I undid the Velcro straps on the boot and slid my leg out, rubbing the pale skin that was still weak and sad looking from all those weeks in a cast. I heard the outer door of the bathroom open but didn’t think anything of it until I heard a familiar voice.
“He insists that he has to stand by her. They were engaged after all.”
It was Margaret’s voice.
“Yes, but after everything she threatened to do? He does realize she could have exposed us all, right?”
I didn’t recognize the second voice at first, but knew it was someone I’d spoken to tonight. But I’d spoken to a lot of people tonight.
“He thinks that he can convince her not to go public.”
“How’s he going to do that? If not for the accident, we would all be ruined right now. She was supposed to talk to a reporter that day. You do know that.”
“I heard the rumor. In fact, when Xander told me about the accident, I wondered for a minute if maybe you—”
The second woman laughed. “I wish I’d thought of it. If I had, I would have done it sooner and saved us all a lot of sleepless nights.” There was a brief pause. “He should have known better than to bring an outsider into this.”
“Yes, well, Xander was always something of a romantic.”
I heard the door close a second later. My heart was pounding. They were talking about me and my accident. Did that woman actually suggest that someone should have run me over sooner?
What the hell were they talking about? What reporter? What was I going to tell him?
I didn’t understand, but there was this sense of dread and deceit sitting deep in my chest that was not all together unfamiliar. And I think that scared me more than anything else.
I put my boot back on and slipped out of the stall, pausing at the sink to check my makeup as much out of habit as anything else. I still didn’t recognize myself. I’d never had short hair before. My hair had always been long, always flowing out behind me when I was riding a horse or running in the fields with my friends. And the haunted look in my eyes was not me, either.
But, again, did I even knew who I was anymore? That person Margaret and her companion were talking about couldn’t be me. I wasn’t devious. I wouldn’t have gone running to a reporter about something unless I had a good reason.
What reason could I have had to expose Xander? And expose what?
I was about to turn when the door opened again. That woman, the dark woman who’d been watching me—or us—was standing there, her eyes widened with surprise.
“Oh, sorry,” she mumbled, moving aside so I could slip out the door. But I didn’t. There was something about her that bothered me.
“Do I know you?”
“You did,” she said softly. “We were pretty good friends, actually.”
“Were we?” I could see that we were by this yearning light in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve had an accident and—”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“I’m Xander’s office manager. Jonnie Watson.”
I knew the name. Xander talked about her. She was the one who packed up my rental house after the accident, the one he called whenever we needed anything in the weeks that we were locked up in the house together before he was confident I could get around on my own. She was also the one he was on the phone with for hours at a time whenever he was home with me.
“You help run his office.”
“I do,” she said, standing a little straighter as pride seeped through her.
“We were friends?”
Her eyes—a solid brown that was dull but pretty all at the same time—darkened a little. She studied me for a long moment, her mind clearly spinning with options and probably warnings Xander had given her. Not too much information at once. But I wanted information. I wanted to know who I was before the accident—even if that was someone I wouldn’t like.
“We used to go to lunch together. I took you shopping a few times when you first moved to the city, helped you figure out how to at least dress like the people in Xander’s life. You never really wanted to be like them, but you didn’t want to embarrass him either.”
I wished I remembered that because it sounded like me and sounded like a kind thing for her to do. But I didn’t.
I could see that she knew I didn’t remember. There was something like disappointment in her eyes. I touched her arm because it felt like the right thing to do. For a second, we stared into each other’s eyes, and it felt like there was something there, just below the surface. But then it was gone.
“I should get back.”
She started to step out of my way, but then she grabbed my arm. “If you ever need anything…”
She was so sincere. She must have been a good friend.
“Thank you,” I said with all the candor I could manage. And then I walked away, aware of her eyes on my back every step of the way.
Chapter 8
Xander
My mother was walking around the room, draped over Grant’s arm like she was some sort of possession to show off like the Cartier watch on his wrist. I wanted to go over there and smack him, tug him away from her and tell her to run. That was something I should have done years and years ago. It was too late now. He was so ingrained in all our lives that it would be impossible to separate one from the other.
Even Margaret had come to accept that.
I don’t think Margaret’s complicity bothered me all that much. She was his daughter, after all. But my mom…that really did bother me. Didn’t she see what Grant was doing to her? To all of us? Didn’t she care what it might mean for me, for Harley, for everyone touched by it? Or was she that blinded by his charm?
“Hi,” Harley said, coming up behind me.
I turned and pulled her gently against my chest. It felt so good holding her like this again. I kissed the top of her head, deciding there were some benefits to the shorter hair.
“You feeling alright?”
“Yeah.”
I tipped her head back so that I could see her eyes. She tried to hide it, but I could see the flash of pain hidden deep in those blue depths. I kissed the tip if her nose lightly.
“Let’s go home. I’m exhausted, and I’m sure you’re ready to get off that boot.”
