Nathan
I hadn’t planned to bring Reagan here this soon, but my desire to spend time with her was quite literally overruling any logical thought. Despite my plans to bed her and get her out of my system, I couldn’t escape the nagging notion that it wouldn’t be that simple. Hard to get had never held my desire, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had put forth this much effort just to get a woman into my bed. And to actually be enjoying those efforts was completely foreign.
I refused to dwell, however, as I flipped the steaks. It was just after seven, and I waited with bated breath to see if she would show. In the short time I’d known her, it seemed she tended to overthink things and I half expected her to have talked herself out of coming. Which would suck, because then I’d have to go track her down and these New York strips would go to waste.
I sighed in relief when I heard the doorbell. She’s here.
I headed to the front foyer and opened the door. The first thing I noticed was her hair. She’d taken it down since I’d seen her at the office, and it fell in a thick, dark curtain over her shoulder. I itched to wrap it around my hand as I did unspeakable things to her body.
All in good time.
“You showed,” I commented, stepping aside to let her in.
“I was told there would be steak and charm here tonight. I figured it was worth investigating,” she shot back.
I raised an eyebrow at her as I took the bottle of wine she held out to me. Touché.
We headed into the kitchen where the sliding glass doors were opened to the deck. Raising a finger in her direction, I stepped outside and slid the steaks onto a plate and brought them in. I set them on the counter and winked at her. “I am most definitely a man of my word.”
She eyed the steaks and chuckled. “I am sure you are.” Our eyes met momentarily. Her words weren’t referring to just the food, and we both knew it. Her cheeks tinged pink. She was nervous, but trying her damnedest to not show it. “What can I do to help?”
I immediately set out to put her at ease. I uncorked the wine, poured her a glass and handed it to her. “You can take this, go sit and relax. Hungry?” I asked as I gestured to the table, beautifully set by my housekeeper earlier that afternoon. Thank you, Joyce.
“I am, actually,” she answered. She took her glass in one hand, and picked up the plate of steaks in the other. As an afterthought, she grabbed the wine bottle with the crook of her elbow and held it against her, and then headed to the table and sat down. I followed with the salad and garlic bread. We ate companionably, making idle chatter, and I watched her gradually relax. I found myself simply watching her as she rattled on about some surprise meeting with Robert Johnson on Friday night.
Wait, what?
My eyes narrowed as I turned my attention to the conversation at hand. I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of her entertaining Robert Johnson alone. Not at all. It wasn’t that I doubted her ability, but I knew Robert Johnson. There was no way this dinner was happening without my presence. Damn Isaac for putting this on her in the first place!
My face gave away nothing as we finished eating and she helped me clear the dishes. Turning, I extended my hand to her. “How about a tour?”
We walked hand in hand throughout my brownstone, as I chatted aimlessly about mundane features such as the flat screen TV that extended from the ceiling at the push of a button, or the built in surround sound that filled the entire place; things I’m sure she cared nothing about, but things I was using to ignore the feel of her hand in mine, and how much it made me want to suck on her fingers. I was purposely avoiding my bedroom, and I could tell by the way her eyes darted to the side, that it didn’t escape her notice. I was stalling, and couldn’t explain why. What was I doing giving her some lame ass tour of my house when had it been any other woman in my home, she’d already be on her back? I never bothered with formalities. And Reagan on her back was where this was headed, right? So what was my problem? I was suddenly irritated with myself.
Realizing I had better move this along before she fell asleep of boredom, I turned away from the doorway of my office and slowly began to ascend the staircase to the second floor. Reagan hesitated uncertainly at the bottom step, her arm extended as our hands remained clasped. I waited, saying nothing. Come on baby, don’t give up on me now.
She refused to look at me, as she seemed to come to some sort of decision. She gulped back the rest of her wine and climbed up to the step below me. I still didn’t say anything; but simply turned and together we headed to the second floor.
Game on.
