by Liv Morris
Bending slightly, he places his large hands around my waist and lifts me onto the counter as if I weigh nothing more than a feather. He tugs me forward to the edge and widens my legs, exposing me to him.
“Your breakfast,” I tilt my head toward the stove where his eggs sit in the pan, “is getting cold.”
“Before I eat the delicious breakfast you made me, I’m going to eat you.” Holy shit.
James genuflects like an act of worship before me and pulls my hips to him. He consumes me without hesitation, leaving me no time to think. I place my hands flat behind me for balance and drop my head back. Closing my eyes tight, I surrender. He takes command of my body while my mind centers on where he touches me. My surroundings fade away and the harder I focus, the more pleasure I eventually feel.
His touch will bring me to release, but if I have to work this hard, something’s missing. I wonder if he knows how I struggle, or if I’ve hidden it from him. If he does, he hides it from me, too. Frustrated, I concentrate harder, hoping a spark of deep desire ignites.
Slightly breathless, and guilty my orgasm took an eternity to materialize, I slip on my robe and return to my normal breakfast routine. James brings his laptop to the kitchen table and opens it to catch up on work before he leaves for the hospital.
No one would guess he’d had his head between my thighs a minute ago. Everything is back to normal as usual—James, the handsome doctor, planning his day, and me, the dutiful fiancée, tending to her man.
I pour him a cup of coffee, plate the now cold scrambled eggs I’d cooked to perfection, and place them down in front of him. Taking a quick glance at what James is working on, I see an open email on his laptop screen. I sit down at the table as he takes a bite.
“Fuck.” He drops his fork onto the plate and I raise my hand to my throat.
“What is it, James?”
“It’s Sinclair.” He pounds away on his keyboard and curses again before shutting his laptop in a huff. He looks up at me with anger in his eyes. “He’s not coming tomorrow.”
“I thought his clerkship at The Clinic started on Monday.”
“He’s coming tonight and I’m needed at the hospital until later in the evening. Dammit, you’ll have to meet him at the airport.” He pushes his plate away, stands up, and peers down at me, his jaw stretched tight.
“Sure. It’s not a problem.” I stand up next to him and rub his arm soothingly, although I don’t understand why this would upset him so much. “What do you want me to do? Just tell me.”
“I haven’t seen him in years, so I don’t want you alone with him.” His possessive side shocks me. He usually saves this display for his friends at the country club when they become too flirty with me. I’m surprised he feels this way with his own nephew. “Sinclair took a year between high school and college, a gap year. He lived up to his nickname, Sin, during that time. I don’t trust his womanizing ass for one second.”
“James, really, I’m sure it was just a phase. Look, he’s going to med school now.” He runs his fingers through his hair and gathers up his laptop. “Where should we go then?”
“God, I don’t even know.” He stuffs his laptop into his case, throws the strap over his shoulder, and pushes the chair back under the table, anger rolling off him with every movement.
He turns around toward me, his fists balled at his side. I understand him not trusting the forward, sometimes handsy men at his club, but the same reaction to his own nephew seems over the top and unwarranted.
“Don’t bring him back here for fuck’s sake. I need to get a read on him first.”
“Okay.” I nod and wonder what will happen if he doesn’t trust Sinclair. I thought James would let Sinclair stay with us during his time here, but now I’m not so sure. There are several hotels downtown, or maybe James’ apartment, but I was excited about having a guest here with us. It gets so lonely in this ten-thousand square-foot house by myself.
James glances down at his watch and looks at me. Stress shows in his stormy blue eyes. “Hell, I’ve got to run or I’ll be late for my first rounds.”
“What about your breakfast? And Sinclair?”
“I don’t have time to eat anything else.” I blush, knowing he means our diversion on the counter. “I’ll have my assistant pick up something from the cafeteria.”
“I’m sorry.” I run my fingers under the lapel of his suit coat. The hard muscles of his chest defy his true age with their strength.
