by RC Boldt
I lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “No argument there.”
His head whips around, and even with the moon and the nearby streetlights, the night casts dangerous shadows over his features. That combined with his fierce expression makes me certain he was one hell of an intimidating man when he served in the military. Hell, he’s intimidating right now, just standing here, staring at me.
When he steps closer, my first instinct is to back up, but I don’t. He’s not a threat, and I know this. So, I hold my ground and watch him carefully. He grips my hips, pulling me to him with so much force I nearly stumble. I brace my hands against the hard wall of his chest, gaping up at him. One hand reaches for my hat and glasses, removing them.
“What are you—?” My words are lost when he dips his head and fits his mouth to mine. All thought, all worries vanish when his tongue dives inside, immediately causing shudders to ripple through me. He tastes so good, like himself and the sweetness from his s’mores ice cream. His mouth and tongue are relentless, and my breathing quickens, my fingers tightly fisting the cotton of his shirt.
I need to be closer to him, ache to feel his body and his hot skin beneath my palms. When my fingers drop to the hem of his shirt to curl the fabric in my grip, about to dive beneath it, his strong hand grips my wrist, drawing me to a stop. He breaks the kiss, our breathing labored, and with aching slowness, he leans away. Eyes never leaving mine, he murmurs, “Not here.”
A nod is all I can muster. Even though every cell in my body is chanting, Right here! Right here! Right here! Thank God he has enough sense when I don’t. The last thing either of us needs is for someone to recognize me and snap photos of us making out.
He hustles me over to the Jeep, withdrawing his phone and quickly shooting off a text. Catching my eyes, he explains, “Lettin’ Jed and Vance know we’re headin’ back to the house.”
Pocketing his phone, he ushers me inside the vehicle before rounding the front to get in on his side. Once he buckles his seat belt and starts the engine, one hand grips the steering wheel while his arm stretches along the back of my seat. I expect him to slam it into reverse and pull out of the parking space, but he doesn’t shift it in gear. Kane turns his head to peer at me with a look I’m unable to decipher within the confines of the dimly lit vehicle.
“You ever just make out?” His question, tone so husky and overflowing with heat, catches me off guard. “Have an all-night make-out session?”
My answer comes out slow. “No.”
Each side of his mouth hitches upward. Clearly, I’ve pleased him with my response. “That so?”
I nod, uncertainty tiptoeing along my spine. Where is he going with this?
His lips stretch wide to reveal white teeth in a grin that’s both devious and devastating. “Then I reckon you’re ’bout to.”
My laugh is harsh. “Don’t you think we passed that stage a while ago?”
Withdrawing his hand from the wheel, he reaches for me, sliding his palm to my cheek and skimming his thumb along my bottom lip. “You’ve been missin’ out.”
“And you’re planning to show me, huh?” I tease.
“Yes, ma’am.” His voice deepens, sounding more intimate, and the pad of his thumb grazes my lip again. “All night long.”
And he doesn’t disappoint. Once we get home, we kiss until my lips are reddened and slightly swollen and my body is on fire with need. But he never takes it further. After we crawl in bed and he draws me flush against his side, tightening his arm around me, I surprise myself by drifting to sleep quickly.
Throughout it all, though, one emotion lingers, enveloping me like a security blanket, for the entire night.
Happiness.
35
Simone
One more day. My heart twists at the realization that I only have one more day left here with Kane. One more day of making out like young kids, of being the sole recipient of his smiles, and waking up to soft kisses on the back of my neck.
One more day with Kane, pretending like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.
The damage the city of Miami, including the concert venue, sustained from the hurricane was extensive enough that they’re unable to make the necessary repairs and reopen it anytime soon. It’s unfortunate, but Rachel’s working with the site to try to determine if another date would be feasible around the tour dates I already have scheduled.
Now, as I dry off from the shower post-workout with Kane, which included us going for a five-mile run and then having vigorous shower sex that surpassed any of my erotic fantasies, I wonder if I should even bother throwing on underwear. A smile graces my lips as I muse whether it would be a better bet to just pull on one of his shirts or not.
