by RC Boldt
Rage. Unadulterated rage thunders through me at her admission. My hands clench into tight fists, and the fury must show on my face because she offers a harsh laugh.
“That’s pretty much how I felt when it happened.” She averts her eyes. “Aside from feeling violated, of course.” Pale blueish-green eyes lift to mine, and she adds, “When I confronted him, he laughed about it. Said it was nothing. That I”—she uses fingers quotes—“‘wear dresses like that all the time, so it should be expected.’ That I was asking for it.”
Jesus. I draw in deep breaths, hoping to calm my anger as she continues.
“I spoke with the CEO and VP, and even the GM, who sided with me and made it sound as though I wasn’t the first person to voice a complaint against Shaun. He was fired shortly thereafter. Having him come at me now, over two years later…” She trails off, shaking her head slowly.
“Keep your head held high. You know you didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”
She heaves out a heavy breath. “I know that,” she says quietly. “But I also know that the press will have even more of a field day with this. And I’ll be under a shit-ton more scrutiny because of it.” Her features are etched with both worry and frustration. “It just never seems to end.”
I open my arms. “Come’ere.” When she doesn’t hesitate to move closer, I’m filled with male pride. She snuggles closer, wrapping her arms around me, and the anger pulsing through my veins at what she went through begins to subside.
With her cheek to my chest, she murmurs, “Thanks for this.”
Smoothing a hand down her hair, I gently rub circles over her back. “Anytime.”
The screen of my cell phone that sits on the coffee table lights up with an email notification. Gently, I ease forward, holding Simone in place when she tries to move back to her side of the couch. “Just grabbin’ my phone for a sec.”
Phone in hand, I scan the email, and the details of the upcoming delivery have my muscles relaxing slightly. Good thing for Matthias and his connections for making this all possible on such a short timeline. Quickly, I shoot off a text to alert Jed and Vance to expect its arrival—of what I hope will be something to cheer up Simone. At least a little.
Relaxing back against the couch, I hold her tight, continuing to run a soothing hand over her back. We sit in comfortable silence for a long moment before I’m hit with an idea. Tampa isn’t too far from Fernandina Beach. Plus, we’re sidelined until the storm blows past Miami, and they’ll still need time to verify the integrity of the arena there…
“How do you feel about headin’ back and seein’ where I live? Maybe get your mind off things?” I hesitate, not wanting to pressure her, but it’s undeniable how much I’m hoping she’ll say yes. “I could introduce you to my friends.”
After a moment’s pause, she raises her head to meet my eyes. Her gaze is searching, and I’m not sure what she’s looking for. Slowly, she straightens. “You’d be okay with me…meeting your friends?”
I shrug. “Sure.” Her reaction strikes me as odd, so I hedge, “But if it’s not somethin’ you’d feel comfortable with—”
“No!” Her immediate response startles her, judging by her wide-eyed expression. She clears her throat and speaks more calmly. “No, it’s fine. I’d love to meet your friends.” Her mouth curves into a shy smile. “When do you want to leave?”
“I’ll have to talk with Vance and Jed, and Rachel, but”—I check the time and do a quick calculation—“I might be able to get Fos to hook us up with a flight into the municipal airport.” I withdraw my phone and pull up his number. “Let me talk to him first and see what options we—”
The quick rap on the door interrupts me, and I ease up from the couch to answer it, a surge of anticipation rushing through me. I’m pretty damn grateful for Matthias Tobin and his knowledge of Simone and her collection of books.
After thanking Jed at the door, I lock up and stride back to the living room with the package in hand.
Simone glances up at me, her eyes darting to the object in my hand with obvious curiosity, but she doesn’t voice her inquiry.
I settle beside her, suddenly nervous, the object wrapped in brown paper gripped in my hands. “I, uh, found this and thought maybe you could add it to your collection.” I thrust it at her with all the suaveness of a toddler.