I didn’t bother to stop at guest bedroom or the master bath, but headed straight for the closed door at the end of the hall. Anticipation pulsed through my veins as I relished that the moment I had been thinking about, no – obsessing about – was finally at hand. The atmosphere around us had taken a turn, suddenly charged with feverish tension. I hadn’t felt this aroused since I’d lost my virginity as a teen. I opened the door, and then, dredging up every ounce of willpower I had, stopped in the doorway.
“So, this is it,” she whispered so softly I wasn’t sure if she even meant to say it at all. I watched the pulse in her neck as it beat a steady rhythm against her skin. Hell, she was as nervous as I was.
She looked around, her eyes avoiding the very large bed in the center of the room. I stood my ground in the doorway. If we ventured into the room, and to the things that would surely follow, she had to take the first step. My heart stopped the next second as she did exactly that.
“You look like him,” she murmured as I watched her walk over to my dresser and lean down toward a picture of me and Thomas. She was right; outside of our difference in hair color, my brother and I could have been twins. “When was it taken?”
Dear God, I had this woman in my bedroom, mere feet away from my bed, and she wanted to talk about Thomas. I took a deep breath, working to stave off the urge to pick her up and lay her across the bed. Or up against the wall. At this point, either would work. I ran a hand through my hair and walked over to join her at the dresser, staring down at the photo she was referring to. “About a year before he died.”
I continued to stare at the picture, momentarily lost in thought I had just returned from a four month stint in Australia, seeing the sites, and enjoying the women. Thomas had picked me up at the airport, and had spontaneously taken a picture of the two of us on my phone. I had no idea what had prompted him to do so; selfies were so unlike him. He’d been practically beside himself as he’d animatedly talked to me about an idea he’d had for a new business venture. Something that would have taken him away from our father’s empire, a place Thomas had never desired to be a part of, regardless of how much he’d loved our father. Thomas had had ideas, plans for the future and had wanted me to be by his side and help bring them to fruition.
Thinking back now, perhaps he’d simply wanted to capture the happiness of the moment. Whatever the reason, I was glad he had. It was my favorite picture of us.
I frowned slightly as I thought about that day. Thomas hadn’t gotten the chance to begin work on his plan, thanks to our father, who’d given him a multi-million dollar account that had drained most of his time and energy for the next eight months. And then, well, he’d ended up in a box in the ground not long after, courtesy of some idiot drunk driver. His ideas would never see the light of day.
Reagan reached down and clasped my hand again. I looked down at her, shaking off the melancholy thoughts that had crept into my head. She tilted her face up to mine, staring into my eyes for a few fleeting seconds before her lids fluttered shut and I covered her mouth with my own. I tried, I really did, to be gentle, but my hunger for her snapped into focus on this one single moment, shutting out all other rational thought. I devoured her mouth, afraid to push her too much too fast, but unable to separate that fear from the very real feel of her body against mine. I let go of her hand and grabbed her waist, pressing her against my cock, which was hard and straining against my jeans. He
r hands were restless against me, tugging at my shoulders, running through my hair, clawing at my back. It was as if she wanted to touch all of me but didn’t know where to begin.
I slid my mouth down to her neck, gently sucking and kissing my way across her collarbone. I glanced up at her, hesitating briefly, wondering if and when she’d be pulling the brakes on what was happening. Her eyes were closed, her brow slightly furrowed as she gripped my hair and pressed my head firmly to her chest in silent permission. I grinned against her skin. She wasn’t going to brake check me just yet.
I reached up and popped open a few buttons on her shirt, my lips covering every inch of skin as I slid it open. I raised my head slightly when her left breast was revealed, covered in nothing more than a tiny scrap of white lace. Goosebumps danced across her skin as I flicked her nipple with my tongue through her bra, watching as it puckered into a hard pebble, demanding to be kissed. I had a fleeting thought that perhaps I should reign myself in long enough to get her to the bed, but then she shrugged out of her blouse completely, standing before me in nothing but her lacy bra and black pencil skirt, and I forgot all about the bed for the moment. I knew there had never been anyone sexier than she was, right here, right now.