Then again, he’s had a few visitors—friends stopping by, eager to see him. I could tell he got a bit frustrated when we were interrupted, but once he opened the door and saw who it was—two co-workers, Doc and Sheridan—his laughter and good humor weren’t the least bit forced.
When I hear the doorbell ring and the muted sound of voices down the hall, I decide it’s a safer bet to dress appropriately. Quickly tugging on underwear and a bra before donning a summery yellow blouse and fluttery knee-length skirt with pinstripes of sea-foam green and yellow matching the blouse, I leave my hair to air-dry and decide to go without makeup since Kane’s remarked that he likes me best this way.
I open the bedroom door and pad down the hallway in my bare feet. Kane hisses out an indecipherable response, but I slow at the sound of an accented female voice.
“When I saw Presley in the office, she mentioned you were back, so I had to come see you. And I didn’t know you were bringing her with you.” There’s no accusation in the woman’s tone. In fact, it’s filled with warmth that feels like more than just friendly affection. Odd. “That’s sweet of you to do that. To help her fly under the radar.”
Tentatively now, almost as though I’m approaching my own demise, I move closer to the voices. As soon as Kane comes into view, standing in the middle of where the entryway hall meets the open design of the main living area, I can’t help but appreciate the sight. God, the man is gorgeous beyond words inside and out. And the way his eyes light up for me when—
I draw to an abrupt stop. Because those blue eyes aren’t lighting up. In fact, if I had to make a guess, they appear nervous. Maybe even a bit frightened.
This is when I shift my attention to the woman standing with him. And she’s standing pretty damn close. Much too close for my liking. But that’s not the worst part. This woman is breathtakingly beautiful. Hair a rich hue of hazelnut falls down her shoulders, and her petite frame is the perfect complement to Kane’s taller, broader one.
“Uh, Lucia, this is Simone.” Kane’s voice sounds wooden. Almost robotic.
“Oh my word!” Lucia exclaims and, goddammit, she sounds just like the actress Sofia Vergara with her Colombian accent, who’s too adorable for words. “Simone King!” From her, my name sounds more like See-mone Keeng.
Regardless of whether her face is lit up like the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Center, I’m not exactly bombarded with good vibes right now.
“I’m a huge fan of yours. Huge!” She gestures with her hands excitedly. “Kane never told me he was working for you. I had to find out earlier today.” She sends him a chastising smile and rests a hand on his chest.
And I hate it. Because it makes me feel like I’m the last one tuned in. Like I’ve been a damn fool.
This is the woman he told me about. The one who broke his heart. The one who made him a cheater. Yet right now, it seems like none of that transpired. Like there’s absolutely no bad blood or any baggage between the two.
I paste on a practiced smile as the woman rushes forward and hugs me, and I nearly choke on a mouthful of her glorious hair. Which is not so glorious to my taste buds, as it turns out.
She leans back, surveying me much like a mother would her daughter she hasn’t seen in a few months while away at college. “You are even more beau
tiful in person.” She flashes me a knowing smile. “Now, tell me. Is Kane treating you right?”
He’s been treating me all sorts of right in bed with his big dick. That’s what an evil, vindictive part of me wants to say. Like I’m a damn dog who wants to piss around his claimed tree.
But I remain quiet; a rare moment when I find myself unable to form a reasonable response. Darting a glance at where Kane stands stock-still a few feet away, I find him also silent, as if he’s fucking clueless and unable to form a single word from the English language. He just grips the back of his neck, his brows drawn together as if utterly dumbfounded by Lucia’s impromptu visit.
Lucia just keeps going. Thank God. “Because he’d better be feeding you. Don’t let anyone tell you that men don’t like the booty.” She tosses a flirty wink in Kane’s direction, and he just stares back at us before finally—finally—snapping out of whatever goddamn trance he’s been held in.
