Need you Now (Top Shelf Romance Book 2)

by Laurelin Paige

  Without an apology for the intrusion, Donovan shut my door, fastened his eyes on me, and advanced to my desk.

  “We need to have dinner.” His tone was harsh, and the energy surrounding him felt heavy and dense.

  “Dinner or dessert?” I teased with a grin, throwing back the same question he’d asked me when I’d invited him out. I was relieved he was there. Excited, even.

  “Dinner,” he said emphatically. “We need to talk. I’ll send my driver to pick you up at eight.” He turned around and headed back toward the door.

  “Tonight?” I called after him. He was blustering around so fast I couldn’t quite keep up, and the air he was blowing in his path was chilly. My excitement was starting to fizzle into confused agitation.

  He stared at me sharply. “Tonight.”

  Everything about his delivery said there was no arguing.

  “Fine. I’ll be ready.” As anxious as I’d been to see him all week, now I just wanted him out of my office and gone. Whatever was up with him, he’d better be over it by tonight.

  “My driver will text you when he’s there.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know the drill.”

  “You don’t,” he said sternly. “But you’ll learn.”

  The hair at the back of my neck prickled. It was a clearly pointed statement. There was no way I could ignore that his annoyance was directed at me.

  “Hang on a second,” I said, stopping him before he stormed out. “Are you sure there’s something you don’t want to say now? It seems you aren’t really happy with me, and if that’s the case then maybe you should just tell me.”

  He only barely hesitated. “You told Weston about us.”

  Oh, that.

  I hadn’t considered that Donovan might not have been happy about that. “I did tell him,” I began slowly. “He’d admitted—”

  Donovan interrupted, taking an intimidating step forward as he did. “You told Weston about us, and you shouldn’t have told him about us. You should never tell anyone about us because there is no us.”

  His speech hit like it had been a heavy sandbag that he’d thrown instead of a combination of articulated sounds. I felt the blood drain from my face, humiliated. Hurt. “There is no us” already stuck on a repeat loop in my brain.

  “We have had sex a couple of times, Sabrina,” he continued, as if I hadn’t already been wounded sufficiently. “That’s all. Nothing more. And since we are both decent people, I’m sure we can concur that it’s no one’s business but our own.”

  I blinked back threatening tears. We hadn’t defined what we were, and I hadn’t made any assumptions about what kind of relationship we’d have. I’d never thought we would be more than lovers. But it stung to have that confirmed outright. Quite a lot more than I would ever have expected, for no reason I could figure out. Probably because he was so fucking condescending. Because he was so self-righteous. Because, despite not being what I’d even wanted, it was rejection.

  That was it—he’d diminished something that had been important to me. Maybe this relationship was just sex, but it still mattered. To me, anyway. It mattered a lot. For the first time in my life, I was beginning to see how I could feel comfortable in my body, comfortable with my desires, and it was only because of Donovan. It hurt to realize that it didn’t mean anything to him the way it did to me.

  Which was probably dumb and immature and a stupid girly emotion—exactly the thing he was trying to avoid dealing with by giving his there is no us routine.

  But I had a right to be upset on a practical level too. I’d had a relationship with Weston as well. I had a right to tell him what I fucking wanted, especially when it fell on the heels of our closet encounter.

  After a deep breath—when I was sure I wouldn’t cry—I started in on my defense. “I didn’t tell Weston be—”

  But I was too slow and Donovan cut in once more. “Do you think you can handle that?” He barely waited before adding, “Well?”

  I paused for several seconds. “Are you going to actually let me answer?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Go ahead.”

  Reminding myself that this wasn’t the first time I’d sparred with Donovan and yet somehow survived gave me confidence.

  “Look.” I stood up and circled around to the front of my desk. “I told Weston that I had sex with you so that he wouldn’t feel guilty for having sex with Elizabeth. It was the right thing to do. I wasn’t informing him about ‘us’. I’ve told no one else, and I have no plans to. But what I do with my life and my body, at times, affects people besides you, and when it does, I do intend to be open with them. Do you think you can handle that?”

