Tell Me What You Crave

by Susan Sheehey

  “This way, sir.” More people squeezed in on him. “Let him through, you vultures. Or I’ll call the fire department.”

  Someone’s video camera banged Dorian in the face, the sting biting. His cheek throbbed, but he badgered his way through the throngs, and followed Marco inside. The doors clanged behind him, into the quiet, cool escape of the lobby.

  “Apologies, sir.” The man straightened his uniform. “They showed up an hour ago, the bloodthirsty leeches.”

  “What’s all that about?” He pressed his cheek. No blood. Good. He tossed his sports drink in the trash and pulled his ear buds out. “Why are they asking about Grace? Is she a celebrity?”

  Marco’s face turned serious. “I’m not at liberty to say, sir. Do you need me to call the police? You could charge for assault.”

  Dorian waved off the thought. “Probably did more damage to his equipment.”

  “Serves them right.” The ruffled doorman scowled out the front door. “I can call a security escort to your car.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “Ms. Evans is fine, sir. A bit shaken up when she saw all these sharks. Ran right back up to her apartment.” Marco smoothed down his hair.

  He bit the inside of his cheek. All of this because someone thought she was dating me? He shook his head. Nothing made sense. “Thanks, Marco.” He retreated to the elevator, and pushed for level nine.

  The trip took twice as long as normal. His sweaty workout shirt and shorts with black tennis shoes was hardly the swoon-worthy image he wanted to give her, but this couldn’t wait.

  Dorian arrived on the ninth floor, and knocked on her door. “Grace? It’s Dorian. Are you all right?”

  Several seconds passed with no answer. He pounded again. “Grace?”

  The door swung open. She stood on the other side in jeans and an ice-blue T-shirt, with her hair loose around her shoulders. No makeup, with slightly puffy eyes and red cheeks. She’d been crying, but looked as if she’d replaced the tears with a determination. “What?” Her voice was clipped, and scratchy.

  “Did someone hurt you?”

  Grace scoffed. “Not quite.”

  “Is all that mess downstairs because of last night? With you and me?”

  She laughed, sarcastic and painful. “The world does not revolve around you, Dorian. But I take it you haven’t seen the news this morning.”

  “No. Just returned from the gym.” He held his breath. She’d just used his first name. The way it sounded from her lips was cold, but he’d take it.

  Someone tapped him on the shoulder. A stern, elderly man with a long pointed nose scowled at him. “Is this kid bothering you, Grace?”

  Kid?

  “No, Daniel,” she sighed. “This is my neighbor.”

  “I’m here to help take care of the nuisance downstairs, sir. Just give me a few hours. None of this is Ms. Evan’s fault.” His tone softened, but his scowl remained firmly in place.

  The throbbing extended to his temple and into Dorian’s eye.

  “What happened to your face?” Grace asked, the vengeance in her eyes slightly diffused.

  He felt his cheek again, and it was a lot warmer. “One of those pricks hit me with his camera.”

  Daniel’s stern expression turned concerned in half a blink. “You could press charges. I’ll have the police here in a few minutes.” He pulled out his cellphone.

  “No, thanks.” His gaze landed on Grace.

  She sighed. “You should ice that. Come inside. I think I have a pack in the freezer.”

  His injury wasn’t that bad, but he wasn’t about to turn down an invitation into her apartment. He’d been dying to see where she escaped to every evening. He stepped across her threshold, followed by Daniel.

  A sweet citrus scent filled the air, like fresh cleaner and sugar cookies. The layout matched his apartment upstairs, with the dining room off to the right and the living room to the left. Only a single, mint-colored loveseat sat in the corner, and a dark pewter desk with glass top centered in the room.

  No television, no couch, or coffee table. The center and primary attention was that desk, sitting on a forest green rug. As if it the contents of that furniture were her life. The only things on the surface were a flat computer screen and keyboard.

  A spartan interior was more lavish than what she had. Beyond the living room was the kitchen, and the hallway beyond led to the bedrooms and bathroom.

