by Nora Flite
If the man was auditioning for the part of a super villain, he was one nuke away from getting it.
Spotting a girl with more drinks, I started to move through the crowd. I didn't get far before I locked my knees, a gap in the busy room revealing a couple standing by the wall.
It was my mother.
And she was with Abell.
Ducking to the side, I willed myself to act normal—to not be spotted. Why are they talking? Were they just making conversation?
Peering at them, I noted how sharp Abell looked in his rich, plum colored vest over a white button-down. The contrast helped define the width of his shoulders. He'd peeled the sleeves to his elbow, not shy in exposing his elaborate tattoos.
The combination of class and casual reminded me of a rock star. In a way, I guess he was one—or pretty close.
A rich, rock star player, I mused, stringing together all of his qualities. Recalling what his dad had said about him, my guts knotted tight.
I didn't know how to feel. Abell was a player, but his dad was a monster for pointing it out. For calling him a fuck up.
The things Abell had told me when we'd sat and eaten ice cream together on our surreal shopping trip, they became clearer. I understood why he'd run away from the pressure his dad apparently put on him.
After all, I thought, squinting at my mother, I've experienced the same thing.
Abruptly, he leaned in, listening to something she was saying. His smile, even yards away, turned my heart into a jet engine.
He looked so good when he did that, like he had a secret he wanted to share, and he'd tell you... for a price.
Abell turned away from her, weaving through the crowd—right at me.
Shivering, I snatched a full glass off of a passing tray. He hadn't spotted me yet. However, before I could dart away and get my bearings, his sapphire stare locked on me.
That wicked grin was as good as a bear trap.
“Nix,” he said, stopping inches away. “I thought we'd agreed you'd be wearing mistletoe.”
I waved down at my dress. “Amazingly, I couldn't find any, so I had to use this as a substitute.”
Clicking his tongue, he tapped his breast pocket, pointing out the sprig of mistletoe he'd stuck there. “It's your lucky night, I have some right here. Let's get you into the back, see how it looks.”
Smiling helplessly, I swirled my glass. “One sprig isn't enough to make me decent.”
“Exactly,” he whispered, bending closer. His breath tickled my throat. “That's the whole point.”
The flutters in my belly turned into hot waves of pressure. Abell had taken away any comeback I could have tried. Looking away, I sipped the champagne. “What were you and my mother talking about?”
“She offered me a handjob for fifty dollars. I turned her down.”
Spitting my drink out, I caused people to turn and stare at me. Cupping my mouth, I coughed hoarsely.
Laughing, Abell grabbed a napkin from his pocket, offering it to me. “Guess you liked that one.”
Wiping my face, I blushed wildly. “She'll kill you if she learns you said that.”
Inside, I was still giggling.
“You'll have to protect me from her, then.” He winked, then grabbed my drink from me, finishing it off. “Want a tour of this place?”
Pulling my lower lip in, I ignored how he'd stolen my champagne—my liquid courage. “Sure. That'd be better than trying to make conversation with strangers. Who are they all? Friends of your dad?”
“Friends?” Abell made a wide gesture with one arm. “People with money, connections, power. The kind of mercenary scum my dad loves associating with.” His eyes flared, but he was quick to smile at me. “Come on. I haven't been back here in eight years, I'll try not to get us lost.”
“Eight years?” The heels of my ankle boots scuffed over the polished floor as I followed after him. “Why so long?”
“Have you met my father?” Chuckling, he held open a door for me. I stepped through into a quiet, carpeted hallway. “I stopped living under his rule when I was sixteen.”
“That's so young! Where did you go? How could you even make it on your own?”
Closing the door, he strolled down the dimly let hall, his voice softening. “The truth isn't that impressive. My dad never denied me access to his money. I've had a credit card in my name this whole time.”
I offered him a slanted grin. “That's not exactly the bold, 'going your own way' plan I'd expect from you.”
