by Leigh James
"You see a front desk anywhere?" I asked.
Kyle shook his head. "The new hotel lobbies don't have front desks. They think Millennials don't like them and want everything to be decentralized."
"Huh?" I asked. I was pretty sure I was a Millennial, and I had no idea what he was talking about.
"It's just the new thing—don't worry about it. I've spent a lot of time in hotels recently." His face went dark at the thought.
I squeezed his hand. "It's okay, Kyle."
He looked at me, his face bleak. "It's not okay."
"I think I see someone who works here," I said, trying to distract him for the moment. We headed toward a stunning young blonde, wearing a headset, in a simple black dress.
"Welcome," she said warmly. "You must be Mr. Jordan and Ms. Barton. We're honored to have you staying with us at the Stratum. I'm a huge fan of your work, Ms. Barton."
She smiled and motioned for us to follow her. "I'm Britta. I'll have your luggage brought up. You'll be staying on the fiftieth floor, in the penthouse suite. I hope that you enjoy your stay, and please let me know if you need anything while you're here."
We reached the fiftieth floor, and Britta gave us one final smile as Kyle and I got off the elevator. "You have the floor to yourselves." Her eyes glittered with good-hearted mischief. "Just call downstairs if you need anything."
Kyle let out a low whistle as we entered the room. It wasn't just the penthouse suite—it was clearly the honeymoon suite, built for romantic and most likely naked behavior. Unlike the minimalist space in the lobby, our suite had plenty of romantic flourishes: roses in crystal vases, champagne in a bucket, a view of the Commons, intimate seating throughout the room and a fire roaring in the fireplace.
It was August. Who the hell needs a fire in August?
Lusty, love-struck couples on a sexy vacation. That's who.
I stared around, taking everything in. "Maybe I am mad at Tori."
"Don't be." He pulled me against him and looked at me hungrily. "She did a good job—and I'm pretty sure I won't have to call Britta—because I have every single thing that I need."
"Kyle!" I said in protest, extricating myself before I accidentally-on-purpose jumped him. I was happy he'd briefly escaped the dark cloud again, but that didn't mean I could throw myself at him.
I, for one, didn't need the roaring fire. I already had a very inconvenient one between my legs at the thought of being trapped here with Kyle for a whole weekend. We could skip talking about Pierce and his offer. I could turn off my phone and pretend Lucas and his list of athletic and calorie-restrictive demands were figments of my imagination. We could order room service and defile every available surface of this suite with our sweating, naked bodies. We could…
Mental slap. Mental-fucking-slap, Lo. You have to break up with him—fire him, I mean. So that he can have a normal life again.
Furious for more reasons than I cared to entertain, I stomped into the bedroom. It was luxurious and decadent, with a crystal chandelier hanging over an enormous four-poster bed. Red draperies hung on the wall; I felt as if I were in an ultra-expensive brothel. I peered into the bathroom, and it was exactly as I'd feared: clear glass shower, enormous tub built for sharing, bubble bath, everything that a couple having a sexy weekend would want. I tore through the rest of the suite—but that only confirmed my worst fears. There was only one bedroom and only one bed.
I stood next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, my fists clenched, my breathing rapid.
"What's the matter, Lo?" Kyle asked, and I heard that shit-eating grin in his voice again. At least he was in a better mood.
My mood, however, had taken a turn for the worst. "There's only one bed."
He was stretched out on the couch, and he put his enormous arms behind his head. I tried in vain to look away from those bulging biceps.
"I can sleep on the couch," he said, grinning. "If that's what you want."
I gritted my teeth, stalked over to the champagne, and opened it. Anything to avoid staring at his biceps. When in Rome, the least you could do was drink the available alcohol.
"Okay. Sleep on the couch." Two could play this game. "If that's what you want."
He sat up a little and watched me. "It's not what I want."
Oh, holy hell. Now he was being completely direct.
I rolled my eyes as if he were being ridiculous. "Stop. You just met with your father. We have enough problems right now." I swigged some champagne.
