to deepen the kiss. Her tongue seeks mine, and at the contact, she lets out a little moan. Powerful surges of lust shoot through me, my cock hard as steel beneath my pants.

  Our lips part, and I scatter a path of kisses along her jawline, then trailing to her earlobe. When I capture it between my teeth and gently toy with it, she clutches at me, her hands fisting in my shirt, urging me even closer.

  She gasps my name, voice breathless, and I bury my face in her neck, drawing in a deep breath, the light hint of her coconut scent filling my senses.

  “I can’t resist you.” My words are a low whisper, and I hope like hell she doesn’t detect the fear in them. I’m scared shitless of making another mistake and having it blow up in my face. Having to face down more shame.

  “Then don’t,” comes her softly spoken response.

  I raise my head to peer down at her. Her eyes, appearing a light shade of blueish green, lock with mine, and it’s jarring how she’s opening herself up to me. Showing her vulnerability.

  This woman is undeniably complicated. Famous, talented, rich. Everyone wants something from her. She only seems to show the public one side.

  Right now, though, I get to see more of the other side. More of the real her. More of the woman who pushes her bod
y to extremes to perform her best for her fans. The woman who spends extra time with sick kids before her shows. The woman who dances like a goofball with her best friend on her birthday. One who makes a special stop at a hospital to sing and visit with kids battling cancer.

  This same woman who’s been betrayed so many times is opening herself up to me.

  Her hand cups the side of my face, and a flicker of uncertainty, of nervousness, flashes across her features. “It’s okay. You don’t—”

  I press my finger to her lips, stopping her words. My chest feels tight, and I work hard to draw in a deep breath. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay with this. Last thing I want is for you to have regrets.”

  My fingertip traces a path along the fullness of her bottom lip while I hold her gaze. Waiting. Hoping. She studies me for so long, the muscles in my shoulders start to tense, knotting up.

  When she says my name on her next breath, tone flooded with need, it nearly does me in. Reaching up, she slides her fingers in my hair, gripping my head in her hands to guide me closer. Simone whispers against my mouth, “I need you to keep kissing me.”

  A smile tugs at the edges of my lips. “Where?”

  She lets out a tiny huff of a laugh. “Everywhere.”

  I press a soft kiss to her lips before scooping her up in my hold. She lets out a little yelp of surprise, linking her arms around my neck and ducking her head to nip at my jawline. When her tongue darts out to soothe the skin, a low growl rumbles from my throat, and I stalk toward her bedroom.

  Lowering her at the side of the bed, I gently smooth back her hair from her face with my hands, gliding my thumbs over her cheekbones. “You’re beautiful.”

  A blush rises on her cheeks, and her shoulders rise and fall in a quick shrug as she averts her eyes. “It’s just good genetics.”

  “That’s not what I mean.”

  I wait for her gaze to meet mine. “You’re beautiful. Inside and out. But especially inside.”

  27

  Simone

  I’ve been told countless times that I’m beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Basically, any equivalent one might come up with. Each time, I knew the comments were indicative of my exterior; restricted to what people see on the outside.

  Kane is the first person to ever tell me, to ever emphasize that he thinks I’m beautiful on the inside. I’m sure that makes me sound pathetic that it means so much to have him say it and speak it with such reverence, but I don’t care. Because this man moves me. His words move me.

  And it’s scary as hell because he’s slipping past each and every one of my defenses.

  With his hands cradling my face, his husky voice holds me spellbound as he utters a sentiment I’ve never received. “Your heart is so damn beautiful.” Vivid blue eyes hold mine with urgency as though he’s pleading with me to believe him. Slowly, he dips his head to dust a light kiss against my lips. “You try to hide it, but you’re too good.”

  I pinch my eyes closed against the rush of emotion bombarding me. His lips land kisses along my cheeks and forehead while he continues to murmur little things like kindhearted and gorgeous soul and so giving.

  My chest becomes uncomfortably tight and desperate for a distraction; I tip my head so our lips meet once again. Except this time, I take control. With my mouth fused to his and my hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, I kiss him for all I’m worth, trying to convey how much he’s come to mean to me.

  The man who stood up for me against the press before he even really knew me. The man who was clearly brought up to be a gentleman. The one who had preconceived notions about me, much like the bulk of the world, but was still respectful toward me.

  The man who could’ve taken the first chance to sleep with me but didn’t because he was concerned I’d regret it. The man who spent the night of my birthday building a blanket fort for me and lying in the dark doing nothing but talking.

  More than that, though, Kane’s the man who actually listens when I talk, when I divulge secrets, and never offers simple, bland responses in return. He’s thoughtful and kind, and there’s so much more to him than meets the eye.

  And by God, this man can kiss. He kisses with an intensity much like I imagine he dedicates to every job he’s ever done. Every touch of his lips on mine is drugging, maddening, and makes me feverishly crave more.

