by Naima Simone
Enjoyed knowing that once again, he considered her a mistake.
Not this time. The anger roared up inside her along with the yell reverberating in her head. No, this time she would be the one to walk away.
“I didn’t know you were still here,” she murmured. “But I’m glad you are. This,” she waved a hand in the direction of the bar, the bedroom, “was a mistake. And can’t happen again. Let’s just chalk it up to an emotional night and move on.” When he continued to study her, inscrutable and silent, she forced a nonchalant shrug. “Anyway, I’d like to keep the focus on why you’re here and our plan. I don’t want to lose sight of it.”
She’d purposefully injected Bennett into the conversation, into the room. Between them. For him as much as for herself. Once upon a time, she’d lowered her guard for him, became vulnerable for him…became hopeful for him. And he’d crushed her first with his rejection then his silence.
Great sex—okay, soul-shattering, apocalyptic sex—didn’t make him reliable, stable. Didn’t offer her the security and love she craved. He obviously enjoyed her body, but only for as long as it took for the sweat to dry. Then he disappeared. Trusting him with her pleasure was one thing…trusting him with her heart, her future, was another.
And if her body and heart were a little slow on the uptake, well, she wasn’t ruled by the flesh between her legs.
“I’m returning to Dublin in the morning, but I’ll be back in time to escort you to the dinner party on Friday,” he stated, voice cold, flat. No inflection. No emotion. He could’ve been scheduling a meeting with his secretary.
“That’s not necessary. I appreciate all you’ve done, but I can handle it from here.”
“I promised I would take you, and I will,” he said in the same tone.
Part of her screamed that she wanted—needed—to be more than a promise, an obligation. That same part longed to tell him to take those same promises and obligations and shove them up his ass. But there was the other half. The half that argued she’d come so far, that it would be foolish to throw away her plans just to spite Niall.
Even if thoughts of Bennett seemed so wrong while the scent of her and Niall’s lovemaking still perfumed her skin.
Not lovemaking. Sex. Fucking. Screwing.
Only when it was combined with caring, affection, and commitment did it become lovemaking. And Niall had told her he was incapable of giving that. Blinking back the sting of tears, she nodded. Stupid to cry, to be hurt. Niall had never pretended to want more from her than what he’d just received not even an hour ago.
But he could help her have everything she dreamed of. One more time. One more date. Than he would be out of her life again like the last three years.
“Fine,” she said, attempting to sound as business-like as him. Snatching up her coat, she embarked on her Walk of Shame toward the hotel door.
“Let me throw on a jumper and shoes so I can go to the lobby with you.”
Hell no. “That’s okay,” she murmured, not pausing. “I’m fine.”
“Khloe—”
“I said no,” she nearly shouted. Inhaling, she wrestled her anger, pain, and humiliation under the shaky but cool façade of a small smile. Walking out of here with the shreds of her dignity was hell. Maintain the charade for an elevator ride? And then have him usher her out the hotel door like a wham-bam-fuck-you-ma’am? Not happening. That was asking too damn much. “That’s not necessary. Please, just…stay.”
Before he could protest again, she jerked the door open and rushed out into the hall. The elevator doors opened the second after she pressed the call button. And only after the steel panels closed with a soft hiss did she allow the tears to fall.
Last time, she vowed.
The very last time she would cry over him.
Chapter Ten
Niall had broken several commandments in his lifetime.
He’d lied. Taken God’s name in vain. Spent more Sundays in his office than in mass. Had even stolen once as a child. But the guilt and images of an avenging archangel Michael had driven him back to the store he’d shoplifted the candy bar from to confess his sin and pay for the chocolate.
So yeah, he hadn’t done a stellar job of keeping the big ten.
Still, he’d never imagined murder would be counted among his transgressions.