  “Are you…still unpacking?”

  “No,” Grace tossed over her shoulder.

  His eyes stopped on the mantle, where a pink marble cherub sat in the middle. On either side were black picture frames of a young boy, smiling with a thumbs-up in every shot.

  She has a son?

  Dorian glanced around the rooms again. Normally with kids in the house he’d expect toys, a video gaming system, or at least a backpack slung somewhere. The entire place was devoid of signs of childhood.

  He followed her into the kitchen. The area was a carbon-copy of his, except spotless and bare save for a coffee maker in the corner. Another picture was taped to the fridge, this one of the same little boy in a red cap and gown. Kindergarten graduation, perhaps.

  Everything about her place was clean, classic, and simple. Perhaps barren. The apartment screamed lonely.

  Daniel helped himself to the dining room, his briefcase echoing across the walls as clunked it down on the table. “We should get straight to work. I want your privacy restored by the end of the day.”

  Grace pulled an ice pack from the freezer, and handed it to Dorian. Her expression melted into sympathy. “I’m sorry for all that mess downstairs.”

  “Grace?” Daniel pushed again.

  “I heard you.” She gave a sigh that ricocheted down her body. Her skin flushed, and the lines at her eyes deeper.

  Despite her fatigue and stress, every inch of her was still captivating.

  “What happened?” Dorian asked, pressing the pack to his face. “Who’s ass do I need to kick?”

  A slight smile pulled at her lips. “Actually, that’s why he’s here. This is my attorney, Daniel Harlot. He was first in line for that this morning.”

  Invasion of privacy.

  “Someone get naked pictures of you on the internet or something?” He tried to make it sarcastic, anything to get her to smile.

  Only, her scowl reappeared. “Might as well have.”

  Dorian blinked. “Holy shit, seriously? Then I get first dibs at pounding the prick.” The idea of Grace’s naked body all over people’s computer screens made his blood boil. He admitted his own dark, animalistic desire to see her en flagrante, but only for his own eyes. No one else’s.

  “Seems we had more than charity photographers at the fundraiser. Hackers somehow sneaked in. Social media should be banned.”

  “Grace,” her attorney cut in. “Your privacy has been invaded enough. You shouldn’t—”

  “It doesn’t matter, Daniel.” Her voice was sharp, edgy. “The video is damn near everywhere by now. I can’t keep prying eyes from watching it.”

  His stomach dropped.

  Video?

  She crossed her arms, as if protecting her heart. “Keep the ice pack. I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t comment to any of the reporters or photographers downstairs.”

  Dorian shook his head. “I’m not really the kind of guy to talk to the media.”

  Grace’s stare turned condescending. “Occupational hazard?”

  If she meant it as a joke, he didn’t appreciate it. Then again, she’d been through a lot this morning.

  She sighed and covered her forehead. “I’m sorry. Forgive me. My perception of people has been jaded recently.”

  Dorian laid his hand on her arm just above her elbow, and gave a gentle squeeze. “How can I help?”

  She looked at him, and the gray center of her irises made the blue darker. Her shoulder muscles relaxed.

  If only she’d loosen up enough to let him in. Let him help.

  “Cal
l the police and complain about the nuisance downstairs,” her lawyer answered. “The more complaints they receive, the more pressured they’ll feel to clear the area.”

  He looked at Daniel. “With respect, I was asking Grace.”

  The man glared, but Grace wore a small tinge of a smile. “It’s actually a very good suggestion.”

  Dorian nodded. “Will do. By the way…” He plunged his hands in his pockets. “You hardly seem the type to make a video.” With a smile, he raised an eyebrow at her.

  Any pleasantness in her face disappeared instantly. “It’s not that kind of video.”

  “Relax. I’m trying to get you to loosen up.”

  “Then use better jokes.”

  “Grace,” Daniel butted in again. “We really need to get on this now.”

  She sighed again. Her heels dragged across the wood floors as she moved to the door.