  I don’t even think; I just act. My hands frantically tug at his shirt, untucking it from his waist, fingers diving beneath the cotton undershirt to skim over his hot, hard abdominals. At my touch, a rough sound rumbles up from his throat, and his kiss turns more fierce, greedy, practically ravaging my mouth.

  Our tongues battle, both of us desperate for more. Feverishly, I work the buttons on his shirt, shoving it past his shoulders. He quickly unbuttons the cuffs and tugs free of it before ripping the cotton undershirt up his broad chest and over his head, then discarding it as well.

  Strong fingers are suddenly at work, unfastening my jeans. Once he shoves the denim down past my hips, he grips my ass in his palms and groans against my mouth.

  Gliding my fingers downward, I run along the curves and sloping indentations of his stomach until I reach the waistband of his pants and move lower over his thick arousal. When I stroke him through the fabric, he tears his lips from mine, eyes heavy with lust, and his grip on my ass tightens.

  I tug at his leather belt, peel it back, and begin unfastening his pants to bare the placket of his boxer briefs. The black cotton molds to his thick erection, barely containing it, as the tip of his cock peeks from the elastic waistband of his briefs. I shove down his pants and briefs just enough to allow his length to jut free.

  His eyes close the instant I wrap my fingers around him, and when I glide my hand up from the base, his abs flex. Unable to resist, I run the pad of my thumb over the tip of his cock, gathering the moisture there. Those fingers clenching my ass tighten, and it sends a rush of wetness to my core.

  Kane’s blue eyes flare open, and the heat, the blatant intent in the depths nearly robs me of breath. His fingers trail from my ass to my hips to toy with the bottom hem of my blouse. Inch by inch, he raises the fabric, eyes locked with mine the entire time as though waiting for me to stop him.

  As if that’s even possible. I feel like my body’s been ignited with a fiery need, and only his touch will assuage it.

  When I arch at the decadent rasp of his callused fingertips brushing against my skin, Kane’s eyes flash with blatant male appreciation. He lifts my blouse, and I raise my arms to allow him to remove it, leaving me in my thin camisole and bra. The look on Kane’s face, however, makes me feel as if I’m wearing the most provocative lingerie instead of simple garments.

  His long, tapered fingers skim along my stomach before gripping the camisole and removing it to join my discarded blouse on the floor near our feet. He reaches out to trace the pad of one finger over a hardened nipple, prodding eagerly through my lace bra, and my inner muscles clench in response, my body yearning for more of his touch everywhere.

  “Kane.” My voice sounds needy, but I don’t care. I shamelessly arch and press my breast into his touch. “Please.”

  His tone is husky and low. “You want more?” Ever so lightly, he rakes his thumbnail over the top of my other nipple, and my loud gasp seems to echo within the quiet confines of the room. “More of that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or…” Bending slightly, he lowers his mouth, and his hot breath skitters across my skin. “Maybe this?”

  He captures a lace-covered nipple between his lips, his tongue darting out to flick at it, making the peak harden more, suckling it before releasing it from his decadent mouth. Left delirious with want, I arch into his touch, eager for more, when he lifts me onto the bed.

  Impatient hands tug down my jeans and panties before he discards his own pants and boxers. He grips my thighs, pressing me wide, exposing me to him, and his eyes gleam with wicked intention before he lowers his face to press his mouth to my core.

  My
hands fly to his head, gripping his hair while my hips cant, my body urging him on. His openmouthed kisses are wet and thorough, branding me with their singeing heat. When he guides one thick finger inside me, the ache for more becomes nearly unbearable.

  “Kane,” I whimper.

  Blue eyes watch me from where he devours me, intent on driving me wild. When he places his lips around my clit and creates a light suction, my inner muscles clench around his finger inside me.

  His eyes turn molten just before he presses his tongue to my clit with the perfect amount of pressure, circling it just so while he works another long finger inside, thrusting, pace increasing with each deep plunge. Kane’s relentless tongue pushes me closer until I tip over the edge and shatter. Brazen and unapologetically, I press myself into his touch as my release washes over me.

  Once my muscles relax, he eases away, pressing a light kiss to my inner thigh. An unidentifiable look crosses his face, but when I reach for him, relief takes its place. I welcome his weight on top of me even though he braces himself with an arm on either side of my head. The feel of his hot skin flush against mine is decadent.

  “Hey,” I say softly.

  His tone is low, husky. “Hey.”

  I trace my finger over his bottom lip. He catches me by surprise when he nips at it playfully.

  “So, you’re a biter, huh?” I tease, my voice hushed.

  Crinkles form at the corners of his eyes. “Can’t say I’ve been one before.” He ducks his head to graze my collarbone with his teeth. “Reckon you bring that out in me.”

  “Mm.” I close my eyes, relishing in his touch.

  “Simone?” The hesitancy in his tone has me opening my eyes.

  He peers down at me, and I drink in the sight of this Kane. The one whose features are much less guarded, yet I still know he’s holding a part of himself back. If I were smarter, I’d ask him about the other woman. The one he mentioned before. I’d ask if he’s still hung up on her. If he still cares.