“You think I'm bold?”
Heat spread over my cheeks. “It's a word that suits you.”
Abell turned the corner, a circular room stuffed with books opened before us.
“Wow!” I gasped. “There's so many!” In the center of the ceiling, a glass window let in the midnight haze of the sky. Gazing up at it, I noticed a graceful staircase that led to a polished door. “What's in there?”
“Nothing,” he said, rounding on me. “It's an old closet.”
Weird place for a closet. Spinning slowly on my toes, I went back to studying the shelves. “It's beautiful in here.”
“Beautiful is a word that should be reserved for... better things.” His eyes sucked up the low lights, blue centers shifting with shadows.
I hadn't realized there was a bookcase behind me, not until he stepped forward, causing me to retreat into it. When my spine tapped the thick novels, I went stiff. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
He whispered, “You know why.”
Licking my lower lip, I glanced away. “Abell, you agreed. No sleeping with me.”
“Now who's bold? You think I'm trying to fuck you right now? Is that where your mind is, Nix?”
I sucked in air, lifting my chin high to try and stare him down. “I know what you want, Abell Birch. You can't fool me, and you aren't getting it.”
“Tell me what I want.” Lingering there, he casually slid his thumb over my shoulder-strap. “Say it out loud, baby girl. You might as well. You're already thinking about it.”
The memory of his warm lips haunted me. “I'm not,” I lied. “You're just... it's obvious. It's what you want from every girl.”
He went quiet, watching me without blinking. Abell stood perfectly still, only the occasional puff of air through his nose told me he was alive. There was a severity in his pupils, something burning up from deep inside.
What was he thinking about?
Lowering closer, his eyelashes twitched. “Maybe,” he hissed softly, “Maybe what I want from you is different. Did you ever consider that?”
I was so close to asking him what he meant. It was right there on my tongue. My pulse stampeded until my heart became a blur of sensation, I imagined it was a hummingbird trapped in my chest. “Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. I don't... want you. Not like this.”
Abell chuckled, pressing his forehead against mine. “Then why are you breathing so heavily?” His scent flooded me, my vision starting to sway.
He leaned into me, his erection digging into my thigh. Grinding against the front of my dress, he took a mere second to find where my pussy was. Was that his damn super power?
“Ah!” I cried, turning away so my cheek touched the books. “W—wait, we can't... you know we can't...”
Ignoring me, he slid himself up and down with deliberate movements. His cock rubbed at me through the fabric, insistent on driving me wild. “I can get you off like this.” He pressed harder, faster. “I can make you cum without fucking you.”
“Nix?” Gram shouted, echoing in the hall outside. “Are you down here?”
His voice snapped me back to the present. I didn't want anyone to catch me with Abell in such a revealing position, but my brother?
Grabbing Abell's wrists, I pushed him away from me. He gave me an inch of space, staring at me with lust glazing his eyes. “Remember our agreement,” I said. I darted a look at the hall. “I'm not doing this, we have to stop!”
There was a heavy beat, a long second, tha
t passed between us. Was he going to listen to me? Or keep pushing, sensing I was about to break... that I had broken?
“Fuck!” he growled, wrenching away. His fists knotted at his sides, tendons flexing. Running a hand through his hair, he forced out a tight laugh. “Guess he saved you after all, huh?”
My juices were running down my inner thigh. I prayed nothing would show through my dress. “I saved me,” I panted, struggling to calm down. “I'm not sleeping with you again, get it?”
He eyed me hungrily. “I can feel you wearing down, babe. You won't be able to hold back much longer.”
A full body shudder, crafted from pure pleasure, shook me. What if he's right? The concept was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. No, I can't... that can't happen. I was smart enough to know that getting closer to Abell was a bad idea. But every second we spent together, I wanted... more.
So much more.
His father's words crept into my head, itching like spiders. Could you ever see yourself loving a man who chooses his obscene, selfish desires over your own happiness?