She accepts it, eyebrows raised, and glances down at the package. I rake a hand through my hair, at a loss of what to do with my hands. This was a shit idea. I mean, for fuck’s sake, this is Simone King. She can buy whatever the hell she wants. I can’t exactly compete with that kind of money.
“What’s this?” A trace of amusement laces her tone.
“Just somethin’ I thought you might like.” Then I rush to add, “But if not, no big deal.”
My palms are sweaty, goddammit. I try to discreetly run them down my pants legs before linking my fingers together to prevent further fidgeting. With lungs feeling like they’ve shrunk in size, making my breathing painful, I watch her carefully unwrap the paper to reveal the book.
When she goes still, panic claws at me like a feral cat, and I mentally cycle through plausible excuses for this clusterfuck of a mistake.
Until she lifts her gaze to mine and I see the stunned surprise in them. Her voice sounds a bit breathless. “You got this for me?”
I shrug, suddenly self-conscious. “Matthias said he didn’t think you had that cover yet.”
She runs a hand over the well-worn cover of The Scarlet Letter as though the book is a precious artifact. “I don’t.” Eyes that appear greener today cut to mine a split second before she launches herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck, and nearly knocks me in the head with the book she still holds.
“I love it,” she mumbles, her breath warm against my neck before she backs away. Simone kisses me softly, then settles back on the couch to admire the book.
“All that because of a book?” I let out a short laugh. “Not that I’m complainin’, of course.”
Simone’s eyes are soft, and she looks…happy. The happiest I’ve seen her. She leans forward to drop another soft but quick kiss on my lips.
“Because you gave me the book.”
31
Simone
I try not to overthink things, try not to make anything out to be more than it is. But it’s hard. Especially after Kane finds a special edition cover of The Scarlet Letter to try to cheer me up. To think that he even contacted Matty to make sure it was one I didn’t have yet does dangerous things to my heart.
Over the past few years since I began collecting these books, not a single one of my boyfriends ever took the time or put forth the effort to do something like this. Hell, not even my own mother.
The only man who attempted to track down a few for me has been Matty. And I’m not trying to denigrate his actions, but he’s my best friend. It’s different coming from him.
Kane is the first man I’ve ever been with who has gone the extra mile. Who did something to try to make me happy. He didn’t buy me jewelry from Cartier or Tiffany. Didn’t have a gown made for me by Oscar de la Renta or Vera Wang. He actually put thought into this gift, this gesture.
Don’t rush into something—into a relationship—based on a single wonderful moment, Simone.
The warning of the therapist I visited a handful of times after Luke left me still reverberates in my brain. I’m guilty of this, even knowing what I do.
Don’t do this with Kane, I remind myself. He’s only here temporarily. We’ve never even broached the subject of what happens once David returns. If we’re going to continue whatever this is.
Be in the moment. Be in the moment, I internally chant.
Unable to resist the urge, I set the book on the coffee table before crawling onto Kane’s lap. “Hey.”
“Hey.” His husky reply and the slight crinkling at the corners of his eyes combined with the faint quirk of his lips offer a hint of what I think—I hope—is affection.
“Thank you for
the book,” I whisper while my fingers drift down his torso to gather the hem of his T-shirt. Slowly, I raise it, my eyes not veering from his, silently asking for permission. The shirt only gets just barely above his navel when his hands encircle my wrists, drawing me to a stop.
He holds my gaze, unflinchingly, brow now furrowed, features troubled. His throat works, and when he speaks, his voice sounds gravelly. “That’s not why I gave it to you, Princess.”
Princess. When Kane calls me that, it doesn’t hold the same nasty connotation it does when I’m referred to as the Ice Princess of Pop in headlines. Instead, it’s filled with affection. Warmth.
“I know.” I swear I could get lost in his blue gaze. “That’s not why I’m doing this.”
His head tips to the side as if to silently question, Are you sure?
I lean forward, noting his unmistakable reaction to having me on his lap, and dust a light kiss against his tense mouth. “I just want to…” Love you.
