by Julie Kriss
She dropped her hands and glared at me. “Are you trying to be a jerk, or does it just shine through?”
I tilted my chin down. “Name one thing,” I said. “Go ahead.”
She put a finger on my jaw. “Turn to the right.” When I turned, she picked up the scissors again and snipped for a silent minute, and I knew she was thinking. “In New York, I don’t have to trim the beards of angry bear-men,” she said. “How’s that?”
“I’m not a bear-man. I just don’t like people much.”
“You like Chicago so much?” she shot back. “You know I hate this city. And it’s cold as balls in winter, which lasts like eight months.”
“I’m not always in Chicago,” I admitted.
“What does that mean? I know you don’t travel to make deals.”
“I don’t. I barely do deals at all, which makes me wonder why the other partners put up with me. But you’re right, the city gets to me sometimes. That’s why I have a house on Long Island.”
The scissors paused. “You do? Since when?”
“Since about three years ago.” I glanced at her, watching how her perfect brows frowned between her brown eyes. “It’s a beach place near the Hamptons, but it isn’t one of the showy, expensive ones. It’s just… nice.”
“Hmm.” The scissors started again. “You’ve never been a beach guy. Then again, you’ve always lived in Chicago.”
“This was an impulse, to tell the truth. My lawyer had a client who needed to sell it. To be honest, I bought it after only seeing a few pictures, and I never told anyone about it. Not even the other guys.”
“An entire house as an impulse buy, huh? That isn’t like you. So what happened when you went and saw it? Did you have buyer’s regret?”
I thought about the moment I’d first opened the front door, the way the tension had relaxed between my shoulder blades. “No regret at all. It’s one of the best things I ever did. I go out there every summer when I can get away. It’s a great place.”
I had no idea why I was telling her all of this. I hadn’t even told my closest friends, the men I thought of as my brothers. I hadn’t told the women I dated about the summer house, had never invited them there. The summer house was mine. It sounded weird to say it was a place I went to be alone, since I already spent most of my time alone. But it was.
“See, I’m a city girl,” Ava said. “I’d go stir crazy in the middle of nowhere. I need bars, theaters, clubs, all that good stuff. Lots of shopping. I’m not big on roughing it.”
Was she serious? “It’s Long Island, Ava. Not the Oregon Trail.”
“Whatever. Still not for me.” She put the scissors down, and she was avoiding my eyes, but I saw it: a shadow of hurt. What had hurt her? What the hell had I said?
But she looked up at me, and her eyes were bright again, the shadow of hurt gone. “All done,” she said. “You’re a little more presentable, except for the man bun.”
I said it for the dozenth time. “I’m not getting a haircut.”
“Right, angry bear-man. Let’s go eat raw fish.”
My phone rang in my pocket as we got out of the elevator in the parking garage and headed for the Lexus. It was Aidan.
“I want an update,” he said when I answered. “What’s happening?”
Right. Ava’s brother. My best friend. “What’s happening,” I said, catching Ava’s eye, “is that your sister is taking me to learn to like sushi.”
“Okada will like that,” Aidan said with approval. “He used to run a chain of sushi restaurants.”
“Why does everyone know that except me?”
“Probably because you only care about his software achievements, and not all the other ones. Are you and Ava getting along?”
“Are we getting along?” I asked, looking at Ava, trying not to think of the fact that I’d kissed her raw last night. In response, she flicked her skirt above her knee, kicked out her high-heeled foot, and leaned back onto the hood of my Lexus, stretching her arms out and arching her back like she was about to get sprayed with water in a 1980’s music video. “Take me, bear-man,” she said, trying to goad me.
I shook my head. “Sure, we’re getting along. As long as I feed her margaritas, she stops complaining.”
“Hey,” Ava said from the hood of my car.
“Okay,” Aidan said. “Sounds like things are going smoothly. What are you wearing?”
Jesus. “Sorry, dude, but you’re not my type.”