My answer had come quick:
Never.
I wasn't so sure any longer.
“Nix!” Gram shouted.
With one more shaky breath, I shoved past Abell. “We need to hide, before he finds us together like this.”
“What?” Abell laughed. “I thought you said he wouldn't beat me up.”
“He won't!” But he thinks Abell is scum, because I told him he was. I can't handle the way he'll look at me when he finds us alone! It was obvious what we were doing!
I'd have to beat myself up later for letting Abell get so close to me, when I'd meant to keep us as far apart as I could.
In a panic, I spun in place, searching for some escape. Gram was in the hall, and this room had no where to go.
We were trapped.
No. There's one place. My eyes snapped to the staircase. Not waiting for Abell, I threw myself up the steps towards the door above. The closet he mentioned!
“Wait!” Chasing after me, Abell's voice cracked. “Don't go in there!”
Ignoring him, I wrenched the handle, diving into the room as adrenaline made my palms slick. Fight or flight.
I'd chosen flight.
The scent of chemicals hit me first. It was dark, my eyes adjusting from the light that filtered in through the huge windows. It could have been a small attic, except every inch of it was filled with one thing.
Painted canvases.
“Nix,” Abell hushed, coming up behind me.
Moving forward, I gazed at the myriad of paintings. They were all stunning, brightly colored like flowers in spring. One by one, I walked past them, my hand in the air—wanting to touch, but knowing better. “What is all this?” I whispered.
Shutting the door gently, Abell stayed where he was, silent.
Peeking back at him, I went back to scanning the art. Someone with skill had done all of these. They were well preserved, only a little dusty. No one had been in here for some time.
Leaning in close, I realized they all had signatures. Tiny, curving white letters in the bottom right corner—they read 'Birch.'
“Did you paint all these?” I asked, standing up straight as a rod.
The light above cast hard shadows along his nose and brow-line. The movement of his head, as he stared at the paintings, was subtle. “No.”
“Then who?”
Coming forward, he reached for one of the paintings where it sat on an easel. At the last second, he pulled away. “My mother.”
Shock spread through me like cement. His mother? And I knew, deep down, even before I asked, that something sad existed in the air between us. “What happened to her?”
His lips made a shape, but it wasn't his normal smile. “She died. Years ago.”
I hugged myself harder. “When you were sixteen. Is that why you ran away?”
Abell twisted, watching me closely. “You have a good memory for details.” Again, he looked at the canvas in front of him. “You want to know what happened?”
“Yes.” I said it fast; there was no hesitation.
His outline was sharp, as solid as a mountain on the horizon. Yet still, I had a terrible feeling that if I touched him, he'd crumble away. “My mother was a... good person.” He paused. “More than that. There isn't a word for her. She was perfect, and kind, and her soul was gentle. Accepting.” Bending his neck, he looked at the window, whispering, “That still wasn't enough for him.”
Ice burned inside of me. “Your father.”
Nodding, Abell opened his palm, finally brushing the side of the easel. “I don't think he ever really loved her. It didn't matter how she felt, or what she did, he just didn't care. When she got sick, and the doctors said she didn't have long... she started painting.
“I joined her. We'd sit up here for hours, just talking, laughing, watching the colors dry. She'd always wanted to be a painter, but she'd given up that dream to take care of me. But I was older now, and she was—” He stopped himself, then grit his teeth. “Dying.”
My feet were rooted to the floor. In my pocket, my phone buzzed—Gram was calling me—but I didn't care. I was attached to nothing in that moment but Abell. If I thought he'd peeled back his walls before, now I knew what that really meant.
He looked past me, over my ear. “The day she went into the hospital, I knew she was done. Everyone knew. But while she lie there, waiting for my father to come, he never did. I called him, over and over, but it made no difference.”
Making a fist, he shut his eyes—and laughed. The sound was torturous. “The woman who never stopped smiling, died with tears in her eyes, because the man she loved until the very end refused to see her! Isn't that amazing? Isn't life fucking amazing?”
