by Kendall Ryan
I chuckle, assuring him that I’m well aware of Kirby’s cheapness.
Once we have our drinks, I let Kirby lead me away and introduce me to various men and women that he works with. My ability to make small talk is nonexistent. I find myself barely able to nod and manage one-word responses. The old me would have been handing out business cards and using the evening as a networking tool. I’m just not in the mood to socialize, and I’m starting to think it was a terrible idea to come out tonight.
I tug Kirby aside on his third trip to the bar. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to cut out early.”
“Really? Already?”
I nod. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m just not in the mood to meet a bunch of new people tonight.”
He nods, seeming to understand. “Okay. I’ll call you a cab.”
“Thank you.” I’m glad he’s not going to try to talk me into staying.
“There’s just one more person I want you to meet.”
I’m about to refuse when my eyes lock with Hale’s. His dark eyes are pinned on mine. Shivers race across my body.
Holy fuck! How did he know I was here?
Kirby places a possessive hand on my shoulder. “Brielle, this is my roommate, Cameron.”
My entire world drops out from beneath me.
Hale—or Cameron, or whoever he is—strides right up to me as if he owns me. He looks devastatingly handsome in his expensive black tuxedo, crisp white shirt, and perfectly styled black silk bowtie. A tie, that if I know him at all, will likely be used later to bind the hands of some poor girl.
My knees feel weak, and the liqueur I consumed churns violently in my belly.
“Peach.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. When his full, warm lips touch my skin, my body revolts and I draw my hand back.
“Don’t,” I warn him, my tone venomous.
“Do you two know each other?” Kirby asks, his confusion palpable.
“Quite well. Isn’t that right, Brielle?”
Hale is drunk. I’ve never seen him drink before, but his dilated pupils and the slight drawl to his voice is a dead giveaway.
“Don’t tell me she’s one of the mystery girls you’ve been fucking.” The shock painted across Kirby’s normally relaxed face is almost painful. I actually feel bad for him.
Hale doesn’t deny it, and my face turns bright red. I’m not having this conversation in front of Kirby. The look in Hale’s eyes says that he doesn’t give a shit what Kirby thinks. But I still do.
Kirby clenches his fists at his sides, fighting to maintain his composure since we’re in a professional work setting. “You’re a fucking asshole. You can have your pick of women in Chicago, anyone but Brielle. She’s like a little sister to me.”
Ouch.
Hale’s gaze swings over to me. “The truth stings, doesn’t it?” he says, his voice soft with a trace of compassion.
Well, fuck him, I don’t need his pity. I storm away from the two men, intent on getting the fuck out of here.
On my way toward the exit, Hale’s hand closes around mine and he tugs me down a hallway just past the hotel reception.
I yank my hand free from his grasp and spin to face him. “Did you know the entire time?” My heart is pounding and I feel sick and dizzy.
“Yes.”
“You live with Kirby. You work with him. And you listened to me whine about him for the past month. Why?”
“That first night I saw you. Fuck.” He releases a big exhale and pushes his hands into his hair. “I recognized you right away from a photograph in Kirby’s room. I considered walking out right then. I’ve never worked with a client who I had ties to in my personal life. But I decided to hear you out. You were beautiful. Shy. Nervous. And I wanted to help you.”
Hale grasps my arm, but when I look down to glare at his hand, he removes it. “Once we talked, I knew it was never about Kirby. I told you that in the beginning. This was about you. I wanted to help you build your confidence and understand your wants and needs. That was all. Then I was going to walk away. Let him have you, if that’s what you really wanted.”
His words make no sense.
“Why did you lie about your name?”
“I didn’t. It’s Cameron Hale. Close friends call me Hale, and when you assumed that was my first name, I didn’t correct you.”
“And the woman you’re buying a house with? Is she your…” The words die in my throat.
“Chrissy’s a friend. That’s all. We’ve shared scenes together at the club, but there was never any sexual contact between us.”
“Did you do that to her? The bruises?”
“Fucking hell. No!” he roars.
“I don’t really know you. How should I know what you’re capable of?” Planting my hands on my hips, I meet his dark, stormy eyes.
“The fact that you think I could hurt a woman like that…” His voice breaks, and he doesn’t continue.
“How am I supposed to know what to think?”
“You know more than you think you do.”
“What does that even mean?” I remember the whispered story I overheard in the ladies’ room, and what Kirby told me about Hale’s fiancée. Cameron, I remind myself. It’s going to be difficult to call him Cameron after thinking of him as Hale for so long. My hunches were right about him from the beginning. He was heartbroken, and that’s why he keeps his distance.
“We were done anyway, so what does it matter?” he says, his tone low, defeated.
“You cut our arrangement short. Not me,” I challenge.
God, that last night we spent together would forever be burned into my brain. The sweet and tender way we made love, the thoughtfulness behind every gesture he made, the hungry look in his eyes when he studied me in the mirror and lavished me with compliments. In four short weeks, he’s come to mean so much to me, and that night we spent together solidified everything.
“You know why I did that,” he growls.
“Enlighten me.”
