by Layla Hagen
"You were running away from something."
"Yes, a tough decision. I needed time to mull that over."
"Does it have anything to do with taking over your family's company? That your brother was running?"
"It has everything to do with that. And I fear I might have made the wrong decision."
"I'm sure it's not as bad as you think," I tell him. "At the very least, your office is in a freaking cool building."
He chuckles, gesturing me to come closer to him. I walk over to the table, pushing his plate away, then sitting on the spot where it was moments ago, my feet dangling.
"I assure you I had a cool office before that, too." He traces the contour of my jaw. "I know I told you this before, but I love this remarkable thing you do when you turn things on their head, so they don't seem half bad anymore. Like you did with your tattoo. You see something good in everything. I want you to do the same with me."
I rub my neck slowly, squeezing his knees gently with my feet. "What do you see in yourself?"
Parker leans back in his chair. "I just see the man who did a lot of things he's not proud of."
"Like what?" I challenge him. "Come on, I dare you to tell me. And I'm warning you, I won't be satisfied with anything less than some really wild stories. Extra points if you landed yourself in prison at least once."
Parker doesn't smile when he says, "I almost did. Several times."
A shiver runs down my spine as Parker's gaze bores into mine. He's waiting for my reaction.
"Why?" I ask.
"You asked me how I put myself through college. Let's just say the answer to that is by doing things that were...questionable. Racing, bets, fighting."
“Fighting?”
“Mixed martial arts.”
"Wow. You kept that well undercover. There's nothing about it online."
"My mother did," he says. "She might not have cared about me much, but tainting the saint family name, the only thing she liked in my father, was unthinkable for her."
"So she's still on the watch to make sure no reporter digs out old dirt?"
Parker hesitates. "No, I do that now. It would be disastrous for my businesses if anyone got wind of it. My reputation is as important, if not even more important, than my money. I fill enough pockets to ensure the past stays where it belongs.”
I gulp. What would my past do for someone in his position? I did enough shit. Granted, not to land me in prison, but I had one close encounter. Would that be enough for his reputation to be questioned if it somehow transpired? What would Parker do if he knew? Leave me? I push that dark thought to the back of my mind. That type of thinking isn't healthy. I try to concentrate on what Parker just revealed. I always knew that underneath the sleek Armani suits and the sweet British accent that makes me crave his touch, Parker isn't the perfect gentleman everyone thinks he is.
But I never expected him to be this: a bad, bad boy.
Someone who, like me, did a lot of shit and isn't particularly proud of it.
Parker rises from his chair, stroking my cheek with the back of his fingers. "Done with the interrogation?" he whispers softly against my lips. "I know better ways we can spend our time together."
"Show me," I say, leaning forward yearningly. Interesting things we have in common. This... fear of affection, sprung from the deep belief we share that we aren't worthy of love. A belief that has kept me from dreaming of a fairytale ending until him. In a flash of passion, he cups my face, hungrily placing his mouth over mine.
.
Chapter Sixteen
Jessica
Parker lifts me in his arms, carrying me out of the kitchen and up the staircase. I don't break off the kiss, relishing the warmth and comfort of his lips. It's not until I feel a mattress beneath me and Parker releasing himself from my arms that I open my eyes. It's dark at first, but then he turns on a lamp on the bedside table. In the dim light, Parker leans over me, propping an elbow on each side of me. He pushes a strand of hair away from my face, tucking it behind my ear. His crystal-clear gaze bores into mine, and it's so different from all the other times he's looked at me. As if this is the first time he truly sees me. In many ways, it is. I used to be terrified by this. What would follow if I ever let anyone see what's under the armor of self-confidence I've built around myself? If I revealed that old touch of vulnerability I hid so deep inside me, I fooled myself it wasn't there anymore? But now that I've done it, I feel relieved.
"I want to kiss every single part of you," Parker whispers in my ear.