I straightened and wrapped my arms around hers, suddenly unable to get close enough to her. I groaned as I captured her mouth again, squeezing her against me. Through the recesses of my foggy brain, I slowly became aware she wasn’t kissing me back. I opened my eyes, taking in the rigid set of her shoulders and the hands that had fallen from my waist and now hung limply at her side.
What the hell?
I raised my head to look at her. Her eyes were shut, her face completely drained of color.
Something was wrong.
Reagan
“Uncle Buddy” came to visit me in my room for the first time five months after Charlie left. He hadn’t made a sound as he’d sat on the edge of my bed, and I’d sensed his presence rather than heard it. I’d clutched the covers to my neck, paralyzed with fear, as I’d frantically searched the dark corners of my room for Jacob. But he’d apparently woken up some time during the night and had gone back to his own room. I was on my own.
Uncle Buddy wasn’t gonna hurt me, no, he just wanted to give me a hug. And should I be dumb enough to scream, well, little Alex was just in the other room. And we wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, now would we? He’d picked me up, sat me on his lap and wrapped me in a bear hug. I’d sat at still as I could, fearing the worst, but he’d been true to his word. He’d just wanted a hug. Never mind that his arms were like unyielding bands of steel, wrapped around my own, effectively trapping them so I was unable to move. He’d held me in a vice grip for what seemed like hours, while I stared at the wall, exhausted but too frightened to fall back asleep. Finally, he’d stood up and laid me back down in my bed and walked out my door just as silently as he’d came in. I’d been too scared to get up and change the pajamas I’d peed in, and had instead laid there, silently crying, until fatigue had overtaken me and I’d fallen asleep.
And so began six months of hugs from Uncle Buddy. I lived in constant fear that each night would be the night he would do something to really hurt me, or my brothers. For six long months, I sat trapped in his arms, and for six long months, I continued to wet the bed. I took great pains to hide this from my brothers; Alex was too little to really understand, but Jacob may have actually taken it upon himself to do something about my nightly visitor. And I couldn’t risk anything happening to him. After Charlie, Jacob was the only protection I had, little though it was. So of course telling him was not an option. My mother was oblivious, as always, so telling her was pointless, as well. And finally, after six months of my own private hell, Uncle Buddy just simply stopped showing up. I had stayed up all night, sitting on the edge of my bed, out of my mind from fear and lack of sleep, but he’d never showed. I never saw him again.
And that was that.
I blinked, realizing Nathan was staring down at me, confusion spread across his features. I cursed myself for not having made my self-imposed dating restrictions clear long before now. I should have known.
He dropped his arms and I immediately put space between us. Cold sweat covered my back, and I was on the verge of completely losing it. I had to get out of here before that happened. I reached blindly for my discarded blouse, grabbing it and shoving my arms clumsily inside.
“Thank you for dinner. I should really be going. I’m sorry.” I stumbled over my words, refusing to look at Nathan and see the disgust I knew would be in his eyes. He had to be wondering what kind of dick tease he had invited to his home. Things had been going so good, and I had impatiently waited throughout his entire tour for him to bring me to this room. I had wanted to be here, anticipated it; promising myself I was going to forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t be and just let whatever happened, happen. Nathan wasn’t an idiot, and I’m sure he could read all the signals I had been giving him. To go from that, to this?
I was a mess, a panic ridden, complicated mess. And men like Nathan Preston didn’t do complicated or messy. They didn’t have to.
I said nothing more, and hurried out of the room and down the stairs, hastily buttoning my shirt as I went. I was in the kitchen grabbing my bag when he caught up to me.
“Reagan, what’s wrong? I don’t--”
I halted mid-step on my way to the door. “It’s. . . .Nothing, okay? Shit, I’m sorry. So very sorry.” Tears made my voice shaky, and threatened to spill out the corners of my eyes. Damn! “I just really need to go.”
“Wait,” he said hastily. “Let me drive you. It’ll take forever to get a cab.”
