by Shayla Black
With a sigh that tells me he’s grappling for patience, he finishes the last couple of swallows, then shoves the empty bottle onto the dresser again. “You’re too drunk and angry to hear me right now. Come with me.”
When he grabs my hand, I jerk out of his grasp. “Where?”
He shakes his head, his gaze confronting me with his exasperation. “Why does everything between us always have to be a chess match?”
“Because I don’t trust well. Three years ago, I poured out all the poor little-girl reasons why—and you still shit on me. So excuse me if I’m not jumping up and down to blindly follow you.”
“I deserve that,” he admits. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to help you.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“I still feel responsible.”
“Don’t you dare pity me!”
Suddenly, he tugs me close. I stumble over my own two feet because my equilibrium is shot. I admit, I’ve had too much to drink, and I shouldn’t be trying to make myself feel less sad with twenty-something ounces of wine. As a rule, I hardly drink, which is why this bottle has ruined my mood and disposition.
“That’s not what I feel,” he insists before he drags me up his body.
It’s impossible to miss his erection.
Then he distracts me by lifting me into his arms. The musky, all-male scent of him hits my nose and weakens my knees.
“What are you doing?” I shriek.
“Making sure you don’t regret tonight tomorrow.” He carries me across the bedroom, kicks open the door to my little walk-in closet, and sets me on my feet mere inches away.
I’m unsteady and I want to blame it all on the vino, but West is the cause of my dizziness. I struggle in the small, shadowed space, even more aware of his masculine scent. His big frame towers above me as he spins me away from him and grips my hip, holding me exactly where he wants me while he tugs the zipper down my back.
I freeze as his breath warms my nape. His heat envelops me. My breathing picks up. My heart races.
Only West has ever made me respond purely like a woman.
I should protest his touch, but in the next moment he engulfs my shoulders with his big hands and glides his fingers down my goose-pimpled arms, easing the dress away from my body.
At his touch, I tighten. I tingle. I swallow hard and scramble to find my brain. Finally, I manage to yank the dress back to my chest and twist from his grasp. “Don’t touch me.”
He pauses, inhaling sharply. Then he lifts his hands in the air.
Instantly, I feel colder without his touch. The chill infuriates me. Why do I still respond to him?
“I only meant to help.” His deep voice sounds low and intimate in the two-by-two space.
No way can I give in to that.
“By undressing me?”
“By getting you out of this delicate white dress before you eat greasy pizza.”
“It’s not like I’m going to wear it anywhere.” On the other hand, he’s soberer than I am, so maybe he has a point. If nothing else, the dress holds memories. Not only did my older sister Ella wear it on her wedding day, it’s a symbol of all I’ve lost. I should probably want to burn it.
It’s annoying that I don’t.
“Fine. Get out so I can change.” I shoo him toward the door. “In fact, why don’t you leave altogether?”
But I already know he won’t. West is on some mission, which means he won’t give up until he’s good and ready.
“We have things to discuss. I’ll be in the kitchen with the pizza, waiting for you.”
Of course he’s going to commandeer my dinner so I have no choice but to follow him. Ruthless bastard.
“Don’t start eating without me,” I order as I take a step toward the closet door so I can shut it behind him.
Instead of gracefully enclosing myself in privacy, I trip on the lacy gown, over my own two feet, and grab his biceps to keep myself from falling. But it’s no use. I only manage to yelp as I drag him down to the floor with me.
Together, we land in an ignominious tangle of limbs and breaths, West somehow on top.
Shock freezes me. Right away, I’m aware of two inescapable facts: One, his erection is still ardently saluting me. Two, it feels much better to be nestled under West than I’d like.
“Get off.” I shove at him out of self-preservation.
He doesn’t move except to brush a wild strand of hair from my face with a soft stroke of his palm. “Eryn…”
Oh, god. He’s going to do or say something seductive that will melt me. That truth is obvious in his too-blue eyes.