He pushes his knee between my legs, spreading me open beneath him. In a matter of seconds, he removes all my clothing and I do the same with his. Then he starts kissing the soft spot at the base of my neck that sends me over the edge. His trail of kisses descends to my breasts, leaving a blazing mark in their wake and making me greedy for even more. Parker slips one hardened nipple between his lips and I arch my back, pushing my lower body against him, hungry for more skin-on-skin contact. When he finally turns his attention away from my nipples, they are hard as pebbles and, like the rest of my body, aching for his touch. My inner walls clench for him already, but I know he's far from done. He confirms it when, instead of doing anything to still my growing need for him, he pulls back. Way back to my ankles. When his lips come in contact with my skin there, I grit out his name. I'm caught in a dilemma. Part of me wants him to cease the teasing and fuck me hard right this very moment. But another part—one that I was frankly unaware of until tonight, the part that prompted me to open up to him—craves for more of this. Because there's something sweet and innocent about it. And I need it. His tongue swirls up and then touches a spot behind my knee. I fist the bed sheets as his tongue lingers there, while he runs the tip of his fingers across my inner thighs, drawing quiver after quiver out of me.
The inside of my knees, huh? Never too late to discover more erogenous areas, I guess. And by God, I want him to discover them all. As his kisses trail up my inner thigh, I push up; I want his lips to meet my wet slit. But they change direction at the last second, going even higher, and then stopping.
At the tattoo on my hip.
Ice cold seeps through my veins. I try to pull him up to me, because I don't want to think about that now. But Parker doesn't budge. As he blows hot breaths over that spot, I start to relax. Very slowly. Concentrating on the way his lips touch me there, brushing against each wing of the butterfly, and then lingering on its spine.
I want to kiss you everywhere, Parker said. I realize now he hadn't meant it as foreplay. There's only one way to be truly free. By healing. And that's what Parker's kisses are meant for. They tug at my heartstrings, making me let go of those last bits of old rage that keep me from being completely free. I'm starting to think his kisses could heal anything.
When I pull him up to me, moments later, Parker lifts my legs, placing them on his shoulder. He bites his lip as he peruses his fingers over my slit, causing a hurricane of pleasure to spread through me.
I push myself against his fingers, but now Parker is the one who can't wait anymore. Instead of meeting his fingers, I find his cock ready for me, a condom already on.
"Fuck," I cry as he slams against me. A loud growl rumbles from his chest as he slams again, pushing himself even deeper inside. With my legs up like this, I take more of him in. He stretches me and fills me entirely, as if he's determined not to leave an inch of me unclaimed. I willingly give him all of me.
"Touch yourself," he says in raspy voice, bringing one of my hands down to my clit. I arch my back, and as I do, his tip slides so deep inside me, that it causes many shimmers of delight to erupt inside me. I increase the speed of stroking my clit. With the other hand, I fist the sheet, needing to hold onto something as I push myself harder and harder against him.
"This is so fucking sexy," he growls, but I'm too far gone to acknowledge it with anything more than a whimper. When I cry his name, I don't give him just my pleasure. I give him everything.
Chapter Sevent
een
Jessica
"Time to get up, Jess."
"What time is it?" I ask, my eyes still closed.
"Eight o'clock."
"Is the house on fire?"
"No."
"Then why the hell are you waking me up at eight o'clock on a Saturday?" I growl, pulling the pillow over my head.
"Haven't you heard the saying the early bird gets the worm?"
"I don't know about you, but I've never been a big fan of worms."
"Well, I promise to look up a more appealing expression."
"You won't shut up, will you?"
"Not a chance."
"Fine, give me half an hour."
I hear the door slam shut but don’t move. Then something stirs me to life. The smell of coffee. I raise my head, and sure enough, a cup of coffee is on the nightstand next to the bed. I am confused for a few moments, wondering how it got here. Then it hits me. Parker brought it. I sit up straight, and as I take a sip, a warmth that has nothing to do with the hot coffee spreads through me. He didn’t even say anything. This silent gesture on his part means almost as much to me as his kisses last night.
