by Shandi Boyes
“State? Try the world. Especially if you get a sneaky dick pic of Noah.”
When our chauffeured limousine glides down our street, Wesley rests his cheek on my shoulder. “Thanks for doing this for me, Poppet. Although this is something I’ve wanted for years, it doesn’t make it any less daunting.”
“It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me,” I reply, truthfully. Wesley thinks he is the only one benefitting from our friendship. He isn’t. He has saved me more times than I can count.
“I’ll always be there to keep you sane,” Wesley taunts as the limo pulls into the curb of our building.
George opens the rear door for us and we climb out. Just like they have every time I'm standing outside of my building, my eyes scan the street. The sidewalks are packed with people dodging the refreshing sprinkle of rain that will blanket the city with steamy heat the instant it is over.
When I nudge Wesley with my shoulder, he locks his beautiful eyes with mine. “Ravenshoe is a huge town, so the chances of running into Carey would have to be. . .”
“Slim, minuscule, no fucking chance in hell,” Wesley fills in, believing he is articulating the response I want to hear. He isn’t.
I not only want to see Carey again; I want to feel him as well.
Chapter 18
Five Days Later. . .
The chances of my wish being granted grow when the first face I spot while exiting a private jet on an abandoned runway on the outskirts of Hopeton is Carey. He is standing to the side of a white stretch limousine. My pulse quickens when I absorb the crisp black suit and white dress shirt he is wearing. The fitted design of the suit showcases his tall, powerful frame fittingly and adds to the stifling heat consuming me from the midday sun. From his protective stance, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to reach the conclusion that he is on duty. He has the dark and brooding composure all security details seem to have, but his eyes are void of the shock mine are carrying. Did he know I was coming?
The commanding appeal his protective stance demands isn’t as effective on me. I’ve seen him naked. Nothing strips away a man’s guard more effectively than removing his clothes. After giving my eyes a few more minutes to scandalously drink in every inch of Carey, I crank my neck back to Wesley. I don’t need to ask if his hottie radar is working. His slackened jaw and bulging eyes are a clear indication he's also spotted Carey.
“You owe me twenty dollars,” I declare before walking down the private jet’s small flight of stairs.
Wesley was adamant my lack of sexual contact the past year screwed my hotness radar, so he happily pledged to cook dinner for a week if he was proven wrong. Considering cooking isn’t Wesley’s strong point, I negotiated the provisions of our bet to a monetary value.
“I don’t owe you shit. You said he was an eleven. He is clearly not an eleven,” Wesley argues.
After waving a greeting to Emily and a pretty blonde lady pacing toward us, I shift my eyes to Wesley. “Are you jealous?” I ask, laughter in my tone.
Wesley has no reason to be jealous. Although Carey is insanely gorgeous, so is Wesley. If they were put side by side in a room, you’d have more than a few ladies—and maybe even a handful of men—passing out from high blood pressure.
“Ah, no,” Wesley retorts, his voice surprisingly stern. “Carey isn’t an eleven because, just like me, there isn’t a number high enough to rate that hotness.” He flings off his reading glasses and inappropriately rakes his eyes over Carey. “If you don’t go round two with him, Poppet, I’m going to be tempted to break our no fraternization policy.”
Before I get the chance to reprimand Wesley for even considering breaking our no dating the same guy rule, Emily appears at our side.
“Hi! We’re so glad you’re both here,” she greets before wrapping me up in a tight hug.
Not being an overly huggy type of person, I return her embrace before taking a step backward. “Thanks for believing in us enough to offer your support.”
Emily waves her hand across her body. “All I did was place your work into the hands of the right people. Your talents are what deserves the credit.”
A normal person could construe Emily’s statement as butt-kissing, but she expresses herself with a sense of confidence that displays the genuine truth in her statement. She may be gushing, but she believes in what she is saying.
After greeting Wesley with the same amount of enthusiasm she instilled on me, Emily introduces us to her friend, Jenni, who looks young. If I had to guess her age, I’d say late teens, early twenties. She has strawberry blonde hair and petite facial features. Her eyes are a similar color as Hugo’s but a shade lighter, and she stands a good six inches shorter than Wesley’s six-foot height. She is beautiful, but has an aura like Emily, one that encourages positive thoughts instead of jealousy.