His eyes didn't leave my face as he shrugged. "Okay, boss."
"Don't call me boss."
"Okay, princess."
"Stop. It." I sighed. "At least you're in a better mood. I do hate it when you call me names, though."
"Does it remind you of the good old days when I called you bookworm? Or pencil-neck?" Kyle grinned at me.
I grunted. "It's not like I still call you scrotumhead."
Kyle raised eyebrows. "You called me scrotumhead?"
I shrugged, feeling my face reddening. "I only called you that… in my head… when we were growing up and you were being mean to me. Which was pretty much all the time."
Kyle nodded thoughtfully, as if considering his nickname. "Scrotumhead had a certain something to it, I guess. At least you were thinking about my scrotum." He continued to grin at me, and I felt my face go from pink to crimson.
I stalked around the room, clutching my champagne and no longer wanting to discuss scrotums. I had enough to worry about: my upcoming premiere, the fact that Kyle might very well quit this weekend, and that I hadn't lost a pound. Not one.
"You can come sit next to me, you know. It's not like I'm gonna bite. Although a bite from a scrotumhead might be… interesting." Kyle laughed, and it was great to hear. I'd hated it when he came out of his father's office, pale and fuming.
In spite of all the trouble mounting around me, I laughed too. Shoulders shaking, I sat at the foot of the couch.
Kyle made himself comfortable and put his feet on my lap. "That's more like it, Lowell. Just give in to it."
I shook my head. "I don't even know what to say anymore."
"Then don't say anything. Just relax, for once."
I smiled weakly. I was going to put "relax for once" on my ever-growing list of things that were never going to happen.
* * *
In an unfortunate turn of events, Kyle's father called him that afternoon at the same time my mother called me. We looked at our respective phones and exchanged wary looks. Kyle retreated to the bedroom; I headed for the far end of the living room.
"Hey, Mom," I said through the crackling line. "Can you call me from a different phone? I can barely hear you."
"What about now?" she asked, and suddenly her voice was perfectly clear. "I moved into the sanctuary. I'm forbidden from being on the phone in here, but you're my only child, so whatever."
I could just picture her stalking around the temple in capri yoga pants and a gauzy organic tank, her face smooth and unnaturally plump with filler. Her hair, frosted only with the most expensive chlorine-free bleach, was probably hanging past her shoulders in age-inappropriate waves.
"I can hear you now." I swallowed and realized I had a lump in my throat. I was hiding so many things from her, and that wasn't like me. "How are you, Mom?"
"I'm great, darling. I tried to tell you last time we talked, but then we got cut off. This has been the best trip ever. It's not even a trip—it's a journey. I'm so mentally clear right now, you could probably see right through my head." She chuckled. "How are you? I've been worrying about you non-stop."
"I'm... fine." I tried to sound like I meant it.
"Did you wrap Renegade Hearts yet? Did you get everything straightened out with Lucas? Did you tighten up your derriere, darling?"
I groaned. I couldn't say anything about my ass, lest she offer to fly home immediately or sic her personal chef on me. "We're not finished filming yet. We're on break right now. They had some… things they needed to work out."
No, I haven't lost a pound.
Even though I've been going to the gym. Every. Single. Friggin. Day.
"I'm actually in Boston right now for a long weekend."
"Huh? What was that, sweetie? I thought you said you were in Boston," she said.
"I am."
"Are you on a vacation?" She sounded thoroughly confused. I hadn't taken a vacation… ever.
"We're sort of on vacation," I mumbled. Then I groaned, realizing my mistake.
"I'm sorry," my mother shrieked, probably breaking every rule ever made about the sanctuary she was in, "but did you just say we? As in you and an actual someone else?"
I swallowed, hard, over that lump. "I'm, um… here with someone." Please dear God, don't let her have had an Internet connection on her spiritual expedition.
"Is it a man?" she asked.
"Um… yep?" I let my answer trail up in a question. Because I was afraid.