  Donovan was silent for a few beats, his features unreadable. Finally his head tilted questioningly. “Weston slept with Elizabeth? That makes things confusing for the pool.”

  I threw my head back. “That’s what you got out of that? Did you listen to anything else I said?”

  “I heard you,” he said, flatly. “I’m glad we’re in agreement on the matter.”

  “You’re glad we’re in agreement? What’s that supposed to mean?” I was the one who sounded worked up now, but honestly, Donovan didn’t appear any more relaxed than he did when he walked in.

  He crossed his arms in front of him. “We both are on board with a just sex, no strings private affair. That makes things simple.”

  Fuck if anything felt simple. I still had fresh wounds; some that I was sure were going to leave bruises. Even if I didn’t want Donovan to see the deeper injuries, the surface damage he’d done deserved an apology at the very least.

  “Was that your way of addressing the subject?” I asked, bristling. “You accuse me of making a big scandal and when you find out you’re wrong you say I heard you, that’s simple, and that’s all I get?”

  His lips curled up slightly, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No. You get dinner. Eight o’clock. The driver will text.”

  “You still want dinner?” To say I was appalled was putting it mildly.

  Before I knew it, he was in front of me. “Now I’m more interested in dessert.” With his thumb and forefinger, he pinched my already erect nipple. “I believe you are too.”

  He pinched harder, and something about the cold, intense way he stared into me as he delivered the pain made me feel it was more than an erotic gesture. It was a warning. Or a punishment. Or proof that this situation wasn’t as simple as he wanted to believe it was, and this was the outlet of his frustration.

  It confused me more. Riled me up more. But as much as I wanted to pretend it didn’t affect me, I couldn’t help the whimper that escaped.

  “I like that,” he whispered against my mouth then kissed me quickly, ending with a painful nip of my lower lip.

  “See you later,” he said then started to go, leaving me a mess. Leaving me unsteady and turned on and annoyed and pissed off, and somehow, out of everything up in the air, my head went back to there’s no us. If there was no us, what was this? What was it when he and I were together like this, surrounded by such a strong field of electricity that we were practically wired together? Wasn’t that an us?

  He meant a romantic us. I knew that and to make the argument would be to debate semantics, a battle I’d never win with Donovan.

  But I had enough of a temper fuming that I had to direct it somewhere. “Didn’t Weston explain why I told him?”

  Donovan hesitated, his hand on the door handle. “He didn’t say anything. He made a joke. It felt too direct to be a coincidence.”

  All the blood that had drained from my face earlier returned with a flourish. Donovan hadn’t even had any proof that I’d said anything at all. He’d accused me on a fucking whim. I’d been pissed but now I reached a new level. A level that was somehow more intense and yet eerily calmer.

  “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.” The flatness of my tone scared even myself.

  “Wasn’t like I was wrong.” His sneer looked sexier on him than it should.

>   No, that wasn’t what happened. “You said…”

  When I trailed off, he finished for me. “I said ‘You told Weston’. I never said he told me anything.”

  I felt hot. Like my physical temperature was rising.

  Donovan looked at me with a delighted smirk. “You know, the harder you glare at me, the more I look forward to dinner.”

  Dinner? “You’ve got quite the balls, Kincaid.” I was amazed I could talk so steadily. I was seething. “I can’t believe you expect me to still show up tonight. I’m so pissed off right now.”

  The smirk turned into a grin. “Take it out on me later. You’ll feel better. I promise.” He slipped out the door before I could respond.

  I ignored the phone as it began ringing on my desk and stormed after him. “Donovan!”

  I’d opened the door in time to see him disappearing around the hall corner. There was no way he didn’t hear me call after him, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around. Which was probably a good thing since there was another figure waiting for me outside my office.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. Hoder,” I said to my one thirty appointment, hoping I didn’t look as agitated as I felt.