While pacing to the limousine, Emily updates us on the plan for today. On route to the studio Destiny Records has created for me in Ravenshoe, Wesley will be dropped at Destiny Records headquarters in Hopeton for a one on one meeting with their song writer, Mickey. If all goes to plan, I’ll be photographing the members of Rise Up tomorrow afternoon, while Wesley will have his first recording session with Noah tomorrow morning.
“I know it is all a little frantic, but the record label wants to ride the high the band is having as long as possible,” Emily explains halfway to the limousine.
I suck in deep breaths, trying to ignore my body’s acute consciousness of Carey’s encroaching closeness. It’s a pointless endeavor.
Failing to notice my inflamed cheeks, Emily continues, “If we keep the schedule we are aiming for, Wesley’s collaboration with Noah will be included on the one year anniversary CD, and your photos will capture a side of the band the public has not yet seen.”
“Sounds ideal,” I reply, excitement in my tone.
“Brilliant,” Wesley adds after giving my hand a squeeze.
The more I strive to ignore my body’s perception of Carey, the more alert it becomes. He is impossible for me to ignore. Especially since his unique virile smell gets stronger with every step we take. He smells divine, and looks even yummier.
“Don’t let Hawke frighten you,” whispers Jenni, leaning into my side. “His hard shell is just a cover for the big squishy heart he has inside.”
The flushed hue of pink on my cheeks escalates. Although Carey acts like he didn’t hear Jenni, I know he heard every word she said. His straight-lined lips hardened with every syllable she spoke.
Pretending I can’t feel Carey’s muscle-quivering stare, I mumble, “From the way he looks in that suit, I’d say that’s the only squishy thing on his entire body.”
Jenni’s cheeks flame with heat as her wide-eyed gaze rockets to Carey. The more she takes him in, the more her pupils dilate. “Yeah, I’d have to agree with you,” she admits, her words muffled with girlish laughter.
I feel like I’ve stepped back into my college days when Jenni loops her arms around Emily and they giggle like schoolyard children. I’m not going to lie, their laughter is contagious, and it takes all of my effort not to snicker alongside them. The only reason I don’t is because my witty banter didn’t lessen Carey’s furious scowl the slightest. If anything, it made him more irate. Even scowling, he is ridiculously striking.
When we reach the edge of the limousine, I gesture with my hand for Emily and Jenni to enter before us. They slip into the back seat without a snick of hesitation. Not a word escapes Wesley’s lips when I nudge my head for him to follow—unless you include the throaty moan he indiscreetly emits after raking his eyes over Carey standing guard by the limo door.
After playfully kicking Wesley’s ankle, I raise my heavy-hooded eyes to Carey. Even with his murky gaze clouded with anger, I can’t stop my lips from curving into a smile. I truly didn’t believe I’d ever gain back the raw hunger you feel when standing next to a man as appealing as Carey. His scent alone is a serious aphrodisiac for me. The rush of desire. The vortex of emotions
. The unquenchable thirst. Those are stimuli I regained during my night with Carey. If one night was so rewarding, imagine what could be achieved with another. The possibilities are endless.
When my blatant gawk is awarded with silence, I squeak out, “Hello.”
I bite on the inside of my cheek when my one word expresses way more than it should have. Why didn’t you return my texts and calls? Why have I spent more time missing you than I’ve known you? And why do I want to kiss the sadness from your eyes even when you’re evilly glaring at me?
“Hello,” Carey replies, his tone as clipped as his reply.
I wait for a deluge of questions to bombard me. All I get is silence. When he gestures his head to the limousine, soundlessly advising for me to enter, I swallow down the sick gloom spreading through me and do as requested. I’m clueless as to what has caused Carey’s cold demeanor. I know our last meeting didn’t exactly follow the protocol of a typical one-night stand, but I didn’t realize our situation was so dire. We’re both adults, so cold shoulders are not required. If his interest in me isn’t as gripping as my interests in him, I'm woman enough to gracefully bow out of my endeavor to spend more time with him. He just needs to say the word.