I dress quickly in some jeans and a sporty sweater I had the good sense to stuff inside my bag last night, and half an hour later, I make my way through the house, walking deliberately slow, so I can inspect the paintings hanging seemingly everywhere. My heart jolts a few times as I recognize paintings by several world-famous artists.
“Thanks for the coffee,” I tell Parker when we’re in the car. It’s a beautiful August day, and I can’t wait to enjoy it with this handsome man. “So, where are we going?" He's wearing a light blue fitted shirt and jeans, looking just as godly as ever. The short sleeves emphasize his toned arms and chest. Decidedly, Parker can't look anything but drop-your-pants hot no matter what he wears.
"I've scheduled us for golf at my club."
My face must have dropped, because Parker quickly asks, "What's wrong?"
"Golf? That sounds so. . . boring."
Parker frowns. "I always play golf on Saturdays. I even did it last week at Helen's."
"Oh my God, I wonder what would happen if you'd do something else on a Saturday? I'm sure the entire Parker system would collapse. And then the world as we know it would end."
"All right, point taken," Parker says, shaking his head.
"Let's go to Hyde Park," I say.
"Why?"
"Umm. . . to hang out? Also, I'm hoping to make some progress with my squirrel."
"You—what was that, again? It sounded like you want to make some progress with your . . . squirrel."
I blush. "There are a lot of squirrels there, and they come near you if you feed them. Once when I was feeding them I noticed that one squirrel wouldn't come close at all. I think she's afraid of people. But I did manage to make her come a tiny, tiny bit closer after a few trips there," I say proudly.
"How often do you go there?"
"Oh, I stop by after work sometimes."
Parker nods. "Hyde Park it is, then. Just enlighten me on this: how is feeding squirrels more exciting than playing golf?"
"Squirrels are cute. Whenever I think of golf, creepy old men come to mind."
"Do I look like a creepy old man to you?" Parker asks in mock indignation.
"Are you telling me everyone at the golf club looks like you? By all means, head to the club then," I joke.
"So much for your squirrel . . ."
"Stop saying it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you want to say something else instead."
Parker chuckles. "You have a dirty little mind, you know that?"
"Mmm, are you complaining?"
"Not really. I had something in mind for this morning. But, well, Hyde Park isn't exactly the best place for shagging."
The need to laugh overtakes me so violently that I can't stop the laughter bubbling out of my chest.
"What's so funny?"
"I . . . am . . . sorry," I say, almost out of breath, still giggling. "That word—whoever came up with it should be sued. No one can make shagging sound sexy. Not even you, Parker. I'll never understand why you Brits insist on using it. There are tons of other words that sound better. Hell, even ‘fornicating’ sounds better."
He slows down the car at a red light, then leans in to me. "How does fucking sound?"
"Much better. You know what, let’s head to the golf club, and we can head to the park later on. You’ve made me curious.”
Also, he’s been going with me on my explorations trips, so it’s only fair.
***
Parker
"How do you know which one is your squirrel?" I ask a few hours later, staring at the group of squirrels huddled around the tree, as Jessica gently throws crushed biscuits in their direction.
"Oh, it's easy. She's missing one of her tiny legs so she humps a bit when she moves. She's also a bit apart from the group. There she is."
For the next half hour, I watch her engaging in a back-and-forth game with the squirrel. Jessica waits for the squirrel to come closer, with her hand stretched. Not that the tiny animal makes her job easy. Whenever Jessica takes a step forward, it retreats. But Jessica waits patiently, starting the whole game again.
Taking Jessica to the golf club was one of the smartest things I did in a long time. Usually I go there for business, but today it was pure fun.
"What d'you reckon happened to her leg?" I ask.