  “I hope your day gets better.” Dorian couldn’t help himself. He kissed her temple.

  Amazingly, she didn’t dodge him or shy off. Instead, she tilted her head in and down, giving him more access to her soft skin. A sweet, flowery scent from her hair bathed his face, and he lingered there.

  When he finally pulled back, a pink blush deepened on her cheeks. He loved seeing that look on a woman. Even more when he caused it. His gut swarmed with urging. “Call me if you need anything. Like sugar…”

  The corner of her lip pulled up.

  He threw her a wink, and strolled out.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Grace

  Grace’s hands shook, her heart pounding a mile a minute. She knocked on the wooden eggshell door.

  Never expected to have to knock on his door again.

  It swung open, and the first thing she noticed was his glorious smile. Perfectly aligned, ivory teeth welcomed her to his domain. Which pulled her gaze up into his dangerously lit-up chestnut eyes.

  “Wow.” Dorian’s grin widened.

  “What?”

  “It’s amazing how just seeing you brightens my evening.”

  She sighed. The comment was slightly soothing. Which she strained to admit she needed right now.

  Dorian pulled the metro-casual-style well. Dark jeans fit around his crotch snugly, combined with the gray V-neck shirt and black sports jacket.

  “I need to ask an…awkward favor,” she managed to mumble.

  “Anything for you.” He beamed. “Come in.”

  Grace crossed her arms when she stepped through.

  He closed the door behind her, and pulled out his cellphone.

  “Am I keeping you from another date?”

  Dorian smirked. “Meeting my boss. I’m texting him to reschedule. Care for something to drink?”

  She shook her head. “This is embarrassing, but…do you mind if I stay here for a few hours?”

  He looked up from his phone, his eyes wide. Penetrating, like a beam of light striking her core. He froze her to the spot, and Grace couldn’t breathe. Slowly, he put his cell in his pocket.

  “Stay all night if you’d like.” The amusement on his face made her heart race.

  Heat flooded her face. “No, just for a little while. One of those bastards climbed the fire escape, and started taking pictures through the window.”

  The amusement vanished. Literally went from light-hearted sexy, to dark and protective in a blink. “You’re shitting me. Did you call the cops?”

  “Yes. They arrested him, but I don’t trust more of them not to do the same. I unplugged my home-phone hours ago, but my email is flooded, and I’m sure Ruben has had it even worse.”

  “Ruben Wilde?” His head lifted, and his shoulders dropped. “I didn’t know the two of you were dating.”

  “We’re not. We…” Then it hit her, and she held her breath. “You haven’t seen the video?”

  Dorian’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I assumed if you wanted me to see it, you’d share it yourself.”

  Grace blinked, and squeezed her wrist.

  Wow. Probably the only one on the planet who hasn’t seen it.

  She couldn’t believe she was about to ask this, but there was no way to condense the impending explanation. From a long, difficult story. “Have you had dinner?”

  He shook his head, the sudden silence and lack of playfulness from him unnerving. “Do you want to grab a bite from the diner down the street?”

  Her stomach rumbled. However, the idea of going outside through the mob of people made her sweat. She glanced out the window.

  “Or I can always call for take-out,” he added quickly. “You like Italian?”

  Her sigh of relief filled the room. “I’m half-Sicilian. So, it better be good.”

  Dorian chuckled, and called for their food.

  The sofa cushions wrapped around her as she settled in, letting the tension unravel from her back little by little.

  When he took off his sports jacket and draped it around a dining room chair, his muscular physique amplified. His back looked wider, more menacing. If she hadn’t heard his funny demeanor and charming jests the last few weeks, she’d assume he was the dark and dangerous type. The man was intimidating as hell. Until he smiled and threw corny pick-up lines at her. Which were as annoying as they were cute.

  I’ve had my guard up for so long, I’m immune to flirting.

  “Thank you.” Her voice was quiet. “I literally had nowhere else to escape without walking out the front doors.”