“You know what I mean, asshole. Has she dressed you?”
“For fuck’s sake,” was my answer. I held out the phone to Ava. “He wants to know what I’m wearing.”
Still lying on the car, she took the phone from me and put it to her ear. “Italian pants in dark charcoal, Italian shoes, leather belt with a brushed-suede finish, shirt from the Zegna collection that dropped two weeks ago. He’s supposed to be wearing the designer underwear I bought him, but I refuse to check. Oh, and I trimmed his beard.” She paused as Aidan asked a question. “No, he hasn’t had a haircut yet. I’ve achieved miracles so far, Aidan. We are going to Nobu for sushi. Do you understand that? Dane Scotland is going to Nobu for sushi, wearing designer Italian clothes, and Okada doesn’t get here for five more days. You’re welcome.” She handed the phone back to me without waiting for an answer.
“Any other questions?” I asked Aidan.
“I guess not. Sounds like my sister is in her element. Just let her do what she wants.”
I held out my hand to Ava, helping her off the car before she could fall off. “She’s going to do that anyway.”
“I’ve been worried about her,” Aidan said. “She’s more fragile than she looks.”
I helped Ava get her balance, wobbling on her heels. She let go of my hand to adjust her dress, which had hiked up in the back during her little stunt. “You don’t have to worry when she’s with me.”
Ava looked up. Why had I said that? What did it even mean? Considering our history, Aidan probably should worry when his sister was with me. And Ava should, too.
“I trust you,” Aidan said, making me feel even worse. “You’ll look out for her like a brother. If she wants to visit our mother’s nursing home, talk her out of it. I think that’s a bad idea.”
“I don’t think there’s much chance of that,” I said, watching as Ava’s eyes narrowed in curiosity.
“You never know. She’s unpredictable. Just be nice to her, okay?”
Nice? I couldn’t take this anymore. “Say hi to Samantha for me,” I said. “I have to go.” I hung up.
“What?” Ava said as soon as I put the phone in my pocket. “What did my brother say about me?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“It wasn’t nothing. You got a pained look on your face. What did he say?”
I decided to tell her half of the truth. There was no need to bring up the topic of her mother when I didn’t have to. “He asked me to be nice to you.”
Her dark brown gaze met mine, and for a long moment all of our history passed between us. The good and the bad, the nice and the not-so-nice. And the spectacular.
“We’re going to have to tell him sometime, you know,” Ava said.
“I know.” Aidan was my best friend. My brother in everything but blood. We’d been cowards all this time, not telling him.
No, not Ava. It was me who was the coward for not telling him. She’d only held off because she thought I was embarrassed about the fact that we’d been together. Which I wasn’t.
Then why hadn’t I told Aidan, and the others? I knew the answer to that, didn’t I?
“We’ll worry about it later,” I said. “Get in.”
Twelve
Ava
* * *
In all the years I’d known Dane, from teenagerhood until now, I’d never once seen him wear designer clothes.
It was worth the wait.
I had to play it cool. I couldn’t let on that the sight of him in those perfectly tailored dress pants made me want t
o unzip them, or that his shoulders in that shirt were a girl’s wet dream. I didn’t want him to know how tempted I was to run my tongue along the line of his jaw beneath his trimmed beard, or how the sight of his bare ass walking into the bedroom kept replaying itself in my head.
They say that when you’re about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. When I was about to die, I knew I’d see Dane Scotland’s tight, muscled bare ass.
I wasn’t the only one suffering the effects. The hostess at Nobu, who had probably seen her share of gorgeous celebrities, looked a little gobsmacked at the sight of Dane. The second hostess, who led us into our private dining room, giggled softly when Dane hadn’t even spoken a word. She left us with a bow and another giggle, then slid the bamboo door closed.
