Pretty Broken Dreams: A Pretty Broken Standalone Novel

by Jeana E. Mann

  “No. I mean, yes. I can.” A moment of silence stretches across the phone line. “I’m just surprised.”

  “I know. I keep thinking about you.”

  Her admission sends my pulse into overdrive. The project is forgotten. I push away from the desk. “How about dinner tonight?” My breath catches in my throat as I wait for her answer.

  ***

  Later that night, I wait with sweating palms for her at the restaurant. It’s dark and quiet, tucked away from the busy streets of New York. I chose the location because it’s convenient, and the chances of running into one of my clients are slim. Vanessa arrives ten minutes late. My gaze snaps to her the moment she passes through the entrance.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I had trouble catching a cab.” Her cheeks are pink from the cold, her eyes bright. She bites her lower lip; she’s as nervous as I am. The gesture endears her to me even more.

  “No problem. I just got here myself.” A total lie, but she doesn’t need to know that I arrived thirty minutes early. I stand, help her remove her coat then slide the chair out for her. She smiles at me over her shoulder. Is it my imagination, or has she gotten prettier since the last time we met? Her hair is longer, sun-streaked, and trails down her back in loose curls. A golden glow lights her smooth skin. I long to brush my knuckles over the curve of her cheek.

  “The weather here is horrific.” A shiver shakes her shoulders. “It was eighty degrees when I left San Francisco.” I resist the urge to put an arm around her. We’re friends now, not lovers. If I cross the line, I may never be able to go back.

  “You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” I tease. An awkward silence thickens the air between us. She glances down at her plate. I toy with the silverware, realigning the knife and fork with my plate.

  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” The tip of her tongue slides across her lower lip, like she’s parched.

  “Yeah. Me, too.” Our eyes meet. Electricity arcs between us. All the words evaporate from my brain. The various shades of emerald in her irises suck me into their depths. We manage more pleasantries over the meal, but all I can think about is how soft her lips look and how they might taste.

  We both reach for the salt at the same time. Our fingers brush. She jerks like she’s been stung. I draw in a sharp breath. We stare at each other. I want to dive across the table and claim her sexy mouth. Instead, I glance toward the window and the quiet street outside where snowflakes swirl through the air. Vanessa clears her throat. I tap my fingers on my knee.

  “So how are your classes?” Fog fills my brain. Time is running out. Any minute, she’s going to leave, and I’m never going to see her again. Panic swells in my chest.

  “You already asked me that.” A tiny furrow deepens between her brows. Could this get any more awkward? I search for something to say, anything to keep her from walking out the door, but it’s too late. “I’m sorry.” She removes her napkin from her lap and tosses it onto her plate. “This was a bad idea.”

  Chapter 24

  Vanessa - Twelve Years Ago

  I DON’T KNOW what I was thinking. Maybe I hoped we could be friends, or maybe I just wanted to prove to myself that our summer interlude had been a fluke. I had built him up in my imagination to be a beautiful sex god, perfect and unattainable. Sitting next to him in the restaurant only exacerbates the problem. My thighs tremble. My panties are damp. He’s wearing a starched light blue dress shirt that brings out the color in his eyes. The material stretches over shoulders broad with muscle and a stomach I know is rippled by a six-pack. When I draw in a cleansing breath, his cologne permeates my senses.

  “Wait. Where are you going? Is it something I said?” Cam stands with me.

  “It’s fine. I just—I need to go.” I try to shove a shaking arm into the sleeve of my coat, but I can’t find the opening.

  Cam takes the coat from me and guides my arms into it. He turns me around to face him and buttons up the front. When he’s finished, he holds the lapels, pinning me in place. “You can’t go.” The deep rumble of his voice awakens all the feelings I’ve been trying to squelch.

  “Why not?” My mouth goes dry as he leans forward, brushing his lips over the shell of my ear.

  “Because I’m not done with you.” He takes a long perusal of my body before returning to my eyes. “Yet.”

  “What is it, exactly, that you’re going to do to me?” I’m playing with fire, but I don’t care.

