Addicted to You

by Serena Grey

Chadwick grins, recovering himself a little. “Only my work?”

  Laurie laughs again, looking up into his face, and touching him lightly on the shoulder. She’s flirting. “It was nice to meet you, Chadwick,” she tells him before linking her arm through mine as we leave the building.

  “He is hot,” she says, once we’re out of earshot.”

  “He’s a slut.”

  Laurie snorts. “Aren’t they all?”

  I don’t have anything to say to that. As we walk along the sidewalk, Laurie pulls out two candy bars from her bag and offers me one. I bite into the chewy sweetness and sigh, wondering how many I’d have to eat in order to forget my craving for Landon.

  “I’ve got more in my bag,” Laurie announces, almost as if she can read my thoughts.

  I grin. “If I ever become obese you’ll have yourself to blame.”

  “I’ll be right there obese with you,” she laughs. “At least, if we’re fat and unattractive we won’t have to worry about men.”

  “It’ll make a good reality show,” I quip. “Fat Fosters or something.”

  We’re still laughing, when a couple walks out of a deli a few feet in front of us.

  Laurie stops laughing first, because she sees them before I do. They step out at the same time, the guy holding the door open for the girl. When the door closes behind them, she puts her arms around him in a heartfelt hug, then draws away and squeezes his hand before walking away.

  It’s a tender moment. At least it would be if the guy wasn’t Brett. I look quickly from him to Laurie, and she looks as if she’s just been slapped.

  When Brett notices us, his eyes fix on Laurie and there’s a brief flash of panic on his face. He starts towards us but Laurie pulls at my hand and hurries down the sidewalk, and I have no choice but to follow her.

  “Laurie,” Brett calls from behind us, but she acts as if she can’t hear him.

  He catches up in a few steps. “Laurie, wait. It’s not what you think.”

  She spins around to face him. “Don’t,” she snaps. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

  She starts to walk again, and I give Brett an apologetic shrug before following her. She doesn’t stop or reduce her pace until we’re right in front of our building.

  “Are you alright?” I ask when we finally slow down. I’m almost panting from the exertion.

  “I should have changed into my walking shoes,” she replies, shaking her head. “My feet hurt.”

  She obviously doesn’t want to talk about Brett.

  When we get to the apartment, she still hasn’t said anything about Brett. I close the door behind us and watch as she walks towards her room. “Laurie,” I say gently. “You know it could have been nothing.”

  She stops, her whole body completely still for a long moment before she turns to look at me. Her eyes are full of tears. “Yeah, but it could have been something.”

  I shake my head. “That’s unlikely. He wouldn’t… He loves you.”

  “It’s her,” she says, her voice cracking. “She’s the reason why we had this fight in the first place. She came on to him, and now they’re having lunch and hugging on the street? Did you see the way she smiled at him, the way she held his hand? Did that look like nothing to you? Like the ‘little things’ I’m not supposed to fight with him about?” She stops talking and wipes her eyes angrily. “I’m never going to see stuff like that and not feel horrible about it. It’s never going to be okay.”

  She tosses her bag on the couch and goes to sit beside it. I can hear her phone ringing inside the bag, but she ignores it. I know it’s probably Brett, and I wish she would let him explain.

  Her phone stops ringing, and almost immediately, mine starts. Even before I fish it out of my bag and glance at the screen, I already know who it is. “It’s Brett,” I tell Laurie gently. “I think he really wants to talk.”

  She stretches out her hand for the phone, and as soon as I hand it to her she swipes across the screen to reject the call. When she hands the phone back to me, her hands are shaking.

  I sigh. “I think I know what we need.”

  She looks at me, her face tight with the determination not to cry. “What?”

  “Ice cream,” I suggest. “Lots of it.”

  There is a small flash of gratitude in her eyes. She sighs. “That might help.”

  “It had better,” I say confidently, going to our tiny kitchen in search of the tub of ice-cream we have in the freezer. I come back empty. “We’re out,” I tell Laurie.

  She grins sheepishly. “I could have told you that.”