I wasn’t lying when I told Echo that my non-solo orgasm quotient has been nil since West walked out of my life. But is a batch of screaming climaxes really a good reason to crawl between the sheets again with a total bastard? Hmm. Maybe. Or maybe that’s the wine talking. That must be it. I can’t admit aloud that I’ve missed him.
“Why is it, no matter what I do, you wind up on top—literally?” I try to sound mad. “You always had the upper hand during our engagement. But now you’ve been here five damn minutes, and I’m already at a disadvantage.”
I’m prepared for just about any response—except the man rolling us over until he’s on his back and I’m splayed on top of him. “Happy?”
Something sharp gathers on my tongue, but he short-circuits my ability to talk when his palms glide down my body, stroking the sides of my breasts, skimming my rib cage, before settling on my hips.
“Thrilled.” The word slips out way too breathy.
His earthy, musky scent fills my head again. Our gazes connect, his brimming with a heat that compels me. I try to get up and put distance between us, but I only end up bracing my hands on his shoulders with my thighs straddling his hips. Gently, he tightens his hands on my hips and nudges me against his unflagging erection.
“Honey, come closer.” His soft rasp commands me.
God, I want to.
My world narrows until I’m only aware of West. Of the way he looks at me. Of the way his heat seeps through the dress to warm me in places I haven’t been aware of in three long years.
Suddenly, he wraps his long, strong fingers around my wrists and tugs my palms from his shoulders until they’re flat against the low-shag carpet on either side of his head.
Now our hips are pressed together. My chest hovers just above his. His lips are even closer, and I smell the hint of wine on his breath.
I gulp. My heart slams into overdrive. My strength seems to give out.
Why have I always been weak when it comes to this man? From the first moment he spotted me in that crowded bar until right now, I just can’t seem to say no.
“What are you doing to me?” I breathe out.
He doesn’t answer, simply caresses his way back up my arms and wraps his fingers around my shoulders. A gentle pull I don’t have the strength to resist sends me tumbling until I’m braced on my elbows above him.
Our chests touch. My heart chugs frantically. Our lips are so close that with a simple dip of my head, I could experience again just how dizzying it feels to be swept up in Weston Quaid’s kiss.
I need to get up and away from this man. He confuses me, scrambles my brain, makes me want things I shouldn’t. Problem is, the longer we’re this close, the more his blue-eyed stare darkens on me—and the less I care about being cautious.
My elbows slip. My breasts crush against his hard chest. My lips are suspended barely a breath above his. I feel everything around me move and sway.
This is it, the kiss I’ve secretly waited for. God, I couldn’t move if I tried. I ache. I need. My head spins.
I close my eyes and surrender to the knowledge that desiring West is unavoidable. I can’t wait to feel him all around me—inside me—again.
Once I close the last of the distance between us, there will be no going back. I’ll be in his path again. He’ll consume me. He’ll have the power to turn me inside out.
Even
knowing that, I lower my head. Just one more inch, and we won’t be apart anymore…
Chapter Two
West
Eryn passed out—right on top of me. Last night, there I was, aching, blood roaring, a breath away from kissing her again. Then…merlot ended the moment.
Of course, I didn’t go to her apartment for sex. Or even to mend fences, though I wish we could. I keep telling myself it’s good nothing happened between us. She would have been too drunk to consent or remember. But ten hours later, I’ve barely slept and I’m still sporting a serious case of blue balls that masturbating did nothing to cure. All because I’m fixated on my ex—just like I was the first time we met and every moment I spent with her until I ended our engagement.
Damn it, I’d hoped after I saw her again that I’d realize her grip around my heart was all in my head. Nope. The only thing I learned last night was precisely why all my hooking up and swiping right these last three years has been pointless.
I’m still in love with Eryn Hope. And I’m the one man she will never touch again.
“Coffee?” asks a perky waitress wearing denim shorts and a white apron with JAVA AND JACKS emblazoned across the front.