  “I was just calling to let you know he was here,” Ellen said, hanging up her phone. The ringing stopped behind me.

  Dammit. There wasn’t anything I could do about Donovan now. Clearly, I’d have to deal with him later.

  The next two hours were spent in meetings with clients, but when I had a chance to breathe, I found that not only was I still mad, but that my anger toward Donovan had gone from simmering to boiling.

  Maybe I’d be able to get over his jackass behavior, but I needed some time to process. There was no way I could see him as soon as tonight.

  When I got a chance, I rang Ellen and asked her to get him on the phone.

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Lind,” she said when she called back a few minutes later. “His assistant said he’s unavailable at the moment. Would you like me to leave a message for him to call you back?”

  I almost growled, and not in the sexy way, but in the I’m-going-to-kill-something-with-my-bare-hands way, especially if that something was named Donovan Kincaid.

  “What was that?” Ellen asked, trying to interpret the sound of my murderous rage.

  “No message,” I said and hung up loudly. Well, if he was avoiding my call, he couldn’t avoid a text. He didn’t usually have his cell phone out at work, but he’d get the message in time.

  Canceling dinner, I typed and hit send.

  His response came before I could even put my phone down. Why?

  Did this really require an explanation? I made my answer as simple as possible. You’re an asshole.

  Neither new nor relevant. Dinner is still on.

  I squeezed my phone so hard I probably almost broke it. There were so many responses rolling through my head, complete monologues of speeches I wanted to deliver.

  I settled on, Fuck you.

  Then I threw my phone in a drawer and ignored it so I could attempt to get some work done.

  It didn’t really help.

  I was still mad. Still hurt. And now I wouldn’t get the evening I’d needed so desperately, so I was also still horny as hell, which just pissed me off more.

  Another thing that pissed me off? Donovan had been right—the fact that he was an asshole was irrelevant. I knew it from day one, and I was still drawn to him. I was drawn to him because of it, even.

  What did that say about me?

  It was just after six when I finally pulled the phone out of my desk and read his response. The car will be there at 8. You choose whether or not you get in.

  The ball was back in my court. And I’d already decided I wasn’t going, so it wasn’t an issue.

  Except, I was curious about what his dinner would entail. Or rather, his dessert. Last time had been impromptu. Would a planned rendezvous be different?

  It didn’t matter. He’d been a giant dick and a half. He hadn’t trusted me, he’d manipulated me, he’d betrayed me. He’d hurt me.

  What if he tried to make it up? If I just gave him a chance?

  Clutching the phone to my chest, I threw my head back against my chair and sighed. For a relationship based only on sex, these kinds of choices should have been no-brainers.

  Why, then, did this one feel so hard?

  Chapter 23

  I got in the car.

  It wasn’t a last minute decision either, though I tried to pretend that I was only doing a quick shave because that was standard behavior for a Friday evening. And the expensive lingerie and stockings that I put on after my shower? Well, sometimes it’s nice to be alone and pretty.

  And when I took the elevator down to the lobby, I convinced myself I was only checking my mail, even though I’d checked it earlier, so when the driver texted he was outside, and I was down there, it was easy to say, Well, I’m already here.

  I stewed the entire ride, but it was harder to validate being as pissed as I wanted to be with Donovan when I was on my way to meet him. It gave me less credibility. If I were really mad, I wouldn’t have gotten in the car. Or so logic said. Reality, on the other hand, said differently. I still felt the way I felt, and yet I was driving toward him when all instincts said I should be running the other direction.

  Maybe I was mad at myself the most. Either way, I still planned on being a bitch when I saw him. I wasn’t sure I could be anything else with Donovan at the moment. Luckily, I didn’t think he’d mind.

  The drive was farther than usual. This time, I was dropped off in Lower Manhattan. I hadn’t been there before, and I didn’t see a name anywhere on the building, but it seemed to be a hotel.

  So Donovan had rented a room?