But the longer he stared across the room at Khloe smiling and laughing at Bennett Charles in the green dress he, Niall, had chosen for her, he contemplated the quickest way to dispose of a body. Bennett’s, specifically. Dismemberment, he decided, sipping from the glass of wine. Starting with the hands that continually cupped her elbow. Or encircled her fingers. Or rested at the small of Khloe’s back—a back bared by the tantalizing cut of her dress.
His grip tightened around the slim stem of the glass as once more Bennett whispered something in her ear, and her sultry chuckle stroked over Niall’s raw nerves like a wicked, sensual caress. Green might look phenomenal on her but not him. Jealousy stole through his veins like an insidious intruder. Primal instinct roared with the need to lay claim to her, to possess her…again and again. And again. To brand her so Bennett Charles and every male at the damn dinner party understood and acknowledged that Khloe belonged to him.
But he didn’t. Because she didn’t.
She’d made that crystal clear their night together almost a week ago.
This was a mistake. And can’t happen again. Let’s just chalk it up to an emotional night and move on.
The blasé dismissal had shocked the shit out of him. Rocked him. Fucking hurt him. Especially since he’d spent the thirty minutes before she appeared in the room grappling with the guilt of breaking his promise to Michael. Again. And how he was about to return to the shadowed bedroom where Khloe slept to repeat the betrayal.
He’d had sex before—more times and with more women than he cared to remember. But what he and Khloe had shared…that hadn’t been sex. Sex was good, sometimes great. Could be fun or intense. Could be dirty or tame. Could be fast and hard or slow and gentle.
It’d never been all of those. It’d never been goddamn amazing.
It’d never been meaningful.
Not even with Veronica. Sex with his ex-wife had never reached into his soul and ripped it apart at the seams. He’d never craved her so much he feared losing his mind if he didn’t bury himself inside her.
He’d never experienced that until Khloe. Three years ago, he convinced himself that night with her had been a fluke. The hunger had been fed by grief and anger. But as she’d come apart in his arms Sunday night, taking him with her, he could no longer deny she redefined every notion he’d possessed of sex. Of fucking. Redefined, hell. She obliterated and recreated it.
And he’d wanted more. Wanted to lose himself in her again. Hear her cry out his name over and over. Feel her flesh quiver and squeeze him again. He’d been willing to betray the last wish of his best friend to have it again. Have her.
Been willing until she’d informed him she didn’t want him. Instructed him to not lose focus of the goal. Bennett. Fucking Bennett.
In that moment, as she stood there, chin in the air, clutching her coat, he’d resented her. Resented her for making him want her—want the impossible. Because for just a second before she’d told him he was a mistake, he’d wondered…wondered if maybe he could be who she needed. If he could try to be…
But now, a week later, watching her wrap the man she really wanted around her finger, he could admit she’d been right. He and Bennett Charles were different. They both wore suits and were successful and wealthy, but Bennett could offer her the life of marriage and family she desired. Niall couldn’t—he’d proven that with Veronica. She belonged in Bennett’s world, not his.
Like Michael had stated in his letter, Khloe deserved a man who would love her with everything in him. A man who would devote and commit himself to her. A man better than Niall. He was too jaded, too scarred, too used for her. He’d only end up sullying her pure spirt and turning he
r bitter and resentful. Like Veronica.
“They make a striking couple, don’t they?”
He glanced down and met Morgan’s shrewd gaze. When they’d arrived at the dinner party, Khloe’s stunning best friend had been hard to miss in her red mini-dress. Her inherent elegance prevented the thigh-length sheath from veering into video-vixen territory. Still, her blonde loveliness—and touch of crazy—did nothing for him. Lately, his tastes seemed to have deviated away from women like her and toward petite, curvy brunettes.
“That was the plan, right?” Niall bandied her question with one of his own. Yes, with Bennett’s golden good looks and Khloe’s dark beauty, they drew more than one pair of admiring glances.
Whoop-the-fuck-ee.
Morgan arched an eyebrow. “Mission accomplished, I suppose.”