“Lucia, now’s not the best time.” Kane scrubs a hand along his jawline, the movement jerky. “We’re tryin’ to keep her visit here under wraps. She needs some rest.”
Her perfect brow furrows. “Oh, of course.”
He ushers her toward the door with his goddamn hand at the base of her spine, like it’s second nature, and icy dread fills me in response. I want to rip his hand away and yell at the top of my lungs that he’s only supposed to do that for me.
“Peace and quiet is best right now. The tour is exhaustin’ and…” His words fade as my blood rushes through my veins with such intensity it’s nearly deafening. I can only watch in detached horror as she turns when they reach the front door, places her hands on his chest, and goes to her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. His eyes grow impossibly wide in what appears to be shock, but he doesn’t do a damn thing to stop the kiss.
“I will come back when she’s gone. We can talk and figure things out.”
And by talk, she means fuck, I’m certain. Dammit, my stomach gives a sick lurch.
“I want to be with you, Kane. I can’t go through with this wedding,” she confesses quietly.
I lean against the wall, out of their line of sight, and wrap my arms protectively around my middle.
“Lucia…” Kane starts, and I find myself perking up, waiting for him to finish with, “I’m with Simone now,” or “I’m not interested.” Anything, really.
Instead, there’s simply silence. She clicks her tongue. “No worries. We’ll talk in a bit.”
The wall is the only thing holding me upright at this point. I’m convinced my arms wrapped around my middle are holding my insides from spilling out from where Kane just gutted me.
A stupid, tiny voice in the recesses of my heart urges me on. Tell him how you feel!
Kane comes around the corner and stops short at the sight of me. “Hey.” His eyes are cautious, as if he’s half expecting me to channel my inner raging bitch and start throwing shit at him.
Never mind that a part of me wants to.
“So…that was Lucia.”
Brilliant, Simone. Fucking brilliant.
Straightening from my slouch against the wall, I strive for nonchalance. Like I’m not being fired on emotionally by B-52 bombers and about to dive for cover. “I should go.” Strong fingers cinch around my wrist when I turn.
“Would you hold up a minute?”
I refuse to look at him. “You should go visit with Lucia. Get things sorted. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. I need to head out anyway. Getting a head start will be good. Jed and Vance’ll be able to take care of things just fine.”
Fuck me, if I use the word fine any more, I’ll cut out my own tongue just for spite.
At my tug on his grip, he still refuses to relinquish his hold. “Please look at me.”
“No.”
“Please, Simone.”
Anger, pure unbridled anger surges to the surface, licking through my veins. “What’s the point?!” I explode. Whirling around to face him, I gesture toward the front door, and my words are thunderous. “You have her. She’s what you wanted, right? The woman you were heartbroken over ended up choosing you. Awesome.”
“But…” he falters.
“But what?” I ask wearily. “Look, facts are facts. I’m the idiot who puts her heart on the line far too much, and I get burned every damn time. I can see the writing on the wall, so let’s just call it a day and cut our losses.”
I mean, come on. He let her kiss him on the lips, for fuck’s sake. The image is emblazoned in my mind, and it causes my stomach to churn sickly. Those same lips I stupidly thought were mine. Lips I’ve kissed dozens of times.
“Simone—”
Furious with myself, with my damn foolish heart, I cut him off. “Fact or fiction, Kane? I love you.”
His blue eyes don’t veer from my face, but he doesn’t answer. With a harsh, humorless laugh, I answer for him.
“It’s fact. I love you. And I just stood here while you never once told that woman the truth about me. About us. I had to watch her touch you and”—God, I hate how my voice cracks—“kiss you.”
I swallow hard past the lump in my throat that feels as if it’s growing exponentially larger by the second. “I’m pretty sure that makes me the biggest fool on the planet, but”—I toss up my hands in the air with exasperation—“that’s the truth. So, what I really need to know is if you love me back.” I pause, searching his features for even the barest hint of a sign indicating he does. “Even just a little.”