"Lowell, darling, I need details. Now. Who is it? What does he do? Is it serious?" Is he rich? Does he have any single friends you can set me up with? Those questions were coming. It was only a matter of time.
I took a deep breath. "His name is Kyle... Jordan. He's in consulting. He likes to surf… he's nice. You'd like him." You'd hate him. Actually, you do hate him. "But you probably won't meet him. I'm pretty sure it's not gonna work out."
"He's nice?" she screeched, ignoring every other important detail. "You never say guys are nice!"
"That's because they're usually not," I said. "Especially not yours."
"Well, I guess I have a bad habit of picking the wrong men… maybe someday I'll meet 'the one'…" Even though my mother was stunned by my news, she was incapable of talking about anyone other than herself for longer than a minute. She prattled on about the nonexistent state of her love life while my mind raced a mile a minute.
Knowing she could go on forever, I interrupted her with the million-dollar question. "When're you coming home?"
"Sooner than expected, honey." The line crackled again. It sounded as though I was about to lose her. "I'll come find you—"
The line went dead, cutting her off mid-sentence.
That was just perfect. My mom was coming back sooner than expected, she knew I was in Boston, and she knew I was dating someone. Why had I opened my mouth? I could have just let her blather on about her yoga poses. I'd just made everything worse. Again.
Kyle walked in, his normal tan replaced by a slightly ashen color. His father seemed to have that effect on him.
"Pierce wants to see us. Together."
I gulped. "When?"
"He has meetings over the next few days, so first thing in the morning on Sunday."
"Awesome," I said, a pit of dread forming in my stomach. "Just awesome."
Kyle
My stomach growled, and I looked at my phone. It was only five, too early to just get room service and go to bed. "Can we just go get a quick dinner then call it a night? This has been the longest day ever. I'm beat." I scrubbed my hands over my face.
"Of course," Lowell said.
We didn't ask each other about our simultaneous parental phone calls. I guessed hers had probably gone as poorly as mine—she looked as tired as I felt.
Evan picked us up and took us to the North End, the Italian section of Boston. It was a relief to be there, out and largely anonymous on the East Coast, without worrying about fifty photographers waiting to ambush us.
The North End was perfectly charming with narrow streets, cobblestoned sidewalks, and cafes with their windows open wide. After several failed attempts to pull away, Lowell held my hand without objection. We wandered around the neighborhood, enjoying the delicious smells and reading the different menus. My fatigue eventually evaporated, and I relaxed, relishing the time with Lowell.
We finally decided on a tiny restaurant on the corner. They served us red wine in small plastic cups. The day melted away as we shared stuffed clams and fresh, hot bread.
After our entrees arrived, Lowell twirled her black pasta and moaned with pleasure when she had a bite. "Why do carbs have to be so good?" She eyed her plate, which was filled with homemade pasta and smothered in puttanesca sauce.
"Because God wants you to eat," I said right before I stuffed a large chunk of lobster meat into my mouth. God was on my mind at the moment. I'd ordered the Lobster Fra Diavolo, and it was so good, I was pretty sure that I'd died and gone to heaven.
Lowell stole a piece of lobster from my plate. I shot her a look, and she raised her eyebrow, daring me to object.
"You said God wants me to eat. I'm just following orders."
"Don't be fresh," I warned. "I might have to spank you when we get home."
Lo spluttered and coughed while I laughed. She took a sip of wine and collected herself. She cleared her throat and tried to look all-business. "So… what did your dad want this time? What on Earth does he want to talk to both of us about?"
I didn't want to tell her everything that Pierce had said. If she knew, she'd pack me up and deliver me to my father in a suit, ready to go to work first thing in the morning. Not because she wanted to get rid of me—at least I hoped she didn't. She'd do it because she was a good person and would put my needs before hers.
I wasn't going back to my father's company. Not yet. But I did have to find a way to protect Lowell from whatever my father had planned. Or find a way for him to understand that hurting her was completely off-limits.