  I purse my lips, glad that she’s smiling, at least. “I’m going to run downstairs to get some. Don’t go anywhere.”

  She holds up her hands as if to say. ‘Where would I go?’ “I’ll be right here.”

  I come back armed with enough ice-cream and wine to start me and Laurie on our journey to becoming obese drunks. I’m trying to unlock the door when I hear the sound of her laughter. Puzzled, I enter the apartment, wondering what could have become funny in my absence.

  I don’t have to wonder for long. Laurie is still sitting on the couch where I left her, but now she’s not alone. Landon is sitting on our armchair smiling at whatever he said that’s so amusing.

  My first instinct is to turn around and leave, to go somewhere he won’t be able to find me, pull me in with his presence and make me silly with desire.

  But why should I be the one to leave? What gives him the right to invade my personal space again and again? And why, for God’s sake, did Laurie let him in?

  He turns to look at me, still smiling, but as his eyes meet mine, the merriment disappears, replaced by a piercing look that makes my stomach knot tightly.

  “Hello, Rachel.”

  I glare at him, even though every single inch of my skin is already flushed and my body is thrumming with awareness. I’m frustrated and angry, but those feelings are mixed with something else, sadness, desire, longing? I give Laurie an accusing look. “You’re obviously feeling better. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered with these.”

  She rolls her eyes and gets up from the couch. She clearly thinks I’m overreacting, but she has no idea how difficult it’s been for me these past few days.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” she says, coming to take the bag from me, all the while looking unapologetic about allowing me to find Landon here without any warning at all.

  “What. The. Fuck, Laurie?” I mouth silently.

  She gives me a helpless shrug and disappears into the kitchen, leaving me with no choice but to fix my glare on Landon once again.

  “What are you doing here?” I’m still standing close to the door. My eyes slide over him, taking in every beloved angle and plane of his face, and the perfect dark-gray suit that’s almost, but not quite as sexy as the man wearing it. I want to tear my eyes away, but somehow, I can’t. I feel so confused, annoyed, aroused…

  He gets up in one fluid, graceful movement, immediately dwarfing the room. “What do you think I’m doing?”

  His voice is low, but I feel the words like a threat, to my body, and to my peace of mind. Steeling myself, I give him a challenging look. “You need to leave.”

  He raises a brow. “You have to start saying that like you really mean it,” he says. “But we both know you don’t.”

  Laurie returns from the kitchen before I can reply. She’s carrying a glass of wine and a bowl of ice-cream. She takes in the sight of me and Landon facing each other and gives me a wide-eyed smile, “I’m just gonna…” she jerks her head in the direction of her room. “It was nice to see you again Landon.”

  “Likewise.” He smiles at her, his co-conspirator. My scowl deepens as she disappears into her room and closes the door.

  “So you’ve moved on?”

  He’s facing me again, and I step back, something in his tone making me want to run. My back hits the door just as his long strides bring him right in front of me.

  “Is that why you came here?” I let a moc
king note creep into my voice. “You couldn’t bear the thought that there’s one woman in the whole world who isn’t beside herself with joy at the thought that you want a relationship with her?”

  “Jesus! Rachel.” He closes the remaining distance between us, effectively backing me up against the door. With both of his palms flat on either side of me, I’m trapped. He’s so close, and I’m so aware, that if he comes any nearer, he’ll have his whole body plastered over mine. I’m nervous and excited, but I’m not going to let him seduce me into submission. Not again.

  His eyes rake my face. What’s he looking for? I wonder, signs of capitulation? He lowers his head, and at the thought that he’s going to kiss me, my stomach flips, and my lips part, my breath suddenly coming hard and fast.

  But he doesn’t kiss me. “I’m at my wits end,” he whispers softly. “I’m helpless, I’m bewitched. You’re my every waking thought and sleeping dream.” He brings his lips close to my ear and I bite back a moan at the sensation. “You want me,” he says, “and I’m going crazy. Stop lying to me. Tell me what I have to do.”