Kane’s lips part, but it’s his eyes that tell me his response. Those blue eyes which were brimming with heat earlier today are now cagey as hell. As if he’s a stray dog pinned in a corner, and I’m animal control.
The exact moment he makes his choice, when he opts for an “out,” the evidence is etched on his face much like the bold, confident strokes painted by the famous Wassily Kandinsky. And if it isn’t clear enough, he makes it so with his words.
“I’m not like the other guys you date,” he bites out. Raking a hand through his hair, he radiates agitation from his entire body. “I’m not a movie star or a musician. Not some goddamn model.” His voice rises in volume as he gains more momentum while he plays conductor of the Shitty Excuses train. He wields his words like a weapon, ensuring they’re razor sharp and slice away at any lingering thread of hope. “I sure as hell don’t have millions of fuckin’ dollars in the bank.”
With each excuse, he shoves me further away. Even worse, the more nonsense he spouts off, the clearer I can see the shift in his features, in his eyes, when he starts to believe every word.
Which means, once again, I’m faced with a man who can’t handle the “baggage” that comes with being with Simone King.
Carnage. This is my initial thought. This man is obliterating my heart. His words and his reaction to my declaration of love may as well be a terrorist’s bomb exploding between us. Except in this case, I’m the only one facing impact. I’m the one whose heart is ripped from my chest; the violently painful way he refuses me causes it to scatter between us in tiny fragments.
Then the other part of me desperately takes hold. The one used to saving face. The woman conditioned to being brave and stoic when confronted by heartache and betrayal.
Why should this be any different?
A chunk of ice lodges in my chest before expanding to the size of an iceberg, numbing the area where my heart used to reside.
Guess they were right about me. Maybe I am an Ice Princess after all.
I take a step back, adding space between us, and a derisive laugh rushes past my lips. “Guess this is one of those things I need to accept. The men I end up falling for leave me. But you know something? I’ve sold myself short for far too long, and it’s overdue to stop.”
Another step. More distance.
“I want someone who’ll love me with their whole heart. I don’t want to share them with anyone else. I deserve more than to just be a stand-in. To be a poor man’s Lucia.”
Another step back.
/>
“Every damn time they showed their true colors, I was so starved for love that I repainted them to mask what they truly were.” My throat grows painfully tight. “Damn if I haven’t done the same thing again. With you.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I release it in a slow exhale. I have no idea where this sense of calmness is coming from. Possibly from resignation or finally acknowledging my past and the repeated destruction of my heart.
I offer him a haughty smile. “Congratulations, Mr. Windham.” His eyes flicker at my use of his surname, but I pay it no mind. I lift my chin proudly. “You’ve broken the formidable Ice Princess’s heart. Well done.”
Ignoring what appears to be a tinge of anguish in his features, I spin around. “David’s due to get back in two days. Maybe you should just stick around here. God knows the guys can handle two fucking days with me.” Then I rush toward the bedroom to gather my things.
The muted sounds of my bare feet padding down the hall are the only noise. No one’s chasing after me. While this sends near debilitating pain lancing deep to the marrow of my bones, there’s also another emotion. Though faint, it wiggles and squirms its way up.
Pride. I’m standing up for myself and refusing to settle for anything piecemeal.
More importantly, I’m standing up for my battered and brutalized heart.
With the deafening silence, it feels like it takes me hours to stuff my things into my bag instead of mere minutes. This likely makes the mere vibrating of my cell phone sound much louder than it actually is. I grab it, barely able to resist the urge to fling it across the room, but the caller ID display stops me.
David. He wouldn’t be calling me without a reason. And he’s not due back from his honeymoon yet. Dread pools in my gut as a sense of foreboding zigzags through me and goose bumps rise on my skin.
“David?” My tone is frantic and laced with urgency.
“I’m sending you out of the Fernandina airport you flew into. Vance and Jed will be with you. They’re on the way to you right now. I’ll meet you there in Nashville when you touch down.”
