The hand left, and then something else was there, something wet, and she realized he was kissing the flesh he’d abused.
Chloe opened her eyes and stared sightlessly at the beige wall. His lips were wonderful on her skin, and he was adding tongue now, leaving a trail of wetness behind.
Finally, his face came into view, and he pressed a kiss to her temple. “Ah, Princess. You sure know how to pay a debt.”
She raised her fist to her mouth and bit it as she giggled. His responding laughter only made her giggle harder, until he collapsed on the bed beside her, clutching his stomach, his blue eyes sparkling.
Her anticipation of sex often gave her rose glasses with men. She expected Breck to look like a poor man’s version of the one she’d originally walked into this hotel with. But if possible he was even better-looking. His lips were swollen, cheeks rosy. His hair was a mess but his eyes…they were still full of humor. And he was still looking at her like she was the princess of his dreams.
Which sobered her a little. She was no princess. Without this persona to hide behind, she wasn’t anything worth keeping.
His smile dimmed and he raised a hand, brushing the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “That good for you, Princess?”
“Once you go Breck, you never go back.”
He barked out a laugh, his eyes twinkling again. “You’re my walking, talking fantasy, you know that?”
Sari was his fantasy. “You’re pretty dreamy yourself.”
He picked up a lock of her hair and fingered it, winding it around his forefinger and running his thumb over the strands. “Such beautiful hair.”
She had to swallow through the thickness in her throat. Her hair might be way longer than normal, but that was all her. That was Chloe’s hair. “Thank you.”
His gaze lifted to her and he hesitated before saying softly, “Want to rest a little, then maybe…see what other positions we can come up with?”
She moved her weary limbs until her skirt was in a pool at the foot of the bed. Breck took that as a sign and pulled the covers out from under them and covered their bodies.
“Yeah,” she said with a yawn. “Let’s do that.”
Breck smiled and pulled her close, tucking her head under his chin.
He took a deep breath, and it wasn’t even five minutes later when his hold on her relaxed and his breaths evened out.
She lay awake for another hour after that, enjoying his strong arms around her, the beat of his heart, the heat of his skin, the smell of man.
Who knew when she’d get this again, and she was smart enough to know the sex they’d had was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.
She didn’t even know his real name.
But it was better this way. She’d forever be a fantasy to him. She’d remain on a pedestal where she’d always be perfect. He’d never have to listen to her cry over the family she’d been unable to prevent from fracturing. He’d never have to hear her worry about her how her brother was handling his guilt. He’d never have to know that she, Chloe Talley, was about as interesting as a doorknob, and that she should have been the sister who passed away in that car accident years ago, not Samantha, the glue who held everyone together.
Nope, he’d always remember her as Sari, the princess who fucked like a queen.
And that was why she carefully slipped out of his arms as he slept, dressed quietly in the dark, and tiptoed out of the hotel room, shutting the door softly behind her.
Chapter Three
If anyone knew that Grant listened to Pink and Christina Aguilera while exercising instead of Metallica or something suitably masculine, he’d never live it down.
But hot damn, he loved this song. Xtina sang “Fighter” and he tossed his head along with the song, now adept at shimmying on the treadmill at the same time his feet pounded the tread. He was alone in his basement, so he could act the fool all he wanted.
He ran shirtless and the sweat dripped down his back, soaking the waistband of his mesh shorts. He upped the incline with a couple jabs of his index finger and ran harder, pushing himself to the brink, needing to reach that point of exhaustion.
Ever since he woke up a week ago in that hotel room, naked and alone, he’d tried to convince himself that he’d dodged a bullet. That she’d spared him the awkward morning after where they both tried to cover up their private parts while guzzling coffee.
Except…nothing about his time with Sari had been awkward. Not at all. She’d been so responsive to his touch. She’d loved everything he did, every word, every flick of his tongue. Her eyes were heated missiles and he still felt the burns.
So while he’d tried to tell himself it was for the best, when he was alone in the shower¸ his hand circling his stiff cock, he lamented missing out on round two.
And when he was lying awake in bed at night—because insomnia had decided to become his friend lately—he realized that he also he cared that he didn’t say good-bye. That he didn’t get her real name.
Maybe it was the way she talked, or the way she moved. The way she threw herself into the role, the way she clearly knew the video game inside and out. Either way, the sum of Sari had made him want to break all his rules, because that woman was worth it.