“You can be so distracting, Harlow.” He shakes his head and glides a finger across my cheek. “Pick Sinclair up at seven. He’s flying American and connecting in Chicago. Take him to that new place downtown called Rogue. It’s two minutes from the hospital. I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I suppress a smile and the desire to jump in excitement like a child. I’ve been dying to go to Rogue—or any place that isn’t the stuffy country club.
James’ idea of a night out consists of dinner and drinks at the country club with his friends. I hate going there with him. The women whisper behind my back, calling me a gold digger. The men leer at my body and make sexually charged comments when James isn’t paying attention.
I end up drinking too much to drown them all out, which makes James livid. He says I seductively smile at the men when I’m tipsy. I tell him nothing could be further from the truth. I leave out that the men make me sick because I’m afraid of James’ reaction, but they do.
“One request.” His so-called requests are well-mannered demands. “Wear your red Jimmy Choo heels and the new white dress I bought you from Dior.” The smile on his face spells trouble.
“That seems a little flashy for Rogue.” James places a finger under my chin and tilts my face up. His eyes scold and unnerve me. He doesn’t like me contradicting him, but I was only sharing my thoughts. “What did I do?”
“You, my darling, didn’t do a thing. God created you as every man’s temptation. I want to see how Sinclair reacts to you. And it better be as his future aunt, no matter how close you are in age.”
“But I am not a carrot you can dangle.” He pulls me into a forceful kiss before I can protest further. The thought seems twisted and doesn’t make sense if he’s worried about me being alone with Sinclair in the first place.
“Get the house ready.” James releases me from his arms. “And keep me posted on your day.” He walks toward the side door to the garage, but stops before he is fully out of my sight.
“Harlow,” his eyes blaze fire, “I love you.”
A quick moment passes while I try to find my voice. “I feel the same.”
Three words. Three confusing, life-altering words. Every time he utters them to me, I feel compelled to repeat them back, but I end up replying in a roundabout way.
One simple phrase could wash away any doubts he has of my affection, but the words stick in my throat—like they do every other time he has proclaimed his love for me. We are getting married in four weeks, so I better sort these feelings out and answer the question that troubles me: if I love him, why can’t I say it out loud?
***
After James leaves, I rinse away the morning’s sex in the shower, get dressed, and run out to my favorite grocery store to stock up. I have no clue what Sinclair likes to eat, so I empty the shelves into my cart. Healthy to junk food, it doesn’t matter. It’s novel, being able to pick and choose what I want without a care for the cost.
My mother and I lived the exact opposite life. We turned shopping into a sport. It felt like we’d won the Super Bowl when we saved a few dollars. I don’t miss the scrounging for pennies, but my life will never be the same without her.
What I wouldn’t give to have her back, even if just for a day. To hear her laugh at her own silly jokes, blame the burnt toast on a hateful ghost, or cry as she watched The Notebook.
We only had each other, but she made my life full with her love. She’d make me laugh so hard my sides felt like they would split. We didn’t have mo
ney to live like I am now, but we had laughter and joy. I miss her so much. If only she’d never met Tony.
A familiar feeling washes over me and I brush tears from my eye. Time to pay and leave before I break down in aisle five.
By some miracle, I keep myself together until I’m sitting behind the wheel of my BMW. The darkened windows hide me from an outside view. I lean into the steering wheel and bow my head, the ache in my heart beginning to subside with each falling tear.
Chapter Three
Harlow
Composed and back home from the store, I text James to let him know everything went smoothly while I was out. He fears for my safety, because, according to the police, Tony comes from a family of thugs, which isn’t shocking.
One of Tony’s brothers is in the state penitentiary for armed robbery and his father served time for domestic violence. Tony’s own rap sheet was riddled with petty crimes and arrests. I knew he was a bad seed at first glance, I just wish my mother had seen it too. His bad boy charisma blinded her to the truth. It was her kryptonite and downfall.
