Below Unforgiven

by Stedronsky, Kimberly

  “I could get used to this.”

  Blast from the Past

  K

  The suite adjoining mine was available for Vivian, so I asked for a valet to bring the key card to my room. I listened to her singing in the bathroom, exhaling slowly.

  I wanted her.

  Long term. I usually knew within minutes of meeting a person whether they were needed in my life, and I was usually spot on.

  (Kelsey had blown my perfect, intuitive record, but fuck that bitch.)

  Vivian was vital. I was going to be on my best behavior for the remainder of the weekend.

  I would kiss her at just the right times, in just the right ways.

  “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend,” she sang softly from the bathroom (acutely on tune, I was impressed to notice) and I smirked at my aspiring little gold digger. Scrolling through an email on my phone, I tried to decide the best place for her. Frank was swamped with my work in LA, and I needed a location assistant for Idlewild. She was smart, and I wondered how much she actually knew about filmmaking.

  If I dangled a real job in front of her on Sunday, I wanted to guarantee that she wouldn’t refuse.

  Rummaging around in my bag, the white object on the desk caught my eye.

  Her phone. She needed a phone, and I needed her to have a phone. I grabbed for it, jumping to her contacts and typing PMT. In moments I was speaking to a Verizon Wireless automated system, cleared her balance with my credit card, and then waited briefly for the device to reactivate.

  As soon as the network finally picked up, alerts began flooding in. Five text messages and three voicemails.

  An incoming call flashed on the screen, no contact information, and I lifted the phone to my ear without thinking.

  “Vivian Hale’s answering service,” I clipped, adjusting the clasp on my watch.

  “What the-who in the hell is this?”

  A man’s voice. I held the phone away from my ear once, double checking that whoever was calling was not one of her contacts.

  “Who in the hell is this?”

  “This is Vivian’s fiancé. Put her on the phone.”

  “Fiancé?” I repeated, narrowing my eyes.

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  Hmn. Feisty little asshole. “I’m her boss.”

  “Her boss…,” he was slowly exploding, and I kind of enjoyed it. So, she was engaged to numero uno douchebag, and I guessed that he was the one huffing and puffing in my ear.

  “Yes, her boss. She’s in the shower. Who should I tell her is calling?”

  “What the-”

  “You know what? I’m on a tight schedule, my friend. Go ahead and call back, leave a message.” I ended the call, tossing her phone to the bed.

  She was engaged.

  Was she still engaged? The guy seemed to think so. Either he was some kind of stalker…

  Or she was lying. Again.

  In seconds the iPhone was ringing, same unknown number, and Vivian opened the bathroom door.

  She’d changed into a cut off jean skirt that barely covered her thighs, and a blue, V necked top that had me fighting between staring at her perfect breasts or her gorgeous eyes.

  “Is that my phone? I thought…,”

  “I activated it for you. I want you to keep in touch with Gram. She’ll worry,” I added, watching her pull her hair up into a ponytail. “V, you are fucking gorgeous.”

  She grinned, spinning slowly before dropping into a vain little pose that had all the blood in my body pumping directly into my dick. “I know.”

  Groaning, I resisted pressing her back up against the mirror. “Take your key.” I handed her the key card for the room next door, pointing at the adjoining door.

  “Thank you.” She scraped her bottom lip with her teeth, and lifted her eyes. “What do I owe you for the phone?”

  Owe you?

  I considered, deciding I didn’t mind her owing me.

  Not one bit.

  “You owe me one answer.”

  “One answer?” She repeated, reading absently through her texts.

  “One answer. I’ll ask you something, sometime tonight, and you have to answer.”

  “Nothing pervy,” she argued, without looking my way.

  “No, I told you I’d behave.”

  “Okay,” she agreed, stopping in midstride, examining her phone. “Did someone just call?”

  I watched recognition pass over her face. “Yeah, as I was paying the bill. I hung up on the caller, and then it rang again and went to your voicemail.”

  She closed her lips, nodding.