But she’d stolen out of the room while he’d been passed out in a post-orgasmic deep sleep. He’d almost thought he dreamed it, until he found her panties under the bed skirt.
Grant had brought them home, like some lovesick idiot, tucked into his bag. If Sydney ever found them… Hell he’d probably lie and said he cross-dressed rather than admit to bringing home a stranger’s underwear. Because didn’t that make him a super creep?
He couldn’t stop thinking about her, the way her large breasts felt in his hands, the way she tasted, the way her sweet pussy clenched around his cock as she came apart below him, her cries echoing in his ears. His palms itched sometimes, a phantom sting where he’d cracked them on the flesh of her ass.
He’d searched the convention for her, but it had been Sunday, the last day. He knew his chances of finding her again were slim, but he’d been desperate.
Grant didn’t do desperate.
So maybe it was better this way. He could remember Sari as she was, a beautiful vixen, and move on with his life. He was a single father with a teenage daughter. Complications and attachments weren’t his thing. But even as Sydney’s shadow fell across the floor in front of his treadmill, he had a hard time remembering that.
He popped his earbuds out of his ears, causing Pink’s voice to fade away, as he lowered the incline of the treadmill and slowed the speed. “What’s up?”
His daughter propped an elbow on the front console. “Taste-testing time.”
This was why he worked out. Because if he didn’t, his daughter would surely turn him into a five-hundred-pound man. She loved to bake, and he’d told her he’d send her to culinary school if that was what she wanted. She insisted, though, that this was her hobby. One she loved and planned to keep but it was exactly that, a hobby. It was a good one, too. Sydney had a peanut allergy and baked goods were some of the hardest to find allergy-free.
Sydney wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps and enter the tech world as a programmer. He was proud of her, because after cooking, she was always at her computer. More women were needed in STEM occupations. Hell, at Gamers, the magazine he owned, Marley was only one of three women out of fifty employees. It wasn’t that Grant didn’t want to hire them, it was that he didn’t have many applicants.
He sniffed the air. She’d left the basement door open and the sweet smell had begun to drift down the stairs. He walked slowly, wiping down his face and upper body with a towel he hooked onto the arm bar. “What’d you make?”
“Lavender shortbread cookies with a lemon glaze.”
“Damn.” He reached for his bottle in the treadmill’s cup holder and squirted water in his mouth. “Sounds amazing.”
Sydney was blond, like him, with big blue eyes. She had her mother’s face, the sma
ll mouth and nose, deep-set eyes. Her hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and she wore her red gingham apron, which was pretty much her Saturday look, since she spent most of it in the kitchen. He encouraged her to spend time with friends but she was diligent, his girl. A hard worker. Like father, like daughter.
Her brows drew together when she frowned. “I’m not sure if the glaze is the right consistency. And I made the cookies two different thicknesses, a quarter inch and half inch.”
She always did this, talked at him but didn’t really expect him to answer. Which was a good thing because he knew next to nothing about baking. He could make a mean burrito, though.
“I want you to tell me which you think baked up the best. And if you like the glaze.” She was already walking away and called over her shoulder. “But take a shower first, because you stink.”
He shook his head. Sydney was such an old soul, practically mothering him. Since she’d grown up with an incredibly distant mother, Sydney assumed the role for herself. Grant was only one person and maybe too much of a kid at heart.
After all, he still dressed up and got laid in costume. If that didn’t say sixteen-year-old nerd, he didn’t know what did.
He walked past the sweet-smelling kitchen where Sydney puttered around and headed right to his bathroom, dropping his shorts and toeing off his shoes before stepping into the shower and turning on the spray.
His legs felt a little like jelly, but the hot water soothed his muscles.
Grant had been a freshman in college when a girl he’d slept with came to him with a tear-streaked face and a positive pregnancy test. She wanted to give the baby up for adoption, but Grant had said that he’d take her. His parents helped and even at the toughest of times, he didn’t regret his decision. Sydney’s mother, Avery, saw her a couple of times a year, but Avery now had a new husband on the opposite coast of the US. Her relationship with Sydney was strained and neither seemed to have the urge to change it.
He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. The smell of the cookies was strong now, and Grant smiled. Life was good. Maybe in time, he could forget about the princess. Time healed everything right?
In his bedroom, he pulled on