Now, James believes Tony’s father blames me for his son’s suicide. I’ve asked why he thinks this, and he’s yet to give me a reason other than something vague a detective told him at the police station.
I have a couple hours before I need to be at the airport to meet Sinclair, so it’s time to prep the place for a guest. A guest. He’ll be our first. A little flutter of excitement stirs within me. My best friend, Emma, hasn’t even visited since I came to live here.
After overhearing me on the phone with Emma, talking about some guy she slept with, James drilled me for the specifics. When I disclosed it was a one-night stand, he freaked out, saying she has questionable morals and we shouldn’t be friends. I stood my ground, though, and he finally relented. I wouldn’t turn my back on my lifelong friend. I’ve had enough loss for one lifetime.
Moving through the house, I’m on alert for anything out of place, wanting everything to look impeccable when Sinclair walks through the door. The pillows on the leather sectional in the living room are arranged perfectly. All the knick-knacks on the tables and bookshelves appear properly placed. Order and cleanliness defines how James wants us to live. His longtime housekeeper, Mildred, comes once a week, but keeping the house in order helps me pass the time while I’m here alone.
The upstairs guest room and bath is the only area that needs my attention. I add freshly cleaned towels into the linen closet of Sinclair’s bathroom and a new bar of soap in the dish.
Before leaving the room, I fuss with a pillow laying on the starched white bedcover. I haven’t touched this bed since I moved into James’ room. The cool, clean covering beckons me and I sit down on the very spot where everything changed between us.
I fall back against the mattress and stare up at the ceiling, remembering the last night I viewed it from this angle.
One of James’ favorite patients, a nine-year-old girl, was scheduled to have a heart transplant. He was worried about her making it through the operation since she was already so weak. I texted him during the day to see how the surgery went, but he never replied.
I gave up hearing from him close to midnight, figuring he was staying at the hospital to monitor the young girl. Just as my head hit the pillow, the garage door shut downstairs and heavy footsteps sounded out across the wooden floors.
I called out James’ name and loosened my tight hold on the covers when he replied. A few moments later, I saw all six feet of him standing outside my open door, the soft hall lights illuminating him.
Gone was the polished doctor with Ivy League diplomas decorating his office wall. He resembled a man who’d returned home from a long, exhausting journey. His sandy blond hair was pointing out in every direction, as if he’d been pulling his fingers through it all day. His normally charming face resembled a man lost at sea. His stance reflected defeat.
When our eyes met, he slumped under the weight of his day, his computer bag falling to the floor with a thud. His countenance and the sadness in his eyes answered my questions concerning the young girl before he spoke the words. The look resembled the one he gave me the night my mother died.
“She didn’t make it.” He collapsed against the doorframe in defeat.
For the first time since we met, he needed me. I threw off the covers, rose from my bed, and ran to him. I forgot I was wearing only a thin T-shirt and a pair of white lace panties. But as I fell into his arms and felt his hands caressing my bare skin, I remembered how little I was wearing—bare legs and no bra.
“James,” I quietly protested. He answered by pulling me tighter into his arms and burying his face in my hair. His lips found the sensitive area of skin behind my ear and he began whispering sweet words—words you speak to a lover, not a friend.
A decision warred inside me: pull away from this man I cared for and continue living at arm’s length with him or give in to his desires. I thought my heart was too broken from my mother’s death to feel the same attraction he felt for me. I convinced myself time would change my feelings, but my mother’s death was months ago and the feelings of desire still evaded me. I couldn’t seem to muster them up.
Since he brought me to his house the night of my mother’s death, he had taken care of my every need. He planned every detail of my mother’s funeral and hired workers to clean my mother’s apartment and pack up my personal items. He held my hand at the police interview. When I couldn’t seem to stop crying, he comforted me in his arms. I owed him my sanity.