  “Ready to go turn twenty-one?” I hurried, hoping she’d ignore the voicemails until later.

  She waved her phone in the air, nodding. “Thanks for this.”

  I winked at her. “Anytime, kiddo.”

  As we took the elevator back down to the lobby, she stopped scrolling through her text messages and paled.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, leading her toward the front desk.

  “I have to listen to this voicemail,” she began, but Robin was already barreling into her.

  “You won’t fucking believe this. Lindsey is back in the wedding. They made up. Fuck, I can’t handle this drama,” she pinched the bridge of her nose, groaning. “I need a drink!”

  “Come on, I’ll drive,” I urged, anxious to get her out of the lobby and away from the traveling sports team of girls checking in- and their horrified mothers. “You and your trucker mouth are embarrassing Vivian.”

  “I’m fine,” she lied, anxiously staring at her phone. “I just need to-…,”

  “Hey, whatever is on that voicemail-that you haven’t even listened to-is already making you break out into hives. Turn it off for the night, V. Let it go.” I held my hand out, waiting.

  She drew in a deep breath, finally placing her iPhone in my palm. “You’re right. Not tonight.”

  “Not tonight,” I repeated, taking her hand. “Come on, you can drive us there.”

  Her eyes widened, and she reminded me of a little anime schoolgirl. “What? I can drive your Ferrari?”

  I grinned, sliding my hand around to her back and tucking her against my side. “Can you drive a stick?”

  Making sure that she caught my innuendo, I winked. She rolled her eyes, holding her hand out. “I can learn if you teach me. Keys.”

  I stopped midstride. “Did you just quote Boyz n the Hood?”

  “I’ve seen a lot of movies. I told you that,” she chimed, sauntering to the car.

  I turned to Robin, and my sister grinned at me appreciatively. “I never met this Vivian. You’re good for her, Keat.” She pinched my cheek before planting a motherly kiss where her fingers had been. Dean swooped in from behind and tackled her neck with his mouth.

  “V, wait, can you really drive a stick…?”

  I jogged after her, nervous as she adjusted the mirrors and familiarized herself with the car. “I wouldn’t demolish the transmission on this baby if it were a life or death situation. Now, where are we going?”

  “We’re going to Juke.” I heard Vivian’s cell phone ringing again, watching her reach for it.

  She glanced at the number, and this time, her face went white. The name Matthew flashed across the screen of her iPhone as Robin and Dean approached the car.

  “Vivian.”

  She turned to me as the phone incessantly continued ringing.

  “I should…,”

  “You should turn that off and let me help you forget him for a while.”

  She exhaled slowly as the call went to voicemail.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she held the power down button on her phone and lifted her eyes to mine. Those blue orbs captivated me in the moonlight.

  “Help me forget him, Keaton.”

  Something happened way north of my crotch, and I felt like I’d had too many Red Bulls too fast. My chest constricted, and every possessive bone in my body charged to life.

  I decided, at that moment,
that she was mine.

  My what, I wasn’t exactly sure. My project? My plan?

  My salvation?

  She belonged with me, on my arm, at my side, and in my bed.

  And I wanted to make damn sure that she wanted me, too.

  I reached for the keys, turning them in the ignition. “We’re going to play a game at the bar. I usually win, but I’m thinking that I may have finally met my match.”

  “A game?”

  “Trust me.” I tugged on her ponytail, and she grinned, waiting for Dean and Robin to climb into the back seat before expertly shifting the Ferrari into reverse.

  The Game

  V

  Juke was loud and fifties themed, and I cringed a little at the wannabe Jack Rabbit Slim’s atmosphere. We were warned right away that the air conditioner was broken, but no one seemed to care.

  Keaton walked into the bar like he owned it, immediately making friends with the bartender. After a brief conversation over my driver’s license, he returned to our table with four beers and four shot glasses.

  “Wait, wait,” Robin called as she gathered the glasses, placing each one in front of us. “We have to sing happy birthday to you!”