Oh, shit. The words nearly spilled from my lips. I trail kisses along his jawline while I mentally scramble for a quick recovery.
“I just need my Kane Windham fix again,” I settle on saying, attempting a flirty tone.
He releases my wrists, and I internally breathe a sigh of relief. So much for lecturing my heart to calm the hell down. It’s clearly already invested in this man. The problem is, I have no idea how to get him invested in me. In my heart.
So, I do the only thing I can. I take the cowardly way out and show him with my body.
Within moments, I’ve divested him of his shirt and tugged his pants and boxers past his knees, and I’m clad in a simple lace bra and a thong, which he practically tears off me.
I barely give him a chance to roll on a condom before I grip his thick length in my hand and guide him to my entrance. I drag the tip along my outer lips, gathering my wetness before I sink down over him.
“Simone.” His voice is raw, hoarse with arousal, and holds an edge of desperation.
Large palms curve around my ass, long fingers molding my flesh. The restraint he’s grappling with becomes evident by the cords of his neck pulling taut and muscles in his arms flexing. His nostrils flare, jaw tense.
I take him deep, bottoming out, and the hungry kiss he presses to my lips stifles my loud gasp. His wicked tongue twines with mine, igniting me with fiery-hot need that pulses through my veins. With my hands braced on the hard wall of his chest, I feel his thundering heartbeat reverberating beneath my palms.
Even though it’s torturous, I move up and down his thick cock with aching slowness because I can’t bear for it to end too soon. His grip on my ass guides my rhythm as if he, too, wants this connection to last as long as possible.
When my hair falls forward, a silky curtain between my chest and his, he slides it back over my shoulder before gripping a handful in his fist to tip my head back. He nips along my jaw and down the column of my neck, eliciting goose bumps all over my skin. I clutch at his broad shoulders, his skin hot beneath my palms.
My voice comes out as a scratchy rasp when his other hand slips down between our bodies to where we’re joined. “Kane.”
As he rubs slow circles over my clit, his breath is a hot rush against my skin when he murmurs, “This what you need?”
His touch brands me, my movements becoming more frenzied as my pace increases. He sucks in a ragged breath before fusing his mouth to mine, capturing my lips in a hot, devouring kiss. When Kane’s tongue invades my mouth, tangling with mine and tasting me deep, desire ripples through my body.
When he starts driving upward on each of my downward thrusts, urging me on with a frantic rhythm, I know I won’t last long. Pleasure coils deep inside me as I teeter on the precipice. The moment he pinches my clit between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a strong tug, he causes me to plummet over the edge.
His voice is gravelly, almost ragged, when he grits out against my mouth, “That’s it, Princess. Fuck my cock with your sweet pussy.”
Oh, God. My vision blurs as my inner muscles clasp him rhythmically, and I ride out my release, my body wracked with shudders. I collapse against his hard body even as the ripples of my orgasm continue to skitter through me, my pebbled nipples flush against his chest.
Kane thrusts furiously, seeming to drive even deeper with each stroke, prolonging my orgasm before finding his own release. His entire body goes stiff, a heavy groan reverberating in his chest beneath my cheek, and his fingers flex on my hips.
I heave out a ragged breath while absently finger-combing the short strands of his hair. His two fingers beneath my chin urge me to raise my head, and as soon as those aqua eyes lock with mine, my throat goes bone-dry.
The way Kane watches me right now is something I want engrained in my memory. His eyes still burn hot, singeing me from the inside out, yet they also hold a hint of tenderness. Like maybe I’ve come to mean more to him than just a woman he’s sleeping with for the time being.
Please don’t break me, my heart pleads.
When he guides my lips to his, the kiss is impossibly gentle yet so hot it sends delicious shivers skittering down the length of my spine. Drawing away, I’m left breathless, and it’s clear to see he’s fighting a smile of pure male satisfaction on those lips of his.
In a flash, it’s gone, replaced by something more dangerous. A tenderness has edged its way onto his features.