My feelings for him ran deep, even if they weren’t the right ones, so when his strong arms picked me up, I wrapped my legs around his waist, choosing to submit to him.
He carried my clinging body to the bed and gently laid me down. Standing tall in front of me, his scorching gaze slid over my skin.
His breaths came hard and fast. Everything about him was wild and unleashed; a tiger ready to pounce on his prey—me. I gripped the cover in my fists, waiting for his next move.
“I need you, Harlow,” he pled, his voice raspy.
I nodded at him, but wondered if I was doing the right thing. I felt like I owed him something for all the support he had given me. Was this it? He smiled down at me in a show of victory, thinking he’d won.
Placing his hands on the inside of my knees, he pushed my legs apart so he could stand closer. I flinched when his hands caressed my inner thighs, still conflicted over how fast things were moving between us. Maybe too fast for me, but I was silent as his fingers found the lace edge of my panties. I gave into him, because he had been so good to me. My body was the only thing I had to give him.
James stretched the lace and his fingers stroked my sensitive skin. I wanted to enjoy his touch. I wanted to feel all the right sensations.
But I didn’t.
“Fuck, Harlow. Do you know how hard it’s been sleeping down the hall from you? To know you’re in here alone?” His blue eyes reflected a man teeming with unbridled desire. His crazed passion should have caused the blood to race through my veins.
But it didn’t.
“Harlow, I have to taste you. My beautiful, sweet girl.”
Resting on my elbows, I watched him close his eyes and inhale. He dipped his head lower and rested my feet on his shoulders. I knew what came next. The thought of his mouth on me should have excited me.
But it didn’t.
A single tear rolled down my cheek when his tongue worked over me. The harder he tried to bring me pleasure, the further I withdrew. It made no sense. The touch of his skilled tongue would send any woman to the moon and back.
The pain of the memory shakes me back to reality. This man saved me in my darkest hour. Rescued me when I had no one else. Housed me in comfort and safety for the first time in my life. Adorns me with material belongings I never dreamed of owning. I’m afraid to tell him the truth. It’s not his fault I may be damaged.
I wipe my eyes in an attempt to scrub the memory away, but I’m as confused today as I was when
James first made love to me on this bed. I should feel turned on by his touch, after all the times we’ve been together. Something’s wrong with me. I’m not normal. Maybe this is how I will always react to sex. Numb.
I sit up on the bed and face the dresser drawers. The mirror on the top catches my eye and I stare at a woman with a polished veneer in the reflection. Perfectly styled hair, clothing that belongs in New York’s finest boutiques—I’ve been groomed to match the models on the pages of glossy magazines. But when I focus on my watery eyes, the face behind the perfect presentation becomes clear: a frightened girl searching for direction—lost somewhere between my mother’s apartment and James’ sanctuary.
My mind whirls, having no idea who I am in this moment. Exhaustion from lack of sleep the night before pushes me back against the soft covers. Knowing the house is ready and I have a few hours before I need to be at the airport, I close my eyes and drift into a welcome escape.
Chapter Four
Sin
“Here you go, Bentley.” I toss my apartment keys to my best friend. He catches them with greedy hands and stuffs them into his pocket. “Keep everything as is while I’m away.”
“This place is unreal, Sin. I still can’t get over the view.” Bentley has said this every time he’s visited me over the last four years. Nina, my doting, Upper East Side grandmother, purchased this apartment for me when I chose to stay in New York City and attend Columbia for undergrad. No one in my class topped this as a high school graduation present. “There’s nothing like this city.”
“I would agree with you there.” I rub the back of my neck, remembering where I’m heading for the next four weeks: Rochester, Minnesota.
I’ll survive, but I’d prefer a vacation in a warmer climate like Miami, where the girls wear next to nothing. The beach and bikinis would be a great distraction before I hit the books for the next hundred years. Well, more like eight, but coffee, exhaustion, and shit hospital food loom in my future and Rochester doesn’t sound like a place to throw a final bender.