  I kept my wide smile, despite the turmoil of Matthew’s phone call tearing the wings off of all of the pleasant butterflies fluttering in my stomach.

  Matthew is trying to call me.

  Why? I know I’m late with this month’s payment, but he’s never called me about it before. Is it because it’s my birthday?

  I thought about his text, my heart constricting at the name he hadn’t called me in so very long.

  Are you there, beauty?

  “No, we’re not singing happy birthday until midnight,” Keaton reprimanded, and Dean whooped as a group of guys filed out of the bar, leaving the pool table in the back vacant.

  “Come on babe,” he tugged Robin to his side. “You guys want to play?”

  “No thanks,” Keaton answered before I could open my mouth. He pushed the shot my way, lifting his own in the air. “To Vivian. For being the fairest one in all the land.”

  I lifted the shot to his, letting the glasses clank softly before tipping it to my lips. The cherry bomb was sweet.

  And tasted a lot like Keaton’s kiss.

  “Okay, what’s your game,” I asked, forcing as much interest into my question as possible.

  Stop thinking about Matthew.

  He raised his eyebrows, his smile producing that enchanting dimple that the alcohol suddenly urged me to kiss. Matthew had two dimples, all the time, smiling or not.

  Stop thinking about Matthew! I contemplated slapping myself across the face. He pointed at the juke box as “Hotel California” was finishing up, grinning. “Okay, this is kind of like six degrees of Kevin Bacon.”

  “Kevin Bacon?”

  “You know, there is a theory that two people on Earth are, on average, about six acquaintance links apart.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of the game.” God, he was so cute when he was all excited, and the gold in his eyes kept catching the lights over the bar.

  “Well, I’ll play a song, and then your turn. Since I’m going first, I have to connect the songs together in less than six degrees. If I fail, I do a shot. If I win, you dance with me.”

  I was already confused. “So if I fail, I do a shot, and if I win, you dance with me. Either way we’re drinking and dancing with each other.”

  “Very good,” he grinned. “What can I say, I made this game up while shitfaced.”

  I reached for my hair and laughed, spinning a strand on my finger. “No one else is dancing,” I protested, glancing around the bar.

  “Exactly. We’ll be the center of attention. So try hard not to lose.”

  Oh, I was competitive, and he seemed to pick up on that immediately. I bobbed my leg on the floor as he picked up his phone. “What are you doing?”

  “I have an app that controls the jukebox.”

  I watched his lips curl into a decisive grin, and he stopped typing on his phone and pushed it my way.

  As the Eagles song ended, The Beatles “Twist and Shout” began. I reached for my beer, tilting it to my lips.

  “So, I have to play another song after this and connect the two in less than six degrees.”

  “You got it.” He leaned forward, his finger tapping the phone. “But this game is timed. You have until the end of the song.”

  “What? You should have told me that!” I cried, racking my brain. “What if I don’t think of the connection in time, and someone else plays a song?”

  He nodded toward the bar, grinning as he sat back in his seat. “I bought out the jukebox for two hours.”

  “How is that even possible? You have too much money to play with, Mr. Thorne,” I teased, quickly pouring through all the pop culture knowledge that I possessed. Movies, “Twist and Shout,” a parade…

  Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. The parade float.

  “And if I don’t get it, and have to do a shot, you have to tell me the connection. Or you do a shot too.”

  “I think you’re just making up rules as you go now,” I said as I quickly typed my search. The song was almost over, and I entered my choice, lifting my chin. “Oh, you’re going down.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes raking over me once before meeting mine. “I’d be glad to.”

  His flirty innuendos should have been irritating. They should have made me roll my eyes, conclude that he had absolutely no maturity, and irritate the hell out of me.

  Instead, my body responded as it had earlier in the hotel room, and I was soaking wet as I thought about him going down on me.

  He must have sensed my reaction, and his hand slid over my knee from under the table.