“Please.” I’m going to need caffeine—and lots of it—to manage today.
The young woman pours and recites the day’s specials. I’m half listening because I’m not here for the food.
“What can I get you?” she asks, pad of paper and pen in hand.
“Steel-cut oatmeal and ten minutes alone with Eryn.”
The waitress pauses, eyeing me. “The oatmeal is no problem. My boss… Are you the reason she’s in such a crappy mood this morning?”
Probably, but I don’t mention that. “Is she hung over?”
“Yes, like a bitch.” The little brunette leans in with a conspiratorial whisper. “She almost looked green when she walked in. How did you know?”
I wince. My news today will hardly brighten her mood.
Well, buddy, she already hates you. It can’t get much worse than that…
“I’m sorry to hear she’s unwell. But I really need a few minutes alone with her. It’s urgent.”
She shakes her head. “Look, I don’t know if you’re her latest fling. There have been a few of those since I started working here six weeks ago. But one thing I know for sure? Eryn won’t deal with personal stuff on the job. That woman has a work ethic like I’ve never seen.”
That doesn’t surprise me. She’s always been both focused and fiercely independent. Since she owns this breakfast bistro now, I know she’ll do whatever it takes to succeed. And that gives her a great reason to refuse a conversation with her douchebag ex-fiancé.
Too bad I can’t take no for an answer.
“I appreciate that, but I’m actually here on business. I have information she needs to know about the renovations in this building.”
“Oh.” She nods, clearly taking me more seriously. “All right… Do you want your oatmeal or your meeting first?”
“Meeting.” I can’t put this off any longer. And I doubt I’ll be hungry until I get this conversation done.
The waitress nods. “Come with me.”
Gripping my coffee, I follow the brunette across the impressively crowded room. It’s a good crowd for a Thursday morning. Granted, she purchased a well-established restaurant with a killer location not far off the highway, right next to the ocean. But she’s upgraded the interior decor since I was here last and slapped on a fresh coat of exterior paint. She’s created breakfast specials that capitalize on the place’s reputation for the best pancakes and coffee west of the 405 Freeway.
The waitress leads me around a corner, past the kitchen, then down a hallway until we reach a door with a plaque that says PRIVATE.
She knocks. “Eryn? You got a minute? I got a guy here who needs to see you. Something about the renovations in the building.” She turns to me with a whisper. “I didn’t get your name.”
I shake my head. “She’s not aware that I’m her landlord.”
And won’t she be somewhere between shocked and pissed when I explain that?
As the waitress gives me another head bob, Eryn calls out. “Can’t it wait, Jenna? Pretty busy here…”
Jenna turns to me. I shake my head.
“No,” she parrots. “Apparently not.”
I hear Eryn sigh. “All right. Show him in.”
When Jenna reaches for the knob, I stay her arm. “I’ve got it from here.”
“Cool. I’ve got to get back to my tables. Tips are everything… Let me know when you want that oatmeal.”
Since I probably won’t be staying long enough to eat it, I peel away ten bucks and hand it to her. “For the coffee and your time.”
She gives me a little grin and deposits the bill in her apron. “Thanks.”
Then she’s gone. And once again, I’m about to be face-to-face with Eryn. This time, while she’s sober.
Deep breath. What’s the worst that can happen? Thank god murder is still illegal in all fifty states…
I open the door.
Eryn sits at her tiny desk in the cramped space, flanked on two sides by shelves of papers and binders, along with a printer, a computer, and some surveillance equipment. Janitorial supplies are stacked in the corner. A little fan oscillates on her right, mimicking fresh air since she doesn’t even have a window to open in this office.
How does she work here six days a week, ten hours a day? I shut the door for privacy, and I’m already feeling vaguely claustrophobic.