  “I’ve got plenty of ideas.” His gaze focuses on my mouth. “Most of them involve separating you from that dress.”

  The dress is red, form-fitting, and falls just above my knees. My waist looks incredibly small, my breasts amazingly high. I agonized before wearing it. Judging by the darkness of his eyes, I made the right choice.

  He pays the waiter then takes my hand and leads me out the door. “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “To my place.”

  ***

  The second we cross the threshold of his apartment, I’m shoved up against the wall, pinned by his hips. One of his hands grips the back of my head while the other slides from my knee to the garter belt on my upper thigh. He shoves the hem of the dress to my waist then leans back to survey the garter belt and matching lace panties.

  “This is nice,” he whispers into my neck. He snaps the elastic garter against my skin. “I’m going to fuck you with these on.”

  The resistance melts out of my body. We’re travelling down the road to disaster, but I can’t stop. I dig my hands into his beautiful hair, tugging on the curls until he grunts. “Do me here. Now.”

  “Whatever you want. Any way you want it.” His words burn against my neck. “All you have to do is ask, princess.”

  The zipper of my dress growls, and the material puddles at my feet. I step out of it, wearing only my lingerie. Cam’s eyelids lower as he takes in my body. I can’t think when he looks at me like that, like he’s dying to have me. I rip open the front of his shirt. The buttons ping on the hardwood floor, scattering in a dozen different directions. Our harsh breathing echoes through the quiet. While I fumble with his belt buckle, he digs for a condom in his wallet. I yank down his pants and underwear. His cock bounces forward, hard and straight, thick with veins.

  “Put this on me.” He presses the condom into my hand.

  I roll the condom over his shaft. When I’m done, he lifts me onto the credenza next to the door. The wood is cold; the edge bites into my buttocks. Cam spreads my legs and slides into me with one push. The delicious friction sends shockwaves into my center. His thrusts are wild, uncontrolled, and desperate. I hold onto the credenza, thighs locked around his waist. He pounds into me, banging the piece of furniture against the wall with each hammer of his hips.

  “God, you’re so wet, so tight.” His praise causes my walls to flutter.

  I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror on the opposite wall. His bare ass fucks into me, lean muscles contracting, pants tangled around his ankles. My lipstick is smeared, my hair a mess. The reflection turns me on. I tighten my legs around his waist. The burn of impending orgasm heightens.

  “You like watching?” Cam follows my gaze to the mirror. He lifts me from the credenza, drops my feet to the floor, and spins me around to face the mirror. “Put your hands on the glass.”

  I do as I’m told, too crazy for release to question his order. He smooths a hand over my bottom and gives it a smart slap. “Such a nice, round ass. Arch your back and show me that ass,” he says into my ear.

  The tip of his cock slides along my seam then buries deep inside me. Our groans fill the air. From this angle, he reaches the most sensitive places, making my channel quiver. My senses are filled to the top with Cam. He’s everywhere, his scent, his touch, his cock. It’s too much to process—his kisses, his dirty words, his giant dick stretching my sex.

  Strong hands grip my hips. He slams into me over and over and over until I can’t think about anything but coming. My lips ache from his kisses. My chin burns from
the scrape of his stubble. I squeeze my eyes shut, overloaded by all the sensations. Cam cups my breasts. With his forefinger and thumb, he tweaks my nipples. The sting propels me over the edge. Orgasm ripples through my core. Waves of pleasure radiate down my legs. I whimper and clutch at the mirror to keep from falling.

  Cam wraps an arm around my waist and stills. He comes with a low moan, shifting to drive deeper into me, holding me in place. The warmth of his chest brushes against my back. I open my eyes to find him peering at our reflection over my shoulder. A blush colors my cheeks. I look wild and well-fucked. Cam arches an eyebrow. I glance away.

  “Don’t go shy on me now.” He’s still inside me. His words vibrate into my center. “Not while I’m balls deep in you.”

  “I don’t know how this happened.” I can’t meet his gaze. Sex was never my intention. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

  Cam cups my chin his hand and turns my face to the mirror. “Look at you. You’re amazing.” His free hand roams over my breast, across my waist, and down to the V of my thighs. “For the rest of my life, I’ll remember this.”

