“You like the ER?”
“Oh yes. I never know what will happen during a shift. Some nights I can’t keep up, but it’s always interesting. And I feel as though I’m giving something back. Helping people.” Her enthusiasm was heartfelt, and her eyes shone with sincerity.
I touched my bandage. “You’re very good at it.”
“You’re a terrible patient. I spoke to Vivian this afternoon. She told me about the hard time you gave her.”
I had the decency to look ashamed. “She didn’t offer me a sucker.”
Ally laughed, the sound filled with light. Her eyes danced in amusement. “I’ll have to keep a supply on hand so you behave.”
I like the sound of that. It meant she wanted to see me again. I already knew I wanted to see her. Explore whatever this was between us.
“Do I have to behave all the time?”
She picked up her glass, grinning. “Not…all the time.”
“Good to know.” Then I tapped the table. “They’d better only be grape.”
She rolled her eyes. “There you go again being demanding.”
I winked. “Get used to it.”
Her smile said it all. This was the start of something for both of us.
The time flew by, and after a quick glance at her watch, she sat down her coffee cup. “I need to get home.”
I signaled for the check, feeling torn. I could see how tired she looked now, yet I didn’t want the evening to be over. She was witty and engaging. I liked hearing her laugh—I liked being the one to make her laugh. She made me smile with her comments and I enjoyed the banter we shared. I felt very at ease—there was nothing over the top with her. She only seemed to want to know Adam the man, not the well-known photographer. I was certain she didn’t even know anything about that side of my life. I wasn’t ready to share that yet. I simply wanted the chance to get to know her first before telling her about the chaotic lifestyle I led.
As we waited for our coats, she pulled out her tin of Altoids, offering me one before slipping it away. Outside, the air was chilly, and I wrapped my arm around her and walked her to her car. She unlocked the door, peering up at me.
I clasped her hand. “I’d like to see you again.”
She smiled, squeezing my fingers. “Me, too.”
“Is tomorrow too soon?” I spoke in a light tone, in case she turned me down.
“For me, no. But, Adam, you may think twice about wanting to get to know me.”
My brow furrowed. “Why would you say that?”
She glanced away, for the first time faltering. Obviously, there was something she didn’t want to talk about.
“My life isn’t simple.”
“Neither is mine. We can talk about all that tomorrow. Why don’t we go to a movie tomorrow afternoon and have dinner again?”
“I can’t. I—I have a commitment with my mother.”
The way she said it let me know it wasn’t something she wanted to do. She became tense every time she mentioned her mother.
“Can’t you get out of it?”
“No.” Her frustration was evident. “I can’t.”
I came up with another idea. I really wanted to see her tomorrow. “After, then. Come to the loft and we’ll have dinner. We can order in.”
“It might be late.”
I moved closer, our bodies almost touching. “Tell me something. Do you feel this—this draw?”
Her hand rested on my chest. “Yes.”
“It’s intense,” I confessed. “I’ve never felt anything like it, Ally.”
“I thought about you all day,” she murmured, her eyes searching mine.
I smiled in agreement. “Same with me. I want to know you. I want you to know me.”
Her expression became worried. “You might not like what you find out.”
“That could work both ways. I’m willing to take the chance. Are you?”
“I want to.”
That was all I needed to hear. I cupped her face, drawing her mouth to mine. Our lips met, parted, and joined again. Brushed gently, touching lightly. I drew her bottom lip into my mouth, stroking the soft flesh with my tongue. She whimpered, a breathy little sigh that I felt in my soul. With a groan, I slipped my hands into her hair, pulling her to me. In this very moment, nothing else existed. Only her warmth, her sounds, and her sweet, cinnamon-flavored mouth. Our tongues touched, stroked, and teased. Ally’s hands grasped my shoulders, holding tight. I wrapped my arm around her, crushing her to my chest. I didn’t want to stop, but aware we were in public, I gentled my kisses and drew back.
“Tomorrow. I’ll be waiting.”
She ran a finger along my chin, teasing the scruff. “Tomorrow.”
—
By eight o’clock the next evening, I’d almost given up. She hadn’t responded to my texts all afternoon, and I was sure she wasn’t going to show. Maybe I had pushed too hard, or came across too needy. But the intensity I felt when she was close threw common sense to the wind. I wanted her here.
Finally, a timid knock sounded at my door. I flung it open, visibly relaxing when I saw her on the other side. “I didn’t know if you were coming.”
“I wasn’t sure I should.”
I heard her apprehension and worry. I slid my hand up her arm, over her shoulder and neck, to her face, cupping her smooth cheek. “But you’re here.”
“I had to make sure you were okay.”
I didn’t point out she could have done that with a phone call. I was too happy she was here.
“I’m fine.” Leaning over, I shut the door behind her and flipped the lock. “You’re staying.” I paused. “Right?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “For a little while.”
I kissed the top of her head and led her to the counter, helping her onto the stool, then sitting beside her. I poured the wine I had opened earlier, placing the glass in her hand. She shifted on the stool with a curious frown.
“These are new. They weren’t here yesterday.”
I smiled at her attention to detail. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to sit in my lap all night, and I saw them while I was out.”