Don’t wish for the impossible, Simone. They always leave.
No matter how much I yearn to believe he could be different, that my career and the trappings that go with it aren’t a deterrent for him, it’s far too risky to think it’s possible. Especially after only being intimate for a matter of weeks.
Even so, I’m still unable to stifle that faint tendril of hope that refuses to be ignored.
Lowering my head, I press my lips to his cheek, relishing in the way his eyes fall closed, as though he’s basking in my touch. I whisper softly. “Hey.”
His gravelly murmur dances along my skin. “Hey.”
I rest my forehead against his shoulder, unwilling to meet his eyes, fearing that he’ll see straight through me and go sprinting for the door.
Instead, I whisper words that are so utterly juvenile and significantly downplay my feelings for him. “I like you, Kane Windham.”
And thankfully, he rolls with it. Yet the husky affection laced in his tone is a soothing balm to my heart.
“I like you right back, Simone King.”
32
Simone
Fernandina Beach, Florida
Kane’s friend managed to get us on a private flight from Tampa directly to the Fernandina Beach Municipal Airport. Apparently, Foster—or Fos, as Kane refers to him—was owed some favors that he cashed in on.
Thankfully, the rain bands from the hurricane pummeling the southern tip of Florida aren’t wide enough to wreak much havoc this far north in the state. It took a bit of finagling, but Rachel also got Jed and Vance booked in a vacation rental home a few houses down from Kane’s place.
Rachel has been working her magic to keep my whereabouts under wraps. It was a bit awkward when I informed her of Kane’s offer to let me stay with him, but luckily, she didn’t blink twice, utter professional that she is. Which made me wonder if she picked up on any hint that Kane and I crossed that line, but I sure as hell didn’t ask. That’s a topic I don’t wish to discuss with her anytime soon.
As soon as we deplane and head inside the airport lobby, a man with a buzz cut who’s definitely no stranger to a fitness regimen stands with his arms crossed, biceps bulging from the short sleeves of his shirt. He stares at Kane with an indecipherable look.
My eyes dart back and forth between the men as I warily wonder what’s going on. Finally, the man’s face cracks into a grin, and he steps forward to give Kane a back-thumping hug.
Phew. Thank goodness that didn’t end poorly.
“Look at you!” The man’s smile grows wider, and he lightly slaps his palm to Kane’s clean-shaven c
heek. “You could be the sixth Backstreet Boy, for Christ’s sake!”
Kane bats away the man’s hand, and mutters good-naturedly, “Screw you.”
I stand by, wide-eyed, watching this interaction play out, but I love it. Love seeing this part of Kane’s world, observing him with this man who harasses him like a longtime friend, reminding me of the banter I have with Matty.
The man sobers as he surveys Kane from head to toe before nodding. “You look good, man. Real good.”
Kane simply nods as if uncomfortable with the remark before his eyes cut to me. He tips his head toward the man. “This is Foster Kavanaugh. Fos, this is—”
“I know who she is,” Foster says quietly, stepping over to offer his hand. I accept it, and I’m grateful he doesn’t crush my hand when he shakes it. His hands are similar to Kane’s; large, paw-like, callused, and hold strength in them that immediately alerts a person to the fact that they could easily pulverize you if warranted.
“It’s so nice to meet you.” My voice wavers with nervousness, and I barely restrain a wince. Shit. I’ve met record execs and movie stars and even the president and wasn’t this nervous.
But I know why. It’s because this man matters to Kane. Desperation ricochets through me like a pinball bouncing off levers as I strive to make a good first impression.
Foster’s eyes, which I now notice are a pretty shade of golden brown, crinkle at the corners as if he finds my nervousness amusing. He leans in, lowering his voice to say, “No need to be nervous,” before finishing with a quick wink.
Turning to Vance and Jed, he introduces himself and shakes their hands before tipping his head in the direction of the exit. “We’ll get you situated. You’ve gotta be tired after all that traveling you’ve been doing lately.”