Since Emily and Jenni are seated on one side of the dual leather benches, I take the empty seat next to Wesley, who is sitting across from them. Late August temperatures make the interior stuffy, but the climate turns calamitous when Carey slides into the empty seat next to Jenni. After he speaks into a device tucked in the sleeve of his suit, the limousine lunges forward.
“Very James Bond,” Wesley murmurs.
Ignoring how the confined space compromises my efforts to act unaffected by Carey, I lean in to Wesley’s side. “You don’t think it’s a bit overkill?”
He scoffs before shaking his head. “No. You know as well as anyone, Poppet, there are some fucked-up people in this world. If I could afford to hire a fleet of bodyguards to shadow your every movement, you’d never pee alone again.”
Even knowing what he says is true, I pop my elbow into his ribs. “You sound like my father.”
“Who do you think planted the seed in my head?” Wesley replies, chuckling.
For every mile we travel, the bristling energy bouncing between Carey and me grows. Unlike our night together five weeks ago, this time, the energy isn’t fired with lust. It is an uncomfortable, stomach-churning vibrancy that makes me wish the limousine had barf bags dangling from the headrests like the private jet did.
My attention diverts from trying to work out Carey’s shift in demeanor when Jenni questions, “How long have you two been together?”
My pupils widen to the size of dinner plates. “Oh…umm… Ca—” I attempt to refute, believing Jenni has detected the irrefutable connection between Carey and me.
“Nearly a month,” Wesley interjects, sliding his hand into my sweaty, clenched fist.
I balk before snapping my eyes to Wesley. I stare at him, blinking and muted when he adds on, “It was lucky I jumped in early and snapped her up before anyone else got the chance.”
Emily and Jenni sigh in sync. I sigh too, but mine isn’t as pleasant as theirs. Wesley keeps his head hanging low, refusing to look at me. He is lucky, as I’m glaring at him with more anger than my eyes have ever possessed. He may not survive this death stare.
The anger heating my veins gets a moment of reprieve when a shiver runs down my spine. Pushing my anger aside, I swing my eyes to Carey. He isn’t peering out the window, pretending to act unmoved by Wesley’s false declaration. He is staring straight at me—cold-eyed and emotionless. It hurts me to see the vulnerability in his eyes. So much so, I nearly blurt out the truth. The only reason I don’t is because the limousine comes to a stop at the front of a glass-front building marked Destiny Records.
Feeling the thick tension suffocating the air, Emily says, “We’ll give you two a few minutes to say goodbye.”
“Yeah… umm… I need to pee anyway,” Jenni declares, strengthening Emily’s suggestion. From the pink coloring adorning her cheeks, I can tell she is lying.
At Jenni’s request, Carey clambers out of the stationary vehicle. Disappointed, I turn my eyes to Wesley. “What the hell, Wesley?” I grumble under my breath. “Why did you say we’re a couple?”
Wesley waits for Carey, Jenni, and Emily to fully exit the limousine before drifting his eyes to me. “I like him, Poppet; he is gorgeous, and I could imagine how good he looks under that suit. But he isn’t the man for you.”
“What? What are you talking about? You haven’t even formally met him yet.”
“The ten-minute trip was all I needed,” Wesley retorts, glancing into my eyes. “You were practically humping his leg outside the limo, and all you got in response for your eagerness was a brief hello he’d give a stranger on the street. Then he spent the last ten minutes glaring at you like you’re the person who dwindled his grandmother’s retirement fund. If I treated any of the girls I shared a bed with like that, you would have me lynched.”
“You don’t understand him. He has a lot going on,” I say, defending Carey the only way I know how, by using his grief as an excuse for his erratic moods.
The anger in Wesley’s eyes dampens. “I understand that, Poppet, but being a widower doesn’t give him the right to be an asshole.”
“He isn’t. You just need to give him a chance.”
“A chance to destroy you. I can’t do that. You can’t ask me to do that.”