"He probably wants to make us an offer. Or deliver a threat."
Lowell shrugged. "He can't make my situation much worse."
I watched her for a beat. "Of course he can. He can out me as an escort who is tangentially related to you."
She held my gaze. "He won't do that. You already said he won't do that to you."
I snorted. "You mean he won't do that to himself."
"Kyle." She put her hand on top of mine. "Your dad loves you. I remember how difficult he can be—I watched what he did to my mom. And I know he cut you off. But I think he did it because he was trying to protect you."
I pulled my hand away. "You don't have to make me feel any worse about it. I know what a fuckup I was. Am."
"You're not a fuckup. Look at me."
I raised my eyes back to hers.
"And give me back your hand, dammit," she commanded.
I did as I was told, happy and angry at the same time. She was about to deliver a lethal blow. I knew it.
"You made mistakes. You're paying for them." She cracked a smile. "Your father wants something better for you. That's what I want too."
"I'm not gonna leave you and get you fired. Lucas would have a fit if we parted ways right now, and so would Shirley and Gigi. You know that's true." I watched her face. "It'd be the end of everything we've been trying to do. I don't want it to end that way—do you?"
She shook her head. "No, of course not. But I don't really see what other options we have. I want what's best for you."
"You can't make me leave you," I said.
She smiled, but it was a sad smile that made my insides ache. "No. I guess I can't, huh?"
* * *
After we were back at the hotel, I clicked on ESPN and watched from the couch. Lowell paced, probably worrying about my father or the sleeping arrangements. Or both.
"Lowell, stop pacing."
"Huh?" She looked at me and wrung her hands.
I patted the couch next to me. "Come here and tell me what's the matter."
She sat stiffly next to me. "I don't want you to say no to your father. And I don't want to get in any more trouble with Lucas and Shirley. And there's only one bed here." She miserably jutted her chin toward the over-the-top bedroom.
Oh, what I would do to you in that four-poster bed. My cock twitched. Stop it, I ordered. She was upset. I didn't want to scare her away—or worse, take advantage of her vulnerability.
"You can have
the bed. I'll take the couch," I said.
She still looked miserable.
"About the rest of it—we'll just have to get my dad to understand that what we're doing has an expiration date." I swallowed hard at the thought. "Once he understands that I will eventually come to work for him, that should reduce his drama."
"But is he gonna let you stay with me for that long? Until the Hearts Wide Open premiere? Because I think that's the thing Shirley's the most concerned with."
I shrugged. "If he wants to get what he wants, he'll have to agree." I said it with confidence, but I knew my father—when he wanted something, he wanted it now. Not a few weeks from now. "Whatever happens, we'll deal with it."
She nodded, but she looked troubled. "Let's talk about it more in the morning. I'm gonna go to bed." She gently kissed my cheek, making desire tear through me. She stood. "Good night, Kyle."
"Good night, Lowell."
If she was feeling what I was—the unmistakable, almost painful longing—I couldn't believe she would walk away. But she did.
She looked at me one last time at the bedroom door, a mixture of desire and regret on her face. "You can have the bedroom tomorrow night, okay?"
"Okay." I nodded. But only if you're in it.
Lowell
I lay awake that night. I could feel him on the other side of the door. My body, heavy with lust, was practically screaming for him.
Shut up, I warned it. We're in enough trouble as it is.
I hadn't told Kyle that my mother might be coming home soon; I didn't want to put him any more on edge than he already was. Besides, this was my mother we were talking about. She could end up staying in Japan for another month, going to a random reiki retreat or finding some Japanese businessman to fawn over.
When I slept, I slept fitfully, dreaming of Kyle naked and on top of me, his big biceps holding me down. Oh yes, yes, yes—
"Yes!" I yelled, waking myself.
I sat straight up in bed, my breath heaving, early morning light coming through the window. I looked around, flustered and wishing that either the dream had been real or I could somehow manage to stop craving Kyle's hands on me.