My heart fractured. Why was he being so nice? I didn’t want him being nice. I wanted him to be careless. I wanted him to toss me aside as easily as a misguided attempt at a late night booty call. I wanted him to get rid of me so I could fall apart away from his relentless gaze, and not have to explain the very painful reasons for my actions of the last five minutes. It would be so much easier. “No, please. . . I—“
He walked slowly around to stand in front of me, and I stared at his feet, still unwilling to meet his gaze. He reached out a hand as if to touch my arm, but then dropped it. “Let me call my driver then. He’s just a few streets over. Please, I insist.”
I tightened my hold on my bag, and gave a small nod of my head. He quickly left to make a phone call, and I heard muffled sounds of his voice coming from the other room. I closed my eyes and slowly counted to ten, forcing myself to take deep breaths. I had never been so mortified.
“Max will be here in minutes,” Nathan announced upon returning to the foyer. “Reagan, I—“
“Thank you, Nathan. You didn’t have to do that.” Why couldn’t he just let me go?
I felt the heat of his gaze, even as I made a big show of putting on my heels by the door. Once done, there was nothing but awkward silence between us. I knew I should explain, he deserved at least that much, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I hadn’t explained myself since I was thirteen and Helen had made me see a therapist. I’d never spoken of Uncle Buddy’s visits to another living soul since then, and my stomach lurched violently at the thought of having to do so now.
His cell phone beeped loudly in the silence, startling us both. He slowly, hesitantly, reached past me and opened the door, allowing me to walk out before him. The Escalade was back, and Nathan’s driver was standing at the back passenger door, waiting for me. I started to climb in, but at the last minute I couldn’t help myself. I turned to Nathan and found him watching me, confusion and bewilderment in his eyes. He looked as if he wanted to speak, but didn’t.
“Thank you, for tonight. You outdid yourself. . . “I stopped, staring hard into his eyes. I wanted to scream in rage at the thought this thing between us may be over before it ever truly began. A slight dip of his head was the only acknowledgement he gave at hearing my words. His driver was still waiting patiently by the door, so I turned and crawled into the b
ackseat. Nathan quietly gave Max my address, and after another moment of awkward silence where I refused to look at him, he shut the door. Max climbed in the driver’s seat and without another word, we were off.
I watched Nathan in the rearview mirror as we drove away. I felt as if I was breaking into a million pieces, although I knew I had no real right to feel this way. So yeah, we were obviously attracted to one another, and yeah, we had been well on our way to things getting very physical, but it wasn’t as if we were dating. We weren’t in a relationship. I didn’t even do relationships, not really, and I had no idea if he did either. There was so much about him I didn’t know, and quite obviously a wealth of things he had no clue about me. . .so why was I feeling as if I’d lost the most important thing in the world to me? I hadn’t had Nathan; how could I lose him?
We turned a corner and he fell out of sight. I stifled a sob and continued to stare out the window, buildings racing by in a blur. Max, God bless his soul, kept silent, not giving me so much as a glance as he drove. Something told me this was not the first time he’d whisked some woman of Nathan’s off in the night. I hated that I was one of them. Because even now, I wanted to be back at his house, in his arms, in his bed. I wanted it badly. It was the cruelest of ironies that the first time I actually wanted someone to hold me, he wasn’t able to because I turned to stone the second he tried. I despised this about myself, and not for the first time, I imagined being twelve years old again and putting a bullet in Uncle Buddy’s face.
I closed my eyes against the image. Seriously? Complicated and messy didn’t begin to describe me.
Max pulled up in front of my apartment building and I mumbled a hasty “Thanks” and hurried to the door. He waited until I was inside and then drove off. Once inside, I headed to the bathroom and stripped down. Turning on the hot water, I stepped inside and slid down against the shower wall, finally succumbing to the myriad of emotions that had raged through me in the last hour. As the hot water pounded across my body, and mixed with the salty tears that streamed down my face, I rested my head on my bent knees and wondered how I would ever face Nathan again.
Made to Love Page 10
