Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
Room for Rent
Nicole Stewart
Contents
Excerpt
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Epilogue
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Excerpt
Mason stared at the typewriter until he was seeing double. He had heard Caleb O’Hara slip down the stairs and out the back door. Mason assumed he was headed out to give his first watercolor class.
He sighed and rubbed his eyes. He could not stop thinking about Caleb. He was trying valiantly not to let his imagination run wild, but a quiet voice from deep within him whispered, Why not?
No one could see inside his head therefore he could indulge. It was just a thought after all, and thoughts without words or actions have no consequence. A fantasy began to take shape. Caleb’s lips on his. Mason gripped the edge of the writing desk. He closed his eyes and slowly exhaled as his heartbeat accelerated.
He opened his mind again, and pictures flooded him like a river that could not be dammed. Caleb’s lips on his, the slant of his mouth, his tongue probing boldly, his hands pulling Mason closer…
“Stop it,” Mason muttered aloud. He swept his hair out of his face and tapped out another line to the story that he was losing interest in. The keys made a pleasant racket that almost distracted him, but he knew that he was writing to take his mind off the dangerous track it was meandering down. His plot and characters did not hold him, allowing his thoughts to venture beyond the first kiss…
Caleb pushed him to the bed and lay on top of him. When he kissed Mason again, there was more urgency.
“Do you want me to stop?” Caleb asked. Mason clutched the back of his neck tightly and half-rose, chasing his lips in answer. Caleb groaned and ran his hands down Mason’s chest to his pants and unbuckled his belt. Mason put up no resistance.
His eyes widened as the artist nuzzled his neck. The pleasure was aggressive and Mason’s head fell back as Caleb licked down his stomach. His abs clenched as Caleb deftly unfastened his pants and eased them down his hips. His soft mouth brushed Mason’s erection through his boxers. There was so much he did not know about what happened between two men but his imagination was happy to fill in the blanks. He closed his eyes and went with the flow.
“Don’t stop,” he groaned.
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Chapter 1
Caleb O’Hara was wound tight. Every word of the conversation twanged and grated. He noted his reflection in the window, chest exposed under a vest with no shirt and sporting a very pretentious scarf. He chose to focus past that and on the magnificent city skyline instead.
“So, what are you saying, Gregoire?”
“I’m saying you’re no longer the prodigy who took the world by storm.” The walls of the office were lined with prints by artists that Gregoire DeSimone represented.
“You know my execution is flawless.”
“Precisely why your work isn’t selling. You’re trying too hard.” He took a sip of Perrier and shrugged.
Caleb rolled his eyes and rubbed his mouth, laughing at the irony. There were crescents of paint under his cuticles. He had been up all night working but had not found the magic. “You brought me here to renegotiate my contract?”
Gregoire looked away. “Caleb, you’ve been good to me.”
“Yes, I have been. I was your first and greatest success, I made you!”
“And, you will unmake me, if I let you!” Gregoire flared. “You have to produce something to reignite your career. Or, yes, I am going to have to cancel your contract.” He moved a paperweight from one side of the desk to the other before steepling his fingers and looking up to see Caleb’s retreating back. He called after him, but the artist kept walking.
He exited the tallest all-glass structure in Manhattan, skinny jeans hugging his legs as his quill ostrich boots pounded the pavement. He disappeared among the crowd of pedestrians. When Caleb arrived at his penthouse, the strings within him still twanged and sizzled and popped as he grabbed his mail and took the elevator up.
He glared at the frivolously expensive things in his apartment. Chopin nocturnes, triggered by the door opening, played faintly from a state of the art stereo system. Caleb increased the volume and filled a tumbler with Grand Marnier, the ice cracking and settling. He gulped down the liquor then fixed another glass and paced. He had come to New York at nineteen and thrived, against the odds. Now, at twenty-eight, his career was on the verge of collapse. He stared at a letter from the bank—he had maxed out his cards, but he knew that already. All that was left was his savings, and he was not going to touch those.
“How am I to survive with no money?” he implored the empty room. Caleb had experienced hungry nights before. That hunger had compelled him to break through every obstacle, but he had finally met a challenge he could not overcome: Himself. The ridiculousness of the situation suddenly assailed him. Caleb snatched off his scarf and struggled out of his vest with an angry grunt.
He yanked the nearest picture from the wall and threw it across the room. The shattered glass tore through the archival paper. He grabbed another and another, throwing and smashing his art until the walls were bare. He downed another drink. His chest heaved as he viciously kicked his easel and watched tubes of paint go flying. Then, he used a knife to slash through the piece he had been working on. He laughed loudly throughout the tantrum.