Transferring his full attention to her, he raised his glass for another sip and studied her over the rim. He didn’t know her that well, but familiarity wasn’t necessary to detect the calculation in her eyes or in the a-little-too-innocent voice. One thing he would bet his left nut on: Morgan didn’t do innocent.
“I assume there’s another reason for this conversation besides appreciating the view?”
She grinned, a crimson-tipped finger tapping him on the chest. “You so warm the cockles of my heart. Right to the point. No bullshitting.”
“I try,” he said, dryly.
“You know, when I suggested this plan to Khloe, I’d hoped it would turn out this way.”
He snorted. “So the make-a-man-jealous-with-another-man scheme was all your idea? Why am I not surprised?”
She scoffed. “Khloe’s too nice to have come up with it herself. She’s not sneaky enough.”
“But you are.”
Her smile widened. “You’re damn right I am. And when it comes to my friend, she deserves happiness and her happily-ever-after,” she said, echoing his earlier thoughts. “Besides, Bennett seems to be a good man. I haven’t heard anything negative or disturbing about him. You know. Womanizer. Drugs. Secret cross dresser.”
He laughed, and the loud bark attracted several curious glances, including Khloe’s. A slight frown marred her forehead, but only for an instant before she returned her attention to Bennett. Hell, he’d probably imagined the flicker of jealousy in her green eyes. Probably because he didn’t want to be the only one suffering.
“I’m sure Khloe is relieved by your due diligence and is delighted to know he’s not monogamy-challenged, an addict, or moonlights as Belinda,” he drawled.
Morgan snickered. “I’m nothing if not efficient.” Again, she pinned him with another of those intense contemplations. “I’m also woman enough to admit when I’m wrong.”
Surprised, cocked his head to the side. “Wrong about what?”
Instead of replying, she shifted her regard to Khloe and Bennett who had been joined by several more people. They appeared to be a host and hostess holding reign over their party. Together. Shit. He needed out of here before he committed a social faux paus that would have his proper mother rolling over in her grave. Because she damn sure wouldn’t approve of him punching the hell out of his host.
“You. I was wrong about you,” Morgan murmured. “Khloe told me about how you two hooked up and then you disappeared for years. She played it off as a fling, but I could tell the sting still hurt. I was prepared to hate you for causing her pain.” She paused, pursed her lips. “In spite of you coming to her rescue, I still might have to. The jury’s out on that one.”
“Abandoning her is one of my greatest regrets,” he admitted. A regret that stained his heart like a slick, dark oil spill—entrenched and damn hard to scrub clean.
“I believe you.” A beat of silence passed between them. “If I didn’t, I would be over there instead of here with you. And I wouldn’t be considering that I might’ve pushed my friend in the wrong man’s direction.”
Shock blasted him like a gust of frigid air. “Excuse me?” he asked, struggling to maintain his reserve, to snuff out the fierce punch of satisfaction her words elicited.
“From the first time I saw you two together, there’s always been this…passion. True, there was anger and hurt. But the heat you and she generated at the gala can’t be faked. The pretense might’ve been for Bennett’s benefit, but it was real. I felt like I should either look away or light up a cigarette.” She smirked, but the insolent curve of her mouth gave way to a sober expression he’d never glimpsed on her. A slightly distant note entered her voice and blue eyes. “And she’s never looked at him the way she does at you. With uncertainty and wariness, but also with need. Like she needs to be close to you… That’s it.” She nodded. “She doesn’t need Bennett.”
Giving her head a small shake, she narrowed her gaze on him, and her voice hardened to match the glint in her scrutiny.
“And that’s why I haven’t decided whether or not to hate you. Bennett could possibly disappoint or even hurt her. But you? You could devastate her.”
“Hey, you two.” Khloe appeared at his side, saving him a response to Morgan’s statement. Not that he had one. His mind reeled with her claim that sounded more like an accusation. “Is everything okay?” she asked, glancing from her friend then to him.
“Perfect.” Morgan brightened with a dazzling smile. “Niall and I were just getting to know one another better.”