Jessica shrugs. "I'm guessing someone hurt her, judging by how afraid she is of people. She just needs a bit of reassuring, and then she’ll be fine."
Watching her so determined to fix the little squirrel, I can't help wondering if that determination also extends to people. Me, for instance. I never thought I needed fixing. Or rather, I thought I was unfixable. But I'll be damned if I'm not starting to change my mind. She's changing my mind. I watch her smile widen, illuminating her features as she takes another step toward the squirrel, and this time the animal doesn't back off. Jessica’s eyes lighten up, and suddenly energy pours off her again, forming something like a bright halo around her. Beneath the self-confident woman I met all those months ago lies much more than I imagined: a fascinating mix of innocence, fragility, and strength.
I want to protect her, and make sure nothing—or no one—hurts her again. I want her to give herself to me every night the way she did last night, and I want to watch her wake up every day.
Simple things like randomly walking through a park have never made much sense to me, unless there was a purpose behind it. With her, they do make sense. I don't care if I have to do birdwatching or watch her feed squirrels if it means I can spend time with her.
"Mission accomplished," she says, straightening up. "She's fed now. Let's get some food for ourselves."
"You can still eat after that food festival last night?"
"You worked me out pretty intensely afterward," she says seductively, putting her fingers suggestively on my chest.
My cock instantly throbs in my pants as I pull her toward me, putting my hands on her perfectly shaped arse. Just thinking of touching her naked makes me groan.
"I like seeing you dressed informally," she says. "Reminds me of how you were in California. You didn't go suited up to work most of the time."
"What's that supposed to mean? And I'm absolutely not at fault for the fact that Americans have such a lousy dress code."
"Well, you look less like you have a stick shoved up your butt when you're like this. And you were so much looser back then."
"I suppose I was more relaxed. James is the face of the companies we own in the US, and no one there gave a damn about all the drama going on here."
"What drama?" she asks.
"I don't want to ruin this day talking about it. So you liked me more in California, huh?"
"Hmm . . . you were up for more fun. But at least now you're up for a good shag." She giggles. "And you're still hot. Thank God for that."
"This is th
e second time you've hinted you like me just for my looks. I might start feeling offended."
"Oh no, I can add a few other things. I like the paintings in your house, your friends, and your taste in presents. You didn't seriously think I liked you for your shining personality, did you?" She grins.
We each grab a pastry from a nearby vendor and walk deeper inside the park. The alleys we choose are almost deserted, and I like it this way. After she's done with her food, Jessica rumbles in her bag, retrieving a pack of cigarettes.
"You're going to smoke?" I ask.
She looks at me in surprise, the cigarette already between her full lips. She smiles. "And why shouldn't I?"
"It's not healthy."
She rolls the cigarette between her lips, leaning with her back against a tree.
"You sound like Serena."
"I mean it."
"Okay. I know you can probably recite ten statistics that smoking reduces lifetime expectancy by I don't know how much, but none have been very convincing. I'll be old, and cranky and useless. What's the point of living a few years more or less? They won't be worth much anyway."
She looks up at me with her round, doe-like eyes, and for a moment, I lose all sense of where we are. My brain must have lost all reason as well, because I can't find another explanation for coming up with the corniest line ever. "I promise I'll make them worth it."
Bugger.
I cringe and try to think of something clever, fast, so I can turn it around and make it sound like a joke or something when she starts laughing. But Jessica doesn't laugh, and I breathe relieved, because—I realize to my own surprise—I didn't mean it as a joke at all. A pink tint colors her cheeks, and she takes the cigarette out of her mouth, dropping it in her bag.
"Well, as far as arguments go, that's more convincing than statistics," she says, and I'm delighted to hear a slight tremor in her voice. I run my thumb over her lips and pull her into a kiss. I tug at her lip with my teeth, greed overtaking me, and then I pound her sweet mouth with desperation. Slinging my arms around her, I pull her closer to me, kissing her deeper.