Clutching my hands together, I saw the visceral pain contorting his face. Once, as a child, I'd encountered a rabid dog roaming the streets. It's eyes had been rolling, unhinged. Spittle coated it's soaked snout.
Someone had called the police, hoping to prevent anyone from getting hurt. As I watched from the safety of a bank, the dog went after the cop who approached. He shot it before it could dig in its fangs.
In that moment though, I'd seen the pure desire to kill in the eyes of a living creature.
Now, I saw that in Abell.
He was dangerous, he was broken. Being close to someone like this was as reckless as wanting to build a house on the edge of a volcano.
The smartest thing would be to turn, walk out that door, and forget everything.
The contract... my company... the marriage...
Everything.
Crossing the room, I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him against me.
Abell jolted, resisting me before going slack. In the darkness, disbelief fueled his stare. “Stop,” he whispered. “Don't try and act like you care. No one fucking cares. This world is full of selfish, shitty people. No one is worth loving. Not anymore.”
“Say what you want,” I mumbled against his chest. “I remember a night when a certain man, in all his glory, tore down a grassy hill to save someone he didn't know. There was no reason to step in. He just did it... because he cared.”
Gripping my chin, he angled me upwards. The glow in his eyes made me grateful he was holding me up. “You think that I saved you just because I cared?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe I hoped you'd be so thankful, you'd spread your legs for me.”
He's trying to hurt me. “That wasn't it. You said another girl was waiting for you, I remember. Saving me, saving Trish, it messed your night up. You knew it would, and you still acted. Don't lie to me.”
Abell's expression was rampant with chiseled grooves. He challenged me in that silence, dared me to bail under the intensity in his glare.
But I wouldn't break. I had fire in me, and he knew it.
Cradling me to him, he crushed my face to his chest until my skull throbbed. It was pain, but I loved it. “Thank you,” he said softly.
>
Hearing his heart beat, I wanted... I wanted to stay there. We could hide away in this room full of memories, never facing the people who had hurt us. I'd never run from anything before, but he made it feel so easy.
I was shaking; we both felt it. “Sorry. It's cold in here,” I lied.
Abell's lips quirked. “You use that line as an excuse a lot. Let me finally warm you up.”
My attention was frozen on his mouth. “But... the agreement,” I said in a hush.
From his pocket, he lifted the mistletoe. “Holiday tradition trumps everything.”
I licked my lower lip, my lungs constricting. “Tradition. Right. That...”
His mouth glided across mine, linking us tight. Abell was warm, even cozy. It would have been magical to stand there, our tongues slipping together as the rest of the world—my responsibilities—faded away.
In my pocket, my phone buzzed, shattering the moment.
Abell leaned back, both of us gasping softly as we parted. The stars in his eyes held me steady, chained me there in his arms. He said, “I think your brother is calling. It's probably time to leave.”
Shoving my emotions down, enough to back away, I dusted my dress off. “Right. Yeah. We should go before he sends in a search party.”
Why did he stop kissing me?
And why did it make me feel so anxious?
Together we left the room, our hands dangerously close to touching by our sides. I was aware of the distance, I wanted to close it, and I knew it was wrong.
Everything about this was wrong.
On the edge of the main foyer, surrounded by the crowd, Gram was typing into his phone. Breaking away from Abell, I waved an arm. “Gram!”
He looked up when I called to him. “Nicky! There you are! I had started to think you weren't here.”
I jogged to meet him. Before I could say another word, I pulled up short—Abell had clasped my shoulders from behind, effectively stopping me in my tracks.
From my vantage, I got to witness the unease in my brother's eyes.
Abell said, “You must be Gram. Nice to meet you in person.” Stepping beside me, he held out a hand.
Gram shook it, eyes narrowing a fraction. “Same. Thanks for the invite, your house is amazing.”