  We stared at each other for a long time. I remembered what the stubble on his chin felt like beneath my fingertips, and I resisted the urge to reach out and trace his jaw. He leaned forward, as though reading my mind, and I lowered my eyes before glancing at the back of the bar. Robin and Dean were well into their pool game, and I watched her refuse another drink.

  I’m sure she doesn’t want to be hung over tomorrow.

  Between the heat in the un-air-conditioned bar, and the fire pooling low in my stomach, I was nearly sweating. “What’s your movie about? The one in the amusement park?” I clarified, listening to John Lennon’s scratchy voice. I couldn’t help but sing along under my breath, and Keaton sat back, amused.

  “Did you know that Lennon had a cold when he recorded this song?”

  “Really?” I liked the pleasant way the alcohol had anesthetized my anxiety, allowing me to focus completely on Keaton.

  “Yes. And it’s about a serial killer, and the murders keep happening in amusement parks with Round-Ups. You know, that centrifugal force ride that smashes you up against the wall?”

  I could barely keep up with him. He was always hyper and over-caffeinated, and reminded me of an excited little boy. I was learning that his energy (and maybe some acronym) kept him from focusing on one subject for too long.

  “Ugh-barf. Yes, I know the one,” I lamented, making a face. “I’ve ridden the one at Idlewild. I’ve also puked in the bushes behind the Whip.”

  “If you made it all the way to the bushes behind the Whip, you’re a strong girl,” he said, sitting up urgently. “It’s go time.” He winked and held his hand to his ear, and I smirked as the song ended.

  Seconds later, “Stay” (which I’d just learned was sung by a group called Maurice Williams and the Zodiacs) began.

  He chuckled, shaking his head. Before I knew it he was on his feet, holding out his hand.

  “Wait, you didn’t give me an answer,” I protested as he led me to the space by the jukebox.

  “This is a short song, and I don’t want to miss it.” He turned me around so that my back was pressed against his chest, and his arms wrapped around mine. I moved to the music, and the pleasant friction that I’d created by rubbing against him had me inevitably rocking my hip
s in his. The drinks had warmed my bloodstream, and I closed my eyes, grinning.

  I had moves, and I could drop it like it’s hot with the best of them, but all hopes or calculated efforts to impress him with my dancing went out the door when his hand flattened over my stomach.

  I could barely hear the music with the blood rushing in my ears. I moved with the way I was feeling; weightless, sexy, and so turned on. The patrons of the bar were watching us, and the unconditioned temperature made our bodies melt together, warm and damp. He danced like he was born to dance, and I grinned at his effortlessly cool combination of Adam Levine meets Patrick Swayze.

  His mouth lowered to my ear. “The song “Twist and Shout” was featured in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. One. In the movie, his sister was played by actress Jennifer Grey. Two.” His palms slid over my hips, and I turned quickly in his arms, dropping slowly against his chest before lifting my face to his. “Jennifer Grey starred in Dirty Dancing, Three. “Stay” was from the movie’s soundtrack. Four.”

  I was overheated, and as he tucked my thighs against him, my legs grew unstable beneath me. Dancing in the dark, hot bar was too much like sex, and his erection against my hips told me he was thinking the same thing. “You’re good,” I complimented, breathy, and he glanced over my head.

  “And you can dance. You don’t care that people are watching us.”

  “I’ve had dance lessons all of my life. And I like attention,” I admitted. I was having fun for the first time in forever. Even despite the overwhelming attraction that I had for him and the whole contract thing, I enjoyed his little game… and his company.

  And him.

  He gave my ass a tug, fitting me against him tightly. The heat of his body on mine, the clean smell of his skin, and everything about his eyes were setting off dizzying chemical reactions in my brain.

  The song ended, and people whistled and clapped appreciatively. I took a calming breath and gave a little bow.

  “I won, I get to go again, and it’s my turn to stump you,” he said gruffly, typing a song on his phone. “Alright, kiddo, hope you’re okay with the eighties.”

  “Don’t hold back, boss. I might surprise you.”

  He led us back to the table, and I reclaimed my beer. “V, you do nothing but surprise me.”