She smiled gratefully. “I am.”
I didn’t even bother to look for Margaret to let her know we were leaving. I knew she would understand. We slid out a side door at the back of the gym. I’d texted the limo driver a bit ago, so he was waiting in the alley there. We could escape without the craziness of the press attacking us again. I hadn’t expected that, to be honest. I knew Harley had been talking to someone before the accident, but it never occurred to me he would be here, covering something as mundane as the opening of a community center. These things were so commonplace that they were a dime a dozen. But maybe that spoke to how low on the totem pole that reporter really was.
“What are you thinking about?” Harley asked, as the limo began to make its way onto the street.
“I don’t know. How happy I am to get out of there?”
“You don’t like these things?”
“I don’t like feeling like a bug under a microscope.”
“I’d think a guy like you would revel in the attention.”
“A guy like me?”
Laughter danced in her eyes. “Yeah. The kind of guy who uses his charm to get whatever he wants.”
“And here I thought you’d forgotten our courtship.”
I cupped my hand around her jaw as she began to laugh, drawing her into me. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t be this close to her and pretend that I didn’t want her, that she wasn’t the first thing on my mind every morning and the last thing every night. My lips brushed hers and that was the last straw, the last barrier between us destroyed.
I pulled her legs up over mine and buried myself against her like it wasn’t familiar territory, like I hadn’t learned every millimeter of this mouth, this body,
over and over again over the past eighteen months. It was like coming home and exploring all new territory all at the same time. She smelled like my Harley, tasted like my Harley, but there was something so innocent and fresh in the way she responded to me that it was all brand new again.
Her hand moved over my chest, hesitant but confident, that kind of movement that sets a new lover apart from all others. Even the most confident women were reluctant to seem too forward the first time. However, they always came around. Harley was different though. That hesitation had always remained in her touch, even after we’d been living together for months. It was like she couldn’t believe that she’d earned the right to touch me—and that made me feel like a superhero, like a god she’d placed on the highest of pedestals. It made me feel powerful and weak all at the same time.
I slid my hand along her outer thigh, searching for the split in her skirt that had been teasing me all night. When my fingers finally found the edges, I pushed my hand underneath without even a hint of hesitation. Unlike Harley, I knew what I wanted, and I was going to take it.
Her thighs were smooth, her hip firm and solid—despite the quiver of muscles just under the surface. I slid my hand over her ass, my fingers exploring places that made her gasp against my mouth. There was moisture there, a need that my body screamed to fulfil. I teased her, reaching deep between her legs to run my fingers tips over her outer lips, touching so close to that spot I knew was aching for the pressure of my fingers, but careful not to actually give her what she wanted. Anticipation is almost as good—if not better than satisfaction. That was something I’d taught her in the past, and I intended to remind her of it now.
She tugged at my tie, loosening it as her hot breath moved over my chin to my throat. I pulled back just enough to let her nuzzle against my neck, my fingers tracing a pattern that made her shift her position, that made her reach down and tug at my hand. Instead, I pulled my hand free and pressed her forehead back, exposing the long line of her throat and the beautiful valley that lived between her breasts. I buried my face there, my breath coming in hard gasps as her scent surrounded me, as her fingers pressed into my hair and drew me closer.
I wanted to taste her. I wanted to take my time with her, give her all the pleasure she’d denied me these last six months. But the need was so overwhelming that it became my only thought. I needed to be inside of her. Now.
I lifted her onto my lap, my hands sliding under her skirt, sliding it up over her firm thighs in a show I’m sure the chauffeur was enjoying. Her boot was heavy and unyielding, forcing her to sit at a slightly awkward angle. And her hands were pressing against mine, pushing them back the opposite direction in which I wanted them to go.
“Harley,” I groaned, grabbing her ass and pulling her hard against my erection, showing her how desperate I was. She groaned, her fingers twisting almost painfully in my hair as she kissed me with a lack of inhibition Harley had never shown before.
Oh, hell! I was going to go insane if she didn’t stop!
“I want you,” I moaned against her lips.
“I want you, too.”
And that…I didn’t even realize the car had stopped moving for a long moment, those words were ringing so loudly in my ears. But then the door opened and the cool evening air worked to clear my head just enough. I lifted Harley and set her on the bench beside me, tugging her skirt back to a more presentable position. We’d given the chauffeur enough of a show.
We climbed out of the car, and I managed to remember the bills I’d stuck into my pocket specifically to tip the driver. I shook his hand, slipping him the money. He winked at me and hopped into the car, peeling out before we were even up to the door.
I drew Harley in front of me as I unlocked the front door, my lips seeking hers as I blindly worked the key in the lock. She curled up against me, her body so supple and ready. I slid my free hand over her ass, loving the way it felt against my palm. So fucking familiar…who said that being with the same woman every night for a lifetime didn’t have its benefits?