A shadow of emotion ghosted through her eyes, there and gone before he could analyze it. “Great.” She returned her friend’s grin, but it seemed strained at the edges. “Dinner is about to be served.”
“Wonderful. I’m starved.” A hint of wickedness stole into Morgan’s expression. “I sneaked a peek at the seating arrangements earlier. Khloe, you’re sitting next to Bennett at the head of the table. And lucky you, Niall, will be right beside me toward the end. Fortuitous, don’t you think?”
Fortuitous. Right.
So for the next hour he could have a ringside seat to another man flirting and hitting on his “girlfriend.”
Fucking hell.
When was this night going to end?
...
Niall murmured a thank you to his driver before ducking into the rear of the limo he’d leased so Khloe could impress when she arrived at Bennett’s home in the affluent suburb of Weston.
Tonight had been a smashing success.
Bennett had clung to every word Khloe uttered. Had remained at her side the entire evening, even when Niall had stood on the other. Yes, she’d truly captivated and caught the man she’d set her sights on.
Which meant Niall’s job in Boston—in Khloe’s life—was completed. She didn’t need him any longer, contrary to what Morgan had asserted. He could return to Dublin with a clear conscience, his promise to Michael fulfilled.
Then why did the thought of leaving her again tear at his chest like a wild thing trying to claw its way free?
“I’m assuming congratulations are in order,” he said, his voice almost a bellow in the tension-taut quiet. “You did a wonderful job tonight. Bennett couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
Khloe turned from her absorbed study of the scenery outside the tinted window. “Congratulations might be a little premature,” she eventually murmured. “I will admit he was very attentive, but he still hasn’t asked me on a date or to see me again.”
“Just a matter of time, Khloe,” he assured her though the words tasted like ash on his tongue. He’d spent his entire evening watching the other man fawn over her with lust in his eyes. An emotion Niall could easily identify with.
She returned her attention to the window, and silence descended between them, heavy, thick, and suffocating. Morgan’s claim reverberated in his head, boomeranging off the sides of his skull.
She’s never looked at him the way she does at you. With uncertainty and wariness, but also with need. Like she needs to be close to you.
The other woman had nailed the truth with deadly accuracy. It wasn’t Khloe who needed him, though. He needed—hungered for—her. A week awa
y should’ve doused the craving for her kiss, her body, her taste, fucking her. But it hadn’t. The absence had only whetted his ravenous appetite. Being so close to her these past hours with the image of her writhing beneath him still fresh in his head had nearly driven him insane. He could’ve sated it with another woman while he’d been home…no, he couldn’t have. No other woman could satisfy the fire Khloe had kindled.
Even now, in close confines, her scent wrapped around him. He breathed her in with each inhale. Fisting his hands, he battled the urge to drag her across the seat and devour her. Worship her.
Promise be damned.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” Her soft voice flowed over him, drawing him from his brooding.
“Not really.”
Her dark brow arched at his blunt answer.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” he pressed.
She frowned. “Yes. I know you were there for me, but I still didn’t want you to have a miserable time.”
Shifting, he leaned forward, and though he granted it was a mistake, grazed the backs of his fingers over her jaw, down the slender column of her neck. Satisfaction burned inside him as he caught the swift intake of breath and the slight flare of her eyes.
“You’re not going to ask why I didn’t enjoy myself?” He brushed his thumb under her bottom lip.
“Niall,” she whispered, and he savored the tremor in his name. All night, she might’ve smiled and laughed at Bennett, but he hadn’t made those gorgeous eyes darken from a bright emerald to a forest green. He hadn’t sent the pulse in her neck racing under her skin.
“Ask me,” he demanded softly. She swallowed, and he followed the motion before lifting his gaze back to hers. “Ask me, Khloe.”
“Why didn’t—” She faltered, paused, then continued. “Why didn’t you enjoy yourself?”
“Because another man’s hands were on you. Because another man sat at your side like you were his. Because I wanted to beat the shit out of him for daring to touch you, but I didn’t have the right.”