Tears burn my eyes because it hurts my heart just thinking that Wesley can’t see the qualities I’ve already witnessed in Carey. To outsiders, his brutish demeanor and standoffish approach may make him appear dark and dangerous, but that isn’t who he is. He is a man struggling to emerge from the suffering he’s endured. That doesn’t make him heartless and mean. It makes him real.
“Wesley,” I breathe out when he slides across the leather seat in preparation to exit the limo.
The pain in my chest triples when he cranks his neck back and peers at me. “Have I ever steered you wrong?”
It kills me, but I shake my head.
“Then trust me, Gem. He is never going to give you what you deserve.”
After pressing a kiss to my sweat-drenched forehead, he exits the vehicle without a backward glance.
Chapter 19
Hawke
When Wesley exits the limousine, it takes all my strength not to reward his cocky smirk with a knock to his chin. Although I should take comfort in the fact he and Gemma didn’t become a couple until after the night we spent together, reining in my desire to unleash my anger on him is proving to be a difficult task.
The past month has been both a challenging and rewarding one. My night with Gemma five weeks ago created the first solid crack in my grief in nearly five years; then, with each day that has followed, smaller—nearly invisible—cracks are slowly chipping away at the heaviness sitting on my chest. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not even close to being a tenth of the man I was when I married Jorgie, but I’m trying to bring back some of the qualities she loved about me the most. Particularly, my sense of family.
That’s been a whole heap easier to do since Hugo, Ava, and Joel moved to Ravenshoe two weeks ago. As per Ava’s request, Joel and I have been spending some time with each other the past week. It is amazing how you can take the best of two people and cram it into one little four-year-old with big, inquisitive eyes and a brain like a sponge. Joel is the perfect combination of both Hugo and Ava. He has Hugo’s cheeky personality and fondness for sweets, but he is kind-hearted and smart just like Ava.
Although every minute I spend with Joel has me wondering what things Malcolm would have accomplished if his life wasn’t cruelly cut short, surprisingly, I don’t feel any guilt when I’m with him. The innocence in a child’s eyes is remarkably comforting to an adult wading through grief. There are times where I’d give anything to see the world through Joel’s eyes. To see a world without the filter of cruelty.
My eyes sw
ing to the side when a deep voice says, “So there is a soul hidden in there somewhere. I was starting to wonder why anyone would hire a heartless man to protect them. When you love someone, you protect them from the pain; you don’t cause it.”
Wesley straightens his spine, extending to his full height. Even if I weren’t wearing my black commando boots, I’d still be a good two to three inches taller than him. Although his eyes are screaming of arrogance, and his demeanor is giving off the potent smell of cockiness, I can tell he cares for Gemma. He has the same protective gleam in his eyes mine always held when I defended Jorgie. It’s the same gleam that fired in my eyes when I saw the panic wash onto Gemma’s face upon hearing Jenni’s intrusive question. Jenni is a great girl, wonderful mother, and an even better friend, but she has no filter whatsoever when it comes to privacy. Both she and Emily have the unfortunate knack of wanting to know every single detail of your life. I’ve been caught unaware by them many times the past two months. No matter how much I silently plead with Nick and Noah to save me, they don’t throw me a lifejacket.
I’m not going to lie, when Jenni asked Gemma how long she and Wesley had been together, I initially thought she was referring to Gemma and me. Even angry at seeing Gemma and Wesley together again, I couldn’t shut down my body’s perception of Gemma’s closeness. My attraction to her is like a thirst no amount of water can quench. It is unquenchable, which is ludicrous considering she is the equivalent of a stranger. . . and she’s taken.
Gritting my teeth, I lock my eyes with Wesley. “I don’t need a soul or a heart to do my job. Just a gun.”
Wesley’s brows become concealed by the band of the cap he is wearing backwards. The shock in his eyes proves without a doubt that he read the hidden threat in my statement. I don’t know where the threat initiated from, or why I felt the need to use it, but Wesley’s stunned reaction makes me glad I couldn’t leash a side of me I haven’t seen in years. Jealousy has always been a curse of mine. Clearly, grief hasn’t altered my idiotic neurosis.