We spilled into the foyer as the lock finally gave way, falling against the wall as I managed to turn us at the last minute, stopping us from spilling across the unforgiving marble. I lifted her skirt, tugging her barely-there panties out of the way as her hands worked at my belt. But she wasn’t working fast enough. The urgency was taking over again, thrusting all thought from my mind but the need to be inside of her, the need to make her mine all over again.
Who the hell made suit pants so fucking complicated, anyway? Why wouldn’t the zipper come down and get out of the damn way! And then…her hands wrapped around my length, and I thought I might lose control right there and then. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else, anything else. But then she was guiding me to her, and her ass was in my hands, and we were rocking together, her body welcoming me inside of her like a treasured guest.
This. This was what made life worth living.
“I love you,” I whispered against her lips, as the urgency turned into something else, something beyond physical pleasure.
She wrapped her thighs around my hips and placed her hands against my shoulders, her hips doing so much more of the work. And I let her. I watched her writhe against me until her expression shattered and her orgasm rushed through her, a scream ripped from her throat. It was a beautiful scene that pushed me over the edge. I buried myself inside of her and let loose, the pleasure and the pain of it taking the steel out of my knees.
And then she was laughing. Laughing! And peppering my face with kisses, pure joy flashing from her eyes.
“That was…”
I laughed, too.
“I know.”
Chapter 9
Harley
He carried me upstairs, and we undressed each other, taking our time this time. The way he looked at me, like he was unwrapping a gift he’d waited all his life to receive, made me feel like a queen, like the most adored starlet that ever existed. I’d never enjoyed being the center of attention, never played the role of a drama queen. But I loved this, loved the way it felt to be the center of his world.
I loved him. There was no doubt in my mind.
We moved together on the bed, our bodies fit together like they were made for one another. When he was inside of me this time, the pleasure was muted, but still just as exciting. I could have lain there all night, my hands moving over his warm skin, my body aware of every movement of his, his aware of every movement of mine. I touched his face and tilted his head so I could see the hooded look of his eyes; I could see my own thoughts mirrored there.
“I love you, Harley,” he whispered. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.”
I wished I could say the same. I couldn’t remember our first meeting, but something inside of me screamed that it was the same, that I knew the first time he looked at me this way that he was the only man I would ever love again.
“I love you,” I said.
The joy that jumped into his eyes in that moment, the passion in the kiss he offered me, told me everything was going to be okay. Whatever happened in the past no longer mattered. He was my future—and that was all.
It was a long time before sleep came. When our bodies were exhausted, we lay together, talking about everything and nothing all at once. We watched the sun come up through the French doors to the balcony, curled up together there in the bed. I sensed we’d done this before, and it was a comforting idea. Normalcy. It seemed like nothing had been normal these last months. But this was.
When I did fall asleep, it was a deep, contented sleep. And, for a while, it was good. But then the dreams began.
It was a jumble at first. Different locations, different people all mixed up into a mish mosh of details. There was emotion, a lot of emotion. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. Love. Always underneath it all was love, and that seemed to make it all so much worse. And the pain. It was so much more than the physical pain of my accident.
And then there were clear images. Moments
that I instinctively knew were memories.
Standing in the middle of a gallery, dressed in shorts, my hair a mess. Xander watching me from his position against the wall. He was dressed in a suit and tie, but he didn’t seem to be feeling the heat. I was annoyed that he didn’t offer to help, but when he did offer, I wanted him to disappear. I didn’t need help from someone like him. I didn’t know who I thought he was, but I instinctively knew he was trouble.
A few days later, I walked out of the gallery and found him loitering around my car, trying to look casual, but clearly waiting for me. At first, I was annoyed. But then I thought it was kind of cute, how uncomfortable he looked in his uncertainty. Not enough to accept his offer of coffee, but cute just the same.
And then he kept showing up, once with a bouquet of roses. I told him I hated flowers, so he came the next day with chocolates. I accused him of trying to blow my diet, so then he brought a gold keychain with my initials in it because he’d seen that my keychain was broken.
So considerate. How could I say no then?
And then the first date. He showed up when I lost track of time and caught me still in my studio. I took a quick shower, all too aware of him waiting, alone, downstairs in my tiny house. Wondering what he thought of my house, of my possessions, if he’d see anything that would scare him off. As uncertain as I was about this man—this stranger I barely knew who just came off as the love-‘em-and-leave-‘em type—I didn’t want him to give up on me. I wanted to know where this might go.
And then…God, it was a perfect first date! He could kiss like a god! I was so close to letting him inside.
If he’d known how lost I was that first night, he might not have waited three months to invite himself into my bed. But I was glad he did. He showed that he wasn’t just in it for the sex…and that was so amazing! I’d never known how great sex could be. I mean, when Philip James is your only experience…yet, I couldn’t imagine it would have been that great with anyone but Xander.
REMEMBER US: A Billionaire Romance (Part Two) Page 5