  Dorian waved it off. “This is the place. You’re welcome here anytime.” He moved to a china cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

  His casual dominance over the space made goosebumps skip along her arms. Or maybe it was the stress from having her personal life splashed across every social media outlet around the country.

  The news played the video constantly. Forcing her to relive that moment, again and again.

  He carried the glasses over and handed one to her.

  “No, thank you.”

  “You need a drink.”

  “How would you know what I need?”

  He cocked his head at her, his face more serious than she’d ever seen from him. “You have goose bumps all over you, you’re huddled into the corner of the couch taking up as little space as possible, and there’s hardly any air between your shoulders and your neck. I’ve seen that kind of tension and shock many times.”

  Grace bit her bottom lip, and consciously lowered her shoulders a bit. Then took the outstretched glass.

  He settled in next to her, propping his legs on the coffee table. His massive thigh was two feet away from her leg.

  Among other portions of his anatomy.

  “I didn’t expect you to be home,” she started nervously. She hid her shaky voice behind a sip of wine, bold and strong on her tongue. “I also expected you to have seen the video already.”

  Dorian downed a large sip of his wine, and studied the glass hard before he answered. “I don’t really have the desire to watch you with another man. In any setting.”

  Her mouth fell open, then she hid an embarrassed smile behind another sip of wine. Which wasn’t as strong now. The warmth cascaded down her throat into the anvil that took over her chest the last few hours. Slowly eroding the weight. Then she cleared her throat. “You’re the jealous type, huh?”

  “About you?” He shrugged. “Yep. Can you blame me?”

  “Yes.”

  Dorian tilted his head.

  “I never belonged to you to begin with.”

  “Touché. But then I remember Tom and Madelyn’s conversations. Amazed to hear you were finally dating again.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Can’t a woman grieve in peace?”

  “Grieve?”

  Grace let out a slow breath, seething. “Well, the whole world knows now. There’s no point in trying to keep you in the dark.” She set her glass on the coffee table, and pulled her cellphone from her pocket. After a few taps on the screen—it didn’t take that many to find it—the video came up.
>
  “You don’t have to, Grace. Really.”

  She held the screen in her hand, steeling herself for the images to dance in her mind as vividly as displayed on the video. “The reason I take this so personally is because it’s not just about me. The day this happened…it was a moment so fraught with a thousand intense emotions. Reliving it is as traumatic for me as the others in this video. No matter how reporters try to spin this. It’s not just another human-interest story or more juicy gossip for a tabloid. For me…this was my life. His life.”

  Dorian’s face paled, turning his normally honey skin to a light cream, and the little vein in his neck pumped faster along his skin.

  I can’t watch him watch this.

  Instead of handing him the phone, she put it down on the table in front of him.

  Her head felt heavier, but the weight in her stomach eased slightly.

  Grace grabbed her wine and rose from the couch, carrying herself to the bathroom with a little extra urgency in her step.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dorian

  Dorian braced himself.

  Grace’s tortured explanation mirrored the tension in her body. This woman would never look disreputable to him, but this whole scenario was obviously way more invasive.

  A tiny part of him was excited to see a more personal side of her. Learn more about her life, her mind, her heart. He’d keep that small part of himself chained up deep inside.

  He pressed play on the screen.

  A little boy no older than four years old with short brown hair and pale skin came through a door. He held a man’s hand—Dorian assumed the guy was his dad—with a bunch of doctors and nurses in scrubs standing behind them. Most of them wiped their eyes with tissues, while others let tears fall freely. A few others surrounded them, all holding more cameras.

  Damn cameras.

  The boy looked familiar. The same kid in the photos around Grace’s apartment. The man knelt beside the boy.

  Dorian blinked.

  Ruben Wilde. The national celebrity who’d emceed the fundraiser last night.

  The boy’s smile was so bright, and his cheeks red like a cherub. They stopped in front of a woman with long, dark hair, pulled up in a simple ponytail.