Dane looked around. Nobu was known as a place where the elite came to have private conversations in a place where they wouldn’t be stared at. There was a main dining room in the front, but the back half of the restaurant consisted of small private dining rooms, lit with paper lamps and closed off by bamboo doors. There was a low table, made for eating while sitting on the floor, and the floor was lined with tatami mats. It was private, but through the bamboo we could hear the murmured conversation in the dining room next door. Nobu was a place of hushed, respectful conversations, spoken civilly over expensive portions of food.
I thought Kaito Okada, the former sushi mogul, would like it. But it was best for Dane to do a practice run first.
“What is this?” Dane said, perplexed. “And why were those women acting so weird?”
“Take off your shoes,” I said, removing my heeled sandals. “It’s what’s considered polite. This is our private dining room. And those women were giggling because you’re hot.”
Dane grunted, caveman-style, as he removed his shoes. That was his only comment about his hotness. “Do we kneel to eat?”
“Yes, or you can sit cross-legged. There are cushions to sit on.”
We each took a cushion and sat on it, cross-legged, facing each other across the table. There was a small button at the head of the table, and when I pressed it the door slid open and a server in slippers came in, pouring us cups of green tea from a fragrant teapot.
“Where do you normally eat?” I asked Dane when the server had left.
“At home,” he replied. In the dim lamplight, his eyes were dark, his cheekbones shadowed. “I order groceries or takeout. I’ve always been able to cook for myself—nothing fancy, but I can do the basics. I’ve had a lot of smoothies since I started working out. Don’t they have menus here?”
“There’s only one meal,” I said. “You eat whatever they serve, and you like it.” I ran a finger along one of the smooth, dark chopsticks on the table. “What about when you’re on a date? Where do you eat then?”
Dane scowled at me. “We’re not talking about that.”
“I’m just curious.” Dane and I had never been on a date. We’d never even been in public together, which was backward considering all we went through. I wondered what Dane was like on a date with a woman who wasn’t me. Was he charming and romantic? Did he try to impress her? Did he even make conversation, or did he just grunt and hope she liked it?
She probably liked it.
Even though this was a paid job and not a date, sitting alone with Dane in this intimate little room, it kind of felt like one. “Who were your girlfriends, anyway?” I asked him.
He was still scowling; I could tell he hated this subject. “There were only two.”
“I know. I never knew you to date all those years ago. I’m trying to picture who they were.”
Dane scratched his beard, thinking. “Well, one of them danced for the Joffrey.”
My teacup clanked to the table. “The ballet?” I cleared my throat. “You dated a ballerina?”
“I guess that’s what you could say she was.”
“You never leave your penthouse. Where did you meet a ballerina?”
“At a fundraiser thing. I didn’t want to go.” He shrugged. “It turned out okay, I suppose.”
Great. That was just great. “What did the other one do?”
Dane was starting to look confused. “What does it matter?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, thinking of all the potheads and would-be DJ’s I’d wasted my time on. “Just tell me.”
“Well, she’d just emigrated here from France. She was an executive at Chanel.”
“Chanel.” I stared at him. “The designer, Chanel.”
“Right. I met her at a fundraiser, too.”
“Let me get this straight, Scotland,” I said, my voice probably too loud for the quiet restaurant. “You left your penthouse exactly twice in the last seven years, and the first time you managed to meet a ballerina from the Joffrey, and the second time you managed to meet an executive from Chanel. And both of them liked you enough to date you.”
“Something like that,” Dane said. He definitely sounded uncomfortable.
I hit the button on the table, and when the server appeared, I said, “Sake. I need sake. And bring the first course.”
“I don’t get it,” Dane said when the server left again. “Who cares who they were? They’re both long gone.”
“Sure,” I said. The server came in with the sake, and when she poured it I took a large, fiery sip. “I had a law school dropout ghost me, and even though you’re a hermit you dated a French Chanel executive and a woman who weighs a hundred and ten soaking wet and can bend over backward.”
His eyebrows rose. “Are you jealous?”
“I am not jealous. Absolutely not.”
“You seem jealous.”