  My belly is a tight knot of need and frustration. I pull in a breath through my parted lips. “I don’t...” I start.

  He doesn’t let me finish. His lips cover mine. Hot, sensual, hungry. All the emotions I’m feeling, all the anger, all the pain, transforms into a wild, electric jolt of pleasure that pierces from my lips to my pulsing, needy core.

  I tear my lips away from his with a gasp. I’m already panting, and my body, my whole body, feels flushed with heat. I wish he’d kiss me again. I wish he’d make me forget all the thoughts warring in my head and just fuck me. Hard and fast and sweet.

  I wish I could stop thinking about what would happen after that.

  “Stop it.” I breathe. His face is less than an inch from mine. His body is pressed against me, warm, hard and so familiar.

  “I can’t,” he says simply, and the bare admission is like a knife in my resolve. “You owe me an explanation,” he continues. “You’re driving me insane trying to understand what the fuck’s going on. I acted like a jackass on Sunday. I was jealous. The thought of you spending any time with your ex… it made me unreasonable. I’m sorry.”

  I don’t say anything. I clench my hands into fists, afraid that I’m going to cry, or worse, give in to him.

  “I need you,” he murmurs. His breath warms the skin below my ear, making my skin tingle. A soft sigh escapes my lips. “Stop pushing me away,” he continues, and I feel his hand skim the side of my breast. His fingers barely touch me, but my nipples harden, the tight peaks pushing out from under my clothes, begging for more.

  His breath comes out in a hard rush, and his lips trail a sweet path along my hairline. Heat pulses between my legs, and through the layers of clothes between us, I can feel his need for me, hard and thick, guaranteed to give me the pleasure I need.

  “I want you.” His voice is bewitching, mesmerizing… the voice of temptation. “I want all of you, and I’m going crazy with the need to touch you. I want to bury myself so deep inside you, it would be impossible to tell where you end and I begin. I want to hear you scream when you come. I can hardly think of anything else.

  My body clenches with raw, insistent need. I can’t find enough air to fill my lungs. I close my eyes, the combination of his proximity and the things he’s saying making me unable to think of anything but wild multi-orgasmic sex.

  “I remember everything,” he whispers in my ear. The sounds you make in your throat, the exquisite taste of your pussy, the way you cry out when you come, the perfect curve of your breast in my hand.” He looks into my face, his eyes heated and imploring. “I remember what it’s like to sleep with you in my arms, Rachel. And sometimes I don’t know what I want more, to fuck you or just to hold you.

  I feel like if he keeps talking, I might just come from the sound of his voice in my ear. “Please,” I whisper. I don’t know what I’m begging for. I don’t know if I want him to do everything my body is screaming for, or if I want him to leave.

  “Please, what?” One hand moves to my waist, his fingers flexing at my back. I gasp as the pulse of arousal and heat intensifies between my legs.

  I look helplessly into his face… “Please,” I croak. “Please leave.”

  His eyes close, and he straightens, taking a step back. He turns his face away when he opens his eyes, concentrating on the windows for a few moments. When he looks back at me, his expression is one of resignation.

  I clench my fists, resisting the desperate urge to surrender myself to him. We’re both silent, and I’m almost afraid to move. He gestures towards the door at my back, and I slowly step away from it, watching him, feeling a profound loss, as well as excruciating, devastating pain.

  “I’m…” he sighs. “God!” He smiles then, and it’s a humorless smile. “I’m sorry,” he says bitterly.

  Then he’s gone, the door closing with a soft click behind him. Immediately I burst into tears, unable to hold it in anymore. The sobs wrack my body as I slide down onto the floor, wondering why everything has to be so fucking difficult.

  IN fifty years, this building will no longer be here,” my mom declares. “There’ll be some ugly glass monolith instead.”

  “You don’t know that,” my dad replies. He’s looking distinguished in a black tux. My mom, in a burgundy evening gown, with her hair in a stylish chignon, looks elegant. I really think she could pass for my sister if she tried. We’re in the old ballroom of the Remington house. It’s a lovely place, decorated in the beaux-arts style, with high ceilings, arched windows, ornamental wall carvings, and patterned marble floors. There are paintings from different eras hanging on the walls, all part of the Remington collection. In the front of the room, the two Cornelia Eames paintings are set up and covered with some kind of cloth.