  Practical, I supposed.

  Cold and efficient, as well. Were we even having dinner? From what both Weston and Donovan had said about his sexual relationships, it made sense if there was only one thing on the menu. Donovan did straight-up sex, nothing else.

  Why was that having such a hard time sitting in me?

  “I’m not sure where I’m going,” I said to the driver, after he let me out and shut the car door behind me.

  “Inside the main doors. The hostess desk for the restaurant is to your left. Wait there for Mr. Kincaid.” He got in the Jaguar and drove off before I could think to ask anything else.

  Then we were eating dinner. And the hotel was just a coincidence. Or it wasn’t. We’d see.

  I found the restaurant easily. According to the sign, it was a Japanese place called Okazu. I checked in at the hostess desk. They didn’t have my name down, but they did have Donovan’s—who hadn’t arrived yet. I scanned the lobby and didn’t see him anywhere.

  “You’re welcome to wait in the bar,” the hostess suggested, a pale young woman who looked one hundred percent like she’d come from East Asia but talked like she’d lived one hundred percent of her life in the Bronx. “I’ll let him know you’re there.”

  Fine. I’d wait at the bar. But his tardiness wasn’t helping my already sour mood. He knew I was pissed at him. Shouldn’t he be trying harder than this to be smoothing things over?

  Apparently the rules of social etiquette weren’t foremost on Donovan’s priority list.

  With a sigh that could be construed as grumbling, I sat down at a high-top and considered ordering a martini to settle my nerves. Before I’d decided, I got a text. On my way. Take off your panties while you’re waiting.

  I grumble-sighed again, though this time butterflies did a bunch of aerial tricks in my stomach simultaneously.

  He really wanted me to take off my panties? Why? Just so he’d know? That was kind of hot. Thinking about sitting, bare, next to him did a bunch of fantastically scandalous things to my mind.

  Or was he planning on more? Like fingering me discreetly at the dinner table?

  I blushed at the completely impractical idea.

  And then was struck with a totally practical thought—take them off and put them where? My pur
se was exactly big enough for my phone, my house key, my credit card, my ID, and a tube of lip gloss. Was I supposed to carry them? Stuff them down my bra? Leave a hundred dollar pair of La Perlas in the trash?

  Nope. I wasn’t doing it. Besides, I wouldn’t reward him for his tardiness. I wasn’t even sure I was staying.

  Another quarter of an hour later, he still hadn’t arrived, and I was irritated. Especially since I had decided against ordering the martini. This was beyond rude. He could have just let me cancel when I’d told him I wanted to. This was intolerable. I refused to wait another minute.

  I stood up and headed out of the bar toward the front of the lobby, and walked smack into the most delicious smelling man wearing a fitted suit over a solid chest. I recognized him by the feel of his torso and the way he gripped my arm to steady me. I didn’t have to look up to know it was Donovan.

  But I did look up. So I could shoot poison-tipped daggers with my eyes.

  “I apologize,” Donovan said with a decidedly unapologetic smirk. “I got wrapped up in something last minute at work and lost track of time.”

  I jerked my arm away. I would have understood if an emergency had come up. He was one of the CEOs. He sometimes had to put out fires. That he’d just “lost track of time”, however, added insult to injury. I’d been irritated with him all day long and not for a single moment had I been able to forget that I had plans with him later.

  Was I that unremarkable? Was that the point he’d been trying to make when he’d told me we weren’t in a relationship?

  I crossed my arms over my chest and frowned. “I think it’s interesting that you can’t even leave work when you have plans. Nothing’s important enough to tear Donovan Kincaid away from his office before he’s ready.”

  He raised an amused brow. “Want to know what I think?”

  “Fine. Let’s hear it.” I prepared myself for a matching pot and kettle remark. It was true I worked a lot of candlelight hours myself, but I never had places to go afterward. Never had anyone waiting for me.

  “I think you think about me too much.” He backed it up with the grin he used when he’d won an argument.