My ex clutches a pen, signs some piece of paper in front of her, and speaks without looking up. “Look, I’m really busy, and I was assured when I took possession of this unit that the renovations would be complete in four weeks. This has dragged on way longer. You need to finish this so it stops being a pain in my ass.”
“I’m sorry, Eryn.” I’m both apologizing for the present and the past, but nothing I say is going to change either. “We really need to talk.”
ERYN
I freeze. The voice that haunted my dreams last night now fills my pounding head.
West. Why is he here?
Slowly, I put down my pen and steel myself to look at him—without wanting him. Because I did when he was in my bedroom last night. He put his hands on me, dragged me against his hard body, and whispered with that deep, rough voice in my ear until I shivered… Two minutes with him, and I was ready to get naked.
Pathetic.
I wish I could say the urge is simply lack of orgasm. Horny would be way easier to accept than love-sick. But I’ve never been in the habit of lying to myself. For whatever reason, West does it for me. My hormones fell into instant lust when we met. My heart started falling for him in that moment, too. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure it ever stopped.
I can’t think about that now. I’m working, and if he’s come here to hash out some personal issue, he can wait—until the twelfth of never.
Dragging in a bracing breath, I lift my gaze to him. I thought I was prepared to see West. There’s no reason the sight of him in a charcoal-gray suit and a crisp white shirt should impact me. But my belly dips and my girl parts clench. And I may have been tipsy last night, but I distinctly remember being on top of him, staring at his lips, and thinking Yes. Please. Now.
Merlot is a bad influence.
“What the hell did you tell Jenna to persuade her to— Never mind. You and I don’t need to talk anymore. We did enough of that last night. You just need to go away.”
West shakes his head. When we were a couple, he was generally easy to get along with. Why is he being such a pain in my ass now? I waited in vain to see him for three years, and suddenly he drops by twice in less than twelve hours?
“I can’t,” he insists. “I told Jenna what you weren’t sober enough to hear last night: I’m your landlord, and there’s a problem with the renovations for this building.”
“No. My landlord is JMV Property Holdings. I read every word of the l
ease documentation I assumed when I bought Java and Jacks.”
“The previous owners signed their two-year lease with JMV Property Holdings ten months ago. Quaid Enterprises bought JMV Property Holdings in May.”
“And I purchased this place in June.”
The pen falls from my fingers and clatters onto my desk. I won’t ask if he’s kidding. I see he’s not.
Son of a bitch.
“Why wasn’t I informed?”
“Letters were sent.” His eyes fall on the unopened mail I’ve been meaning to get to on the corner of my desk. “Maybe it’s in that stack?”
Maybe. None of it looked important, and I’ve been crazy busy, so I piled the heap out of my way, waiting for a slow day that never came. “I assume everyone in the building will be notified in writing about the renovation issues?”
“Later today, yes.”
“But you decided to tell me in person?” Why?
He dips his head, watching me clutch the pen tightly. “I felt I owed you an explanation, in case you were aware I now owned your building. I didn’t want you feeling as if I was dragging out the construction to intentionally rub salt in your wound.”
I force myself to lean back in my chair in a pose far more relaxed than I feel. “I don’t have a wound where you’re concerned, Mr. Quaid.”
Yes, I’m lying through my teeth, but a girl has her pride.
“I know what happened between us couldn’t have been easy on you, Eryn. You may never believe this, but it wasn’t easy on me, either.”
“Since you sauntered out without a backward glance, it didn’t look too hard.”
“You’re wrong. Leaving you was—”
“In the past. It doesn’t matter anymore. Tell me what you came to say, then you can consider your duty done and march back down the hall the way you came.”
West clenches his jaw. I’m getting to him. I want to be glad. Instead, I just feel guilty. He’s come all the way from—does he still live in New York?—wherever he calls home these days just to tell me whatever he thinks I need to hear. He could have been an asshole and sent me the same written notice the rest of the tenants will receive. As much as I hate to give him props, it was admittedly decent of him to notify me in person.