  “So the Remingtons lost the paintings in a bet?” Laurie asks my mom.

  “Yes,” Mom says. “Of course they weren’t as valuable then as they are now, but the artist was already something of a personality. She was a… free spirit and her lovers were some of the most prominent men of the time.” She pauses. “Anyway, I was told the family of the man who won the paintings offered to give them back to the collection.”

  I wonder how valuable the paintings are. “Why would they return them?”

  She looks at me, her eyes doing the journey from my face to my dress once again. She’s already told me that I’ve lost weight and that she’s worried about me. She sighs. “Well, the Remington Foundation depends on the income from this place. Cornelia Eames is a famous painter, adding her work to the roster brings more people here. It helps to keep the foundation running and to postpone the inevitable day when the bulldozers come for this place.”

  “So dramatic.” Dad laughs, looking indulgently at her, and she smiles up at him, her face lighting up. Get a room already, I think almost resentfully, taking a sip from the glass of champagne I took from a passing waiter. Looking around, I notice that the room isn’t packed full, but the turnout is impressive. The guests are not only arty types, though it’s hard to tell from the clothes since everyone is dressed up. I recognize a few socialites with well-reported interests in art, and I imagine that there may also be some distant Remington relations in the crowd.

  I’m about to turn back to my parents when I see a familiar face. It lights up in recognition and makes a beeline for us.

  “Rachel!” He looks surprised and pleased to see me, and I smile at him, though I’m finding it difficult to look at the handsome, familiar features. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  I feel the same way. He drops a kiss on my cheeks then faces my family, his manner relaxed and confident, just like his brother.

  “I’m Aidan Court,” he says, holding out a hand to shake my father.

  “Trent Foster,” Dad replies pleasantly, taking Aidan’s proffered hand. “I’m Rachel’s dad. This is my wife, Lynne, and my niece, Laurie.” He cocks his head contemplatively. “Any rela
tion to Landon Court?”

  “They’re brothers,” I offer politely.

  Aidan confirms with a nod. “We had the pleasure of meeting your brother,” my dad tells him, unaware that even this small reminder of Landon’s existence has taken me back to the state of emotional turmoil I can’t seem to escape for long.

  “Landon’s somewhere outside,” Aidan says. “Talking with the director. He should be here any moment.”

  “Landon is here?” I hate how panicked my voice sounds.

  “He’s donating the paintings,” Aidan winks. “My grandfather was a skilled gambler, winning whatnot from unsuspecting friends.”

  My mother gives me a concerned glance. “I wasn’t aware… of the connection,” she says, more to me than anybody else.

  I nod slightly, even though my mind is racing, and my heart is suddenly beating fast enough to make me slightly dizzy. No. I’m definitely not ready to see Landon again.

  “I’m going to say hello to a few people I know,” Aidan says, taking his leave. “It was nice to meet you all.”

  “Did you know he would be here?” Laurie asks me. I’ve been angry with her since yesterday for leaving me alone with Landon, and her halfhearted apologies have done nothing to mollify me.

  I glare at her. “No, of course not.”

  “I didn’t know,” my mom whispers. “They emailed me the program, but… I only read the part about me giving a speech.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I whisper back. Maybe he would come in, donate his damn paintings and leave. Maybe I wouldn’t have to talk to him. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. When I open them again, I see Landon walk through the doors to the ballroom, a smallish, tuxedoed man beside him. The man is saying something to him, but Landon isn’t listening. Somehow, his gaze found me the moment he entered the room, and when his eyes meet mine, it feels like we’re the only two people in the room.

  He looks incredible of course, painfully handsome, with his hair slicked back to reveal the beautiful angles of his face. In his tailor-made black tux, he seems to stand taller than everyone else, like a god amongst ordinary men.