“Useless!” he shouted.
“Are you done?”
Caleb turned to see the naked supermodel at his bedroom door. “Joliette…”
She raised a brow. “Actually, it’s Jade.” She strutted toward him, and her slender fingers trailed down his bare torso to the fly of his pants. Caleb collected her hands.
“Jade,” he exhaled tiredly. “I forgot you were here. Now isn’t a good time. I think you should leave.”
She tossed her hair over her pale shoulder and tilted her head, smiling. “Are you sure? ‘Cause it seems like you’ve had a rough day. Let me fix that for you.” She dropped seductively to her knees and slid the flat of her hand teasingly over his crotch while she watched him with parted lips and wide eyes. “Is that making it better?” she asked.
Caleb gritted his teeth, unable to stop his body from hardening. “Jane, I’m not in the mood.”
“S
hh...” Her tongue darted out to lick the zipper of his pants, and she unzipped him with her teeth.
Caleb slumped on the sofa and stared blankly at the damage around him. He could not remember her name to tell her again to stop. It would be a waste of breath anyway. This was the city of sex. A woman like her could not understand that she was not what he wanted.
He drank the last of his liquor and shakily set aside the tumbler as she stuffed his burgeoning erection into her mouth and moaned hungrily. He felt nothing. Her head bobbed faster, and she sucked and slurped him frenziedly. Caleb winced when the sharp edge of her teeth grazed his skin. “That’s enough.” She kept going. Sighing, he drew her away by a fistful of hair. “I said that’s enough.”
She released him with a quiet pop and pouted childishly, lipstick smeared. “You liked it last night,” she teased as she imprisoned his cock between her ample breasts. Caleb smirked and roughly tossed her over the back of a chair as he rose to his feet and positioned himself behind her. She giggled coyly at being rough-handled. “There’s the temperamental artist I know and love,” she gasped.
“I never want to see you again after this.”
Caleb put on a condom and rammed into her with a grunt, feeling her body lock around him in a tight embrace. She cried out his name. Accurately, he noted. He should have been embarrassed that he did not know hers, but he was not. His punishing thrusts brought her juices dripping around his rigid manhood. Her heady sighs of rapture drowned out the Chopin and aggravated him. It made him fuck her harder and faster, eager to be done.
“Oh, God, yes!” she cried out.
Her nails dug into the back of the chair as he grabbed one of her shoulders and violently hammered out his frustrations. He clenched his jaw, feeling the buildup. She wantonly countered his thrusts, and he felt her tightening and preparing to climax. The extra constriction sent him over the edge. “Uhn!” He growled as she squealed with anticipation. She was almost there herself, but he pulled out of her soaking wet pussy and tugged off the condom.
She stared at him incredulously. “What are you doing? I didn’t—”
“You said you were trying to fix my day, not yours,” he muttered as he headed to his room.
“You’ll regret this, Caleb O’Hara!” she screamed. He threw her clothes at her and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him. She knew her way out.
The dining room felt cramped with more than just immediate family at the table. Mason Sinclair was lost in a daydream about white sandy beaches and aquamarine water as conversation flowed around him. His lips tightened in a frown as his older brother Robert regaled them with stories of life in corporate America.
Mason stared blankly at Robert’s girlfriend Belinda until his mother patted her lips with a white napkin and cleared her throat. “Mason, adeul, pay attention to your date,” she murmured in Korean. Mason spared a glance for the beautiful girl his parents had paired him with for the night.
“Your brother is quite accomplished,” Riesling replied wryly. “I’d love to hear more about you, though.” She pushed a lock of blond hair behind her ear and smiled.
Mason agreed, “Yes, I look up to him. Robert motivated me to keep writing after my first story was—”
“Mason is in finance, Riesling,” Mr. Sinclair spoke over him. Mason met his father’s stern blue eyes and clamped his lips shut, turning his attention to the patterned wallpaper. “He plans to follow in his brother’s footsteps. Robert blazed a trail from internship to administration in a matter of years the same way I did. I Went from selling vacuum cleaners in New Hampshire to running operations at the company headquarters in Seoul by the time I was in my early thirties. Likewise, Mason will make his mark on Wall Street. Isn’t that right, son?”
“Yes, of course.” Fiji, he thought. He would rather be in Fiji.
Riesling slid her hand over his beneath the table. “What were you saying?” she asked softly.
Mason locked eyes with her. She squeezed his hand, and he blinked and ducked his head. “I was saying I write in my spare time, but I’m in finance. I recently finished my master’s through an accelerated program at Yale.”