I had worked some more to stay busy, but followed her advice, and relaxed, as well, to let my head clear. Then I ventured out into the neighborhood.
When I bought the building, the area around it was run-down, with mostly empty storefronts and buildings, but beginning a slow transformation. Four years later, it was rejuvenated with lots of shops, businesses and eclectic stores. The main floor of my building was completely rented out, adding a good profit to my portfolio.
I had noticed these stools in the window of a trendy furniture store while I was out and had them delivered right away. The thickly padded, chocolate-brown leather tops were far more comfortable than my old wooden stool.
“You were okay to go out? How’s your head?” she asked anxiously.
“Nothing I can’t handle. I’m fine. The drugs have helped, and my head feels better.”
“You shouldn’t overdo it for a few days,” she reminded me. “Give yourself time to heal.”
“I’m sure you’ll monitor me closely.”
Her gaze skittered away, and the blush I liked stained her skin. I enjoyed seeing it.
I got up and began to pull out some of the food. “Hungry?”
“I don’t want to bother—”
I shook my head, interrupting her. “You aren’t a bother, Ally. I’m not a great cook, but I picked up a few things.”
“Okay. That would be lovely.”
“Good.” I set down a couple of plates of snacks I had bought: cheeses and dips, some bread, and other munchies. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I grabbed a variety.”
“This is great. Thank you.”
As we ate, I studied her. The only word that came to my head was weary. She looked weary. “Did you run around all day?”
“Yes, it was a busy one.”
I waited for her to say more, and when she didn’t I prompted her
.
“How was your mother?”
“Annoyed.”
I heard the same frustration in her voice as last night. I was right thinking her mother was the source.
“I don’t understand.”
She paused, her wineglass inches from her lips. The lips I’d wanted to kiss since she walked back in my door. “There are…expectations. When I don’t live up to them, my mother isn’t happy. I was late yesterday because I overslept, I apparently was distracted today and not as involved as I should have been…” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged.
“You overslept because you were here with me, right? I threw off your schedule?”
She met my eyes. “Yes. But that was my choice. Don’t even think to apologize.”
I grinned at her tone. I wanted to tease her and ask what had been distracting her all day, but I resisted.
“You just got off working nights. Surely she understands that.”
She sighed, her fingers crumbling a cracker over her plate. “My mother only understands what she wants to understand. I worked five nights in a row. My shifts are normally four nights on, three nights off. But I had to work an extra one because one of the girls was sick.”
“Then why can’t she understand you needed sleep? She’s your mother, for fuck’s sake.”
“It’s complicated. She’s always annoyed with me, no matter what I do.”
That puzzled me, and I studied her guarded expression. “If you think that will scare me off, you can think again.”
She pushed her plate away in exasperation. “Why is it so important for you to know all this?”
I picked up a small piece of cheese, placing it on a cracker. I held it to her lips. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. Open up.”
I waited patiently until her lips parted and I slipped the morsel in.
“I want to know all about you.” I dipped a slice of bread into the olive oil and balsamic vinegar I had mixed on a plate. I waited until she swallowed and held it up for her, smiling in satisfaction as she accepted it. I would happily feed her all night if that was what it took to make sure she ate.
“I may be far more trouble than I’m worth.”
Those words made me frown.
“I doubt that.”
“I shouldn’t be here,” she repeated, then paused. “I wasn’t going to come back.”
“I figured that out, but you did.” I took a deep swallow of my wine. I needed to know. “Why?”
“I couldn’t— I couldn’t stay away,” she admitted. “I tried, but I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I swore I’d only check on you and then leave.”
I stood, cradling her face between my hands and kissing her, unable to bear one more moment without doing so. “I don’t want you to stay away,” I murmured against her lips. I didn’t understand the draw I had to her, but it was there. I was certain she felt it, as well, but she was fighting it.
She shivered, the smallest breath of a sigh escaping her mouth as I kissed her. I rained light whispers of kisses on her mouth, her cheeks, the tip of her nose, finally nuzzling her forehead. I wrapped her up close and rocked us for a minute before helping her off the stool and guiding her over to the chair. Once she was sitting, I fetched our freshly topped off glasses of wine, pulled up the ottoman, and situated myself in front of her.
“Talk to me.”
She hesitated, so I gathered up her hands, kissing the soft knuckles. “Tell me your story.”
“My dad died when I was eight.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t remember a lot, but I remember his hugs, his laugh, and the way I felt so safe when he was around. He was larger than life.” She tugged on her ponytail, smiling ruefully. “I got his hair.”
I curled my finger around the silky texture of her hair. “I like it.”
“I think my mother would prefer it to be like hers.”
“Why? It’s gorgeous.”
“It stands out. She prefers it if I blend in.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are too special to blend in. She needs to open her eyes and see that fact.”
“Thank you.”
She frowned. “Adam, we barely know each other. Are you sure you want to hear this? It’s not your usual let’s-get-to-know-each-other conversation. It’s…personal, and not a happy story.”
I studied her nervous posture. She was right—this wasn’t the sort of conversation I would have with someone I had just met. But Ally was different—how or why I still didn’t understand, but she was. I wanted her, and in order to have her, I had to hear this.