  “Will you?” I want to believe him.

  “Damn straight, I will.” A sigh escapes us both as we uncouple. I glance around for my dress, intending to cover my body, but Cam shakes his head. “Not so fast. Now that I’ve got you here, I’m going to make the most of it.”

  We have sex on every flat surface of his apartment. He’s every bit as good as I remember. By the time we finish, my body aches in places I never knew existed.

  “I’d better call a cab,” I say, and move toward the edge of the bed. Darkness fills the room.

  “Stay.” Cam grabs my hand and tugs me toward him.

  “Are you sure?”

  “It’s late, and this bed is warm.” He pats the mattress. “Come on. You know you want to.”

  After pretending to deliberate, I give into temptation and return to the comfort of his bed. He spoons me, his front to my back, a protective arm around my waist. Each of his breaths puffs against the back of my neck, punctuated by occasional kisses and the scrape of his beard. He tucks the blanket around our shoulders, enveloping us in a cocoon of warmth.

  In the morning, the urgent press of his cock against my bottom awakens us both. Soft yellow sunshine spills through the window to pool on the bed. We make love, heedless of morning breath. This time he’s slow and deliberate, covering every inch of my body with his lips and fingers. I return the favor, tasting the salt of his skin, memorizing the dips and swells of his taut form. I like the way he grunts when I cup his balls, the tight squeeze of his eyelids as I stroke his shaft, the way his long, black eyelashes fan over his high, flat cheekbones.

  “You’re something else, you know that?” Cam rolls onto his back and tucks an arm behind his head to watch me. I try to swing my legs to the floor, but he blocks the move with his large body. Using his opposite arm, he tugs me into his chest, refusing to let me escape. “Where’s the fire, blondie?” he asks. A smile of amusement bows his lips.

  “No fire. I just— I should probably— I need—” I sigh and glance around the room.

  “Do you have an appointment or something?”

  “No, but I’m sure you have things to do.”

  “My calendar is free all day. Now lie back and snuggle with me, or I’m going to think you’re only using me for sex.”

  The absurd idea makes me giggle. I turn onto my side and curl into the nook of his shoulder. Laziness seeps into my bones. A girl could get used to this. After a while, his breathing evens out and his eyes close. I take the opportunity to look him over in detail. He’s got a small scar above his left eyebrow, faint but enough to give him a dangerous air. I trace the knife edge of his nose with a fingertip then follow the bow of his lips. Beneath his left breast, the word trust has been inked into his skin. I run a finger along the script letters. It must be hard for him to trust anyone after what he’s been through. The people closest to him, his parents, the ones meant to protect him, are the ones who betrayed him. I’m not sure how a person gets over something so horrific.

  He cracks an eyelid. “That tickles.”

  “I like your tattoo. Where’d you get it?”

  “London.”

  “England?” My eyebrows arch.

  “Yes.” He squirms, as I continue to trace the word, and grabs my finger. “Stop. I’m super ticklish.”

  “Do you travel a lot?” The mystery of Cameron Blackwood continues to deepen.

  “When I can. Business takes me overseas from time to time.” The edge of his teeth bite into his bottom lip.

  “What business?” I walk my fingers along his ribcage, enjoying his boyish grin, loving the way he’s playful and at ease.

  “The kind that takes me overseas.” Without warning, he shifts, curling me beneath him, settling his weight on my legs. He stretches my arms over my head. “I told you to stop tickling me. Now I’m going to have to punish you.”

  “I can’t wait,” I murmur and sink into the luxury of his kiss.

  We alternate sleep with sex until noon. I refuse to spend the entire day in bed, although Cam seems to like the idea.

  “This is the most sleep I’ve had in years,” he admits and makes a grab for my hand to pull me back into bed. I squeal and jump aside. He groans. “Why do you want to steal that from me?”

  “I’m starving.” I toss a pillow at him. He catches it and stuffs it behind his back. “If you don’t feed me, I’m going to evaporate into nothing.”