Robert tapped his water glass for attention. “Well, now that I have everyone here in one place, I want to make an announcement. I’ve spent the last eight years securing my future, and five of those years were with this gorgeous woman by my side. Belinda and I have decided it’s time for us to become official. We’re getting married.” Belinda held up her hand, showing off an impressive diamond to match her dazzling smile.
“I knew you had something up your sleeve when you called us together!” Mr. Sinclair exclaimed. “Take note of this, Mason. You stick to the path you’re on, and you’ll be marrying a looker like your brother, here.” He stared pointedly at Riesling, who clapped enthusiastically.
“Yes, of course,” Mason mumbled. “Congratulations.” He had only to stay on the path they set for him. It would take him places. The problem was, they were not the places he wanted to go.
After dinner, Mason sat on the porch swing in the dark. Riesling slipped out of the house, and he wished that she would go back inside. “They don’t let you make very many of your own decisions, do they?” she asked as she sat next to him.
The swing rocked slowly back and forth, and he stared at the Room for Rent sign in the front window. “It’s not that,” he murmured. “They sunk a lot of money into my education. They simply want to make sure they get a good return on their investment.”
“Tell me about it. My parents are the same way.” Riesling grabbed his hand and absently toyed with his fingers as he squinted at the starry night sky. “My degree is in mass communications, but I wanted to be a dancer. I’d love to read some of what you write. It’s good to have a hobby you know.”
It is not a damned hobby. “I suppose your parents made you come here tonight.”
“Your dad is my dad’s supervisor.” She shrugged in confirmation. “He thought it might be good if you and I got to know each other. Good for him, of course.”
“Mutually served up for slaughter,” Mason quipped.
“Hey! I’d like to think hanging out with me isn’t that bad. I’m glad you’re not as butt ugly as I expected you to be,” She feigned relief and Mason erupted with laughter at her candidness. She cast a mischievous sideways glance at him. “Nothing personal. Usually when parents set up blind dates, it’s because you have a face only a mother could love. You’re kinda sexy but the pastel suit has to go.”
“My mom’s idea.” He chuckled self-consciously as she pulled at the lapel of his jacket.
“So, your mom dresses you?”
Mason grinned. “Like you’d be sitting here in a Stepford wife dress if your parents hadn’t had a say in your wardrobe,” he teased back, tugging at the knee length skirt. “Hard to believe you don’t have a boyfriend already.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at him. “Maybe I didn’t want one before now. What about you? What’s your excuse?” She nudged him playfully.
“I’m not relationship material.”
“Cool. Neither am I,” she said, crossing her arms and giving him a once over. “That’s something else we have in common. You might be a keeper.”
“I’d only break your heart.”
“Even better,” she giggled. “Tell me you’ll be my future ‘one that got away,’ and the deal is sealed.”
He shook his head, chuckling softly. “You’re exactly the kind of girl my parents would love to see me with. You should keep coming around.”
“Dating a guy like you would make my dad proud,” she countered, smiling. She leaned closer, and Mason hitched in a breath as her lips touched his. Her tongue darted into his mouth, and the swing came to a halt as she cupped the back of his head and deepened the kiss. When she broke away, she looked at him for a long time and sighed. “Not a single spark.”
Mason smiled apologetically. “Maybe the spark is overrated.” She shook her head adamantly.
&
nbsp; “The spark is the most important part. If you don’t hear bells ringing in the hills when you’re with someone you find interesting, then you might as well shake hands and part ways.” She wrinkled her nose and shrugged.
Mason muttered, “Maybe some people don’t have a spark, period?”
She laughingly punched him in the shoulder and hopped up from the swing. “Come on. Let’s go back in. These autumn nights get chilly. Plus, we have to put on a show for your parents. Gotta make ‘em think pairing us up was the perfect idea.”
“They’d love that.” He grabbed her wrist before she could flee. “So, why do you think you don’t have a spark with me?”
Riesling paused and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead. “Who says it has anything to do with me?”
Caleb stared with antipathy at the New England house and looked at the printout in his hand. This was the place. He sighed as he left his car and approached the wraparound porch. Glancing at the Room for Rent sign in the window, he raised a fist to knock. He was certainly a long way from New York City.
The Atlantic Ocean roared far beneath a craggy bluff behind the house and brought with it cold, damp air. Caleb shivered and knocked again. The door was opened by a smiling middle-aged Asian woman.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here about the room. I’m Caleb O’Hara. We spoke by phone.”
She looked him up and down, and her smile wavered. “Ah, yes! Pleasure to finally meet you in person. Come in, come in!” Mrs. Sinclair patted her auburn hair and beckoned him into the house, handing him a pair of slippers. It took him a second to realize he was supposed to take off his boots.
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