I pressed a kiss to her lips. “I’m sure. I want to know. Hot getting-to-know-each-other sex will be far more enjoyable I guarantee you that…but we’ll tackle this first.”
That made her smile, then once again she became lost to the memories she was sharing.
“My mom remarried a year later, an older man named Ronald. He was—is—very rich. My life changed. Ronald was very strict. I was expected to act a certain way, always be a little lady. My mother—she was never loving and open, like my dad, but she was still my mom, you know? I guess when my dad died, it left us in financial trouble, and marrying Ronald solved that problem. She became detached. She was exactly what he wanted: a trophy wife. Younger than him, beautiful, and totally at his beck and call. She rarely spent much time with me. She no longer could—she was his first.”
“Yours second?”
She shook her head. “A distant third—maybe fourth. Whatever Ronald deemed important became important to her, too. Image, her place in society, those were always upmost in her mind.”
“Sounds rather cold.”
She took a sip of her wine, her expression desolate. “Ronald had a son; he was six years older than me. He carried Ronald’s surname, his blood. He was more significant than I was. I was made aware of that fact, right from the start.”
My eyes narrowed in irritation at such a fucked-up statement. This was going to be even more intense than I expected.
“I take it you didn’t get along with Prince Charming?”
“No, actually, I adored him, and he, me. He hated the fact he was doted on and I wasn’t. He used to call me princess and said I should be treated like one.”
I pulled her hands away from her pant leg that she was gripping tight. They were clutching the material so hard I was certain she would tear the fabric.
“Do you still get on well?”
Her eyes grew larger in her pale face, then damp as she swallowed and cleared her throat, shaking her head again.
“No. He died.”
Chapter 4
I touched my wineglass to Ally’s lips. She’d been silent, and I let her be so she could gather her thoughts. After she took a small sip, I tipped back the glass and swallowed a large mouthful. Given her last statement, I had a feeling I was going to need it. This was a fucking intense conversation, and it had only just started. Still, I wanted to hear it.
“What happened?”
Her voice was quiet when she spoke. “I was eleven and Oliver was seventeen. I called him Ollie. Ronald hated that—both my parents hate nicknames. Whereas Ronald was strict and exacting, Ollie was so different—happy and laid back. The two of them had been arguing a lot. He’d been, ah, in trouble a fair bit—drinking, acting out at school, that sort of thing. I think it was his way of getting back at Ronald’s demands. He was grounded and lost his car, except to go to school.” She sighed sadly. “Poor Ollie had to listen to lecture after lecture from him about his behavior.” A ghost of a smile curled her lips. “He did such a wicked imitation of Ronald. It was so funny. He’d come to my room, flop on my bed, and tell me how much trouble he’d gotten into that day.” She shook her head. “He was so tired of hearing how he had to be responsible and uphold the Givens name. Tired of trying to live up to an image his father had of him.”
“Wait,” I interrupted. “I thought you said your last name is Robbins.”
“It is. Ronald never adopted me, s
o my name was never changed. He didn’t believe in giving his name to someone who wasn’t ‘really family.’ ”
I suppressed my urge to swear aloud. What a coldhearted bastard. From what she had said so far, I had a feeling I’d never like either of the two people Ally called her parents once I met them. They seemed to treat her terribly. I had heard of Ronald Givens. He was a well-known investment broker, and said to be shrewd and unbending. And with what I was finding out, I would add callous to the list.
“One night, I was at another girl’s house for a sleepover. I didn’t want to go, but Arlene was the daughter of one of Ronald’s powerful friends and she wasn’t very well liked at school, so they made me go. I wasn’t feeling well, and I called home to ask my mother to come get me. But they had gone out with some associates of Ronald’s, so Ollie said he’d come get me. I told him he couldn’t because he wasn’t supposed to drive, and Ronald would be furious, but he said he didn’t care. I was more important than his dad’s stupid punishment.”
Her hands began to fidget again, her gaze flying around the room. She drew her legs up to her chest in a defensive manner, and I rubbed her calves, trying not to notice how her smooth skin felt under my hands. I pushed aside the physical reaction I felt to her, and concentrated on her words.
“What happened?”
“I was feeling sick to my stomach. Ollie pulled into a gas station to get a ginger ale for me.”
“And?”
She inhaled, a long shaky breath. Her fingers tore at her sleeves and I reached up to still them.
“I’m right here. It’s a memory—it can’t hurt you.”
She nodded and continued. “Ollie went inside—he was taking a long time, and I followed. I was afraid if I stayed in the car I’d be sick. He was standing with his back to the door and there were three other men inside—they seemed to be arguing.” She swallowed several times, her pale face now ashen. “When I opened the door, there was a huge commotion. Ollie was screaming for me to run and there were some loud noises, then I was on the floor, Ollie on top of me. He was bleeding, and when I looked up, I saw one man had a gun. He had shot Ollie, who had jumped in front of me.”
“Jesus—”
I was horrified listening to her story. Ally kept talking, tears running down her cheeks as she spoke.
My Image of You Page 4