“You never once considered calling off this whole game, admitting that Kirby wasn’t the man for you.” He pauses and I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t. He simply holds me with that icy stare, his look challenging me to disagree.
He’s angry—at me—and the injustice of it inflames me. “It doesn’t matter now. You lied. You lied about everything. You knew who I was the entire time. How can I trust—” I shake my head. “You’re fucking women all over the city of Chicago. None of it matters.”
I see that clearly for the first time. Cursing myself, I realize I should have never given him my heart. I feel like a fool for even considering for one second that we could work.
Hale stares at the floor, looking less and less like the domineering man I thought I knew. Still not meeting my eyes, he says, “I haven’t taken a client since we began seeing each other.”
My heart slams against my ribs as if this moment means everything to me. “You’re telling me there was no one else?”
“Just you,” he whispers.
Tears spring to my eyes. I have to get out of here. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I just can’t.”
Clutching my purse, I let my heels carry me back to the ballroom. I know I owe Kirby an explanation. He was just blindsided, learning that I’ve been sleeping with his roommate.
I spot him immediately. He’s at the same bar where I left him, but it appears he’s switched from beer to something stronger. When I get close, I overhear a conversation that wasn’t meant for my ears.
“No date tonight?” the man next to Kirby asks.
Kirby shakes his head. “No, my date canceled with the flu, so I invited my friend Brie. She’s always free at the last minute.”
Anger and disappointment rush through me, and I stop in my tracks as if I’ve been physically struck. I don’t want to be someone’s second choice. I’ve wasted five years of my life, and it’s suddenly crystal clear—Kirby is never going to see me as more than a friend. And do I even want him to?<
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Tears spring to my eyes, and I make my way toward the ladies’ room. The last thing I want is for someone to see me cry.
Thankful to find the bathroom empty, I grab a wad of tissue paper just as a sob rips from my throat. I just need to compose myself enough to hail a cab and end this disastrous night. As I sob, I become aware on some level that I’m crying for what will never be with Kirby, and what I can’t have with Hale.
The bathroom door opens and when I glance up to the mirror, I see Hale. He locks the bathroom door behind him. My heart pounds out a steady beat as I watch him move confidently toward me.
I dab my cheeks with the tissue and draw in a deep breath, trying to pull it together.
“Come here,” he whispers and folds me into his arms.
I don’t fight it; I don’t even hesitate. I just go to him, molding myself to his firm chest and letting him hold me. His scent washes over me—a mix of crisp cologne and male warmth—and I’m reminded of all the nights I spent in his arms. At his mercy. Obeying his commands.
A desperate sob escapes me, and I push him away. “I can’t do this right now.”
“Tell me what happened. Why are you in here crying? I figured you’d be in a cab on your way home by now.”
That would have been the smart choice. Instead, I went to find Kirby and ease his mind about my involvement with his roommate.
“You were right about Kirby. He’s a thoughtless asshole and he doesn’t deserve me.”
Hale’s mouth lifts in a sad smile.
“You knew that all along, didn’t you?”
He shrugs. “I had no way of knowing what would happen, but yeah, I had my assumptions.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Would you have listened?”
He’s right. This was something I had to find out for myself.
He steps closer, tilting my chin up to meet his watchful gaze. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head slowly. “No. But I will be.” I’m stronger now than I was before. Even if I don’t feel strong in this moment, I know it’s true.
“Tell me how to fix this.” He brushes his thumb across my cheek, his eyes lingering on mine.
I open my mouth to tell him there’s nothing he can do, when he lowers his mouth and kisses me. Softly at first, but when my tongue meets his, his lips crash into mine, his hands landing on my hips, and he grips me tightly to him. He tastes of scotch and Hale, and it’s only been a handful of days, but God, how I missed him.
My attraction to this man is off the charts. I’m angry at him for concealing his identity all this time, and I know he doesn’t want to pursue anything real, but I can’t deny my body’s response.
He presses his hips closer, and I feel his huge cock hardening under his tuxedo slacks.
I groan into his mouth and press myself closer, wanting to feel every hard ridge of him.
He pushes me up against the wall and then his hands are under my dress, pulling my panties aside and sweeping his fingers across my wet center.
“Wait…” I say softly.
“What is it?”
“I don’t even know what to call you.”
“Call me Hale, just like you always have.”
His lips crash back into mine, and the intimacy of finally knowing his full name is intoxicating. One finger and then two thrust slowly inside me, and I cry out, weak from both the arousal and the confusion I feel.
“I can’t stay away from you, do you understand that?” he murmurs, pressing his hard cock into my belly while his fingers continue sliding in and out.
He knows my body so well that within minutes, I feel myself losing control. His show of dominance is overwhelming. Knowing that he’s unable to control the alpha side of him from coming out to play, I’m soaking wet and on the verge of orgasm almost immediately.
“Hale…” I whisper against his mouth.
I’m so close. He bites down on my lower lip and at the same time, presses his thumb to my clit. I come apart, violently, crying out and clutching him for support. He pulls his fingers from me and puts them in his mouth, sucking my juices from them.
“So fucking good,” he growls, bringing his mouth to mine again.