“No, I seem very large and very poor. That’s not the same thing.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but the server came in with the first course. She put several small dishes in front of us—sushi, seaweed, roe, ginger, wasabi. I kept my eyes down until she left, but I could feel Dane’s gaze on me, steady and unwavering. When the server left, I took another bolt of sake, feeling it burn my throat.
My stomach turned. I wasn’t hungry. I had no idea what was wrong with me.
Without a word, Dane stood. Ignoring the food, he circled around the table, coming behind me. He sank to his knees, his thighs bracketing me, his chest against my back.
I jumped as if I’d been burned. I felt his breath land softly against my neck. “You’re wound tight,” he said.
I made a choked sound. Every nerve in my body was firing, ripples of sensation moving over my skin. Dane was warm against me, his chest and stomach hard, his body hot through the layers of our clothes. Except for the kiss last night, when I’d felt all of him, I hadn’t touched Dane in so many years. I hadn’t even shaken his hand.
My brain told me to pull away, but my body wasn’t having it. My body leaned back into his of its own accord, seeking the long-lost familiarity of Dane. A shaky breath left my lungs as my shoulders relaxed back, as I breathed in his scent, as my kneeling legs eased open to press against his.
His hands came up and he put his palms to my shoulders, then moved them down my bare arms. I was already wet at that single touch, the slide of his palms over my skin. The throbbing deep in my belly that I knew so well started up, thrumming inside me. The same feeling I’d had so many times around Dane, including that first night when I got into bed with him. It was mindless hunger, primal and hot. From the very first, I had always been hungry for this man.
“What do you want me to say?” Dane said softly, moving his hands to my breasts and cupping them knowingly through my dress. “Do you want me to say that those other women weren’t you? Because they weren’t, Ava. They weren’t even fucking close.”
I shivered, the movement obvious against him. His response was to let out a breath that was laced with pain and to move his hands down to the hem of my dress, slowly pushing it up. Between his muscled, dark-clad thighs, my own pale thighs appeared, inch by inch.
I should stop this. We were in a restaurant, with people w
ho could hear us in the other private rooms. There were servers somewhere outside the sliding door. We were nearly in public, and what was he going to do? Fuck me? Dear God, let him fuck me.
“Dane,” I whispered.
His teeth grazed my earlobe, the skin of my neck. “Relax,” he whispered back, as if he didn’t want the neighbors to hear either. His palms were warm and sure as they moved up the smooth flesh of my inner thighs. “I know you, Ava. More than anyone.”
My thighs relaxed like jelly under Dane’s touch, then pressed wider to accommodate him. He was right: he knew me. His hands knew every contour of my skin, and his breath against my neck matched mine. He had kissed me last night, then pulled away. That taste of him had made me crazy, made me want to crawl out of my skin every time I looked at him. But now being in my skin was the best thing that had ever happened to me. If he stopped, I would lose my mind.
“I’m not going to stop,” Dane said, and I realized I’d said that last part out loud. Then his teeth grazed the skin of my neck, and his fingers moved under my panties and between my legs.
I bit my lip and pressed onto him, seeking the sensation. My body wasn’t reluctant, and there was no reason to pretend it was. Besides, I didn’t have the energy to pretend. I was too focused on how fast he could make me come.
I was soaked and slick, and his fingertips moved easily over my flesh, dipping inside me and rubbing, making me ache. I gasped and moved my hips, trying to get him where I wanted him, and his free hand gripped my thigh, holding me in place. Then, slowly, his torturing fingers moved out of me, up to my clit, circling it, then giving it a slow, luxurious rub. Because Dane Scotland knew everything about what made my body scream. Everything.
My hand gripped his forearm, my nails digging into him through his sleeve. I closed my eyes and became nothing but a swirl of sensation, spiraling up into the sky like smoke. Dane rubbed me just like I liked it, circling my clit and then brushing lightly over it, following that with a gentle press of his thumb. Again, and then again. One more time.