  “Let me see what I can scrounge up in the kitchen.” After dropping a kiss on my forehead, he ambles out of the bedroom, naked, leaving me to admire the fine view of his backside.

  I head to the shower, taking note of Cam’s apartment along the way. The place is spacious by New York standards, but it’s the quality of detail that catches my attention. Hardwood floors, crown moldings, plush carpets. I don’t know a lot about real estate, but I suspect this isn’t a cheap rental. The more I get to know him, the more questions I have.

  Clean and refreshed, I follow the scent of bacon through a dark, masculine living room to the kitchen. Cam stands in front of the stove, wearing only an apron. His bare ass is taut and muscular and gives me heart palpitations. He grins over his shoulder. When he turns around, the front of his apron is the torso of a bikini-clad woman.

  “Very nice.” I bite my tongue to hold back a laugh.

  “Thanks.” He smooths a hand over the woman’s enormous breasts. “How do you like my bodacious bazingas? Not as nice as yours, but they’re all mine.”

  “You’re terrible.” I smack his bare ass. The sound rings through the kitchen, above the sizzle of the frying pan.

  He gives me a lingering kiss, stealing my breath and composure. “I’ve been told that a time or two.” He spins me out like a ballerina before getting back to the oven.

  “Do I smell coffee?” I glance around hopefully.

  He points with his spatula to a carafe near the refrigerator. “I hope you like it strong.”

  “Is there any other way?”

  The air between us is relaxed, easy. My shyness falls away. I rummage through the cabinets for plates and make orange juice from a can. Cam pauses from his culinary endeavors for an occasional kiss or caress.

  I pause to study a faded photograph stuck to the refrigerator door with a magnet. It’s a smiling woman, holding a toddler and a young Cam at her side. She’s wearing a flowing sundress, her curly hair held back by a scarf. The little girl is fair-skinned and fine-boned, and doesn’t look like either of them. I trace her figure with a fingertip.

  “That’s my sister and my mom,” Cam says, stopping at my side. “Her parents came here from Botswana, looking for a better life.” He smiles sadly then resumes his station behind the stove.

  “Do you ever see your grandparents?” My curiosity continues to grow with every passing second. He fascinates me.

  “No. They cut ties with my mom when she married my dad. Not because he
’s white, but because he’s a bastard. Every now and then, they’ll call, asking for money.” His tone is matter-of-fact, but it creates an ache in my chest. “I don’t have any butter. We’ll have to make due with jam.” When he turns around his expression is blank, but I know it’s to hide the pain.

  “Jam is fine,” I reply brightly and search for a less upsetting subject. “This place is really nice. How can you afford to live here?” The kitchen is compact but functional. White subway tile gleams above granite countertops. I ease onto a barstool to wait for his answer.

  He looks up from a skillet of scrambled eggs and cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t meet my gaze. “I have something called a job—several, in fact.”

  “When do you find time to study?”

  “I don’t sleep much, remember?”

  “Right.” His answer doesn’t give much satisfaction, but I decide to let it go for now. After all, this is a casual hookup and not a marriage proposal. Isn’t it? I’m not so sure anymore.

  “Do you like ketchup on your eggs?” With a practiced twist of his wrist, he dumps the eggs onto a platter.

  “Ew. No. Gross.” I recoil in horror, making him laugh. I love the sound—deep, masculine, and unfettered.

  “So when are you going back?” he asks.

  “Day after tomorrow.” The topic reminds me that this is just a fling, a temporary fix to relieve the buildup of sexual tension I’ve been suffering. “I’m having lunch with my mom then I’m heading back.”

  “Your mother lives here?”

  “Yes. She has an apartment in Manhattan.” I don’t want to answer questions about her. Our relationship is strained at best. Something is drawing me to her this holiday season, however.

  “But your dad lives in Laurel Falls?” He gives me a sideways glance beneath his lashes.

  “Yes. And we have a country house up near Chicago.” I have no idea how to explain my parents’ unorthodox living arrangements, but I decide to give it a try. “They’ve lived like that for as long as I can remember. Dad has his life, and Mom has hers.”