He’s devouring me, and I’m letting him. I feel his hands working between us, and the clang of his belt buckle as he releases his pants. I want him more than anything, but some part of my brain is screaming at me to stop this.
“It’s never been like this before,” he whispers.
My legs are shaky, and my brain feels like mud. I’m so confused. My feelings when I’m near him are intense, all consuming, and hot.
Just as I feel the hot flesh of his erection, something snaps into place. It’s always been about the sex between us. And look where that’s gotten me. My life is spinning out of control. I’ve been rejected by not one, but two men tonight. Kirby, who I’ve secretly harbored feelings for for years, and another who’s just recently stolen my heart but wants nothing to do with commitment or monogamy.
“S-stop,” I stutter, looking up into dark, stormy eyes burning with his arousal.
“We deserve this. This pleasure. This connection,” he says, stroking my cheek with his thumb.
There’s no way I can give myself to him, not with the million doubts and emotions swirling in my head. I know what I need to do.
Staring into his eyes, I say deliberately, “Peach.”
At my firm tone, he pulls back immediately, his jaw tight. “Why?” His expression is broken, confused. I’ve never used my safe word in all the times we were together.
“You taught me to stand up for myself, to demand more, that sex was an intense experience to be shared between two people. But most of all, you taught me that I’m worth more than this.” I gesture to our surroundings—a public bathroom. “I deserve more.”
He nods, his face solemn, but his expression unreadable.
Reaching below my dress, I adjust my panties, then grab my purse from the bathroom counter. I leave him with his cock in his hand and look of confusion slashed across his face.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Brielle
“Brielle?” The sound of my name in his familiar, low voice immediately sends tingles shooting down my spine. Closing my eyes in shock for just a second, I halt in my tracks on the city sidewalk, trying to suck in a breath but find my chest tight, constricted.
“Hale…” He’s all I’ve thought about this past week since the party. I’ve seen him in my dreams, heard his voice in my head, and now he’s here.
I turn to face him and see he’s not alone. An elderly black woman is hanging on to his bicep. She’s wearing a floppy purple hat and a bright green scarf. Her lips are painted blood red, and somehow I know this is the sassy woman he’s told me about. His nana.
His eyes search out my face, and his mouth lifts in a smile. “You look well…happy.”
“I am.” For once in my adult life, I really am. I’m carrying a large pizza box—bacon and mushroom, my favorite—and a colorful bouquet of flowers I’ve bought myself just because.
I wish I could say the same for him. He looks tired, pale, and lifeless. There are dark circles under his eyes and the shadow of a beard dusts his jaw.
“Nana, this is Brielle,” he says to the woman at his side.
I glance over at Nana and see an amused expression on her face.
“You’re the one who’s got him all spun up,” she says. It’s not a question, and even if it were, I wouldn’t know how to answer.
“I’m not spun up,” he says.
“He’s not himself,” she tells me, leaning closer as if we’re two old friends swapping recipes.
“It’s complicated,” I say.
She nods her head, her hat flopping with the movement. “It always is.” She reaches out and takes my hand, squeezing it in her own. “He’s a difficult man, but he’s got a beautiful heart.”
I have to practice deep breathing to avoid the tears threatening to spring to my eyes. “M
erry Christmas,” I murmur.
“It’s Christmas Eve, you shouldn’t be alone,” he says.
Ever since our restroom activities, we’ve had no connection at all, and I’ve fought with myself over the need to move on. But now that he’s standing in front of me, all masculine and gorgeous, I know I’ve been fighting a losing battle. My attraction to him, to his heart, hasn’t faded at all. His nana is exactly right. He is a difficult man with a beautiful heart. If only he would let me in, things might have been different.
Remembering his question, I shake my head. “I’m not alone. Julie’s coming over tonight for dinner.” My gaze drops to the pizza box. “Somebody’s gotta help me with this. And then in the morning, I’m driving over to my parents’ house for Christmas Day with them and my aunts, uncles, and cousins.”
He nods. “We’re just heading to church service.”
“Nice meeting you, Nana.” I nod to her.
“It’s good to see you, Brielle,” he says.
I swallow the massive lump that’s lodged itself in my throat and continue down the sidewalk before I do something completely foolish, like throw myself at him.
• • •
By the time Julie arrives, I’ve gathered the plates and napkins, poured two glasses of wine, and cued up the Christmas comedy I love.
If only my mood matched the festive atmosphere. I feel like curling up in my bed and crying, but considering that’s all I’ve done for the past week, I know I need to at least try to be social again.
When I let Julie in, she arrives with an armful of gifts.
“You can set them there.” I point to my little tabletop tree in the dining room. There are a couple of wrapped gifts for her too. A blue nail polish that she complimented me on, and gift cards to her favorite stores. I’ve been too distracted to shop much. I hope my family doesn’t mind when I show up tomorrow, armed with a Target gift card for everyone.
We sit down with our pizza and wine, and I’m thankful that she’s not barraging me with questions about Hale. She knows me well enough by now to understand that I’ll talk when I’m ready, but not before.
“Ew. Mushrooms,” she says, picking them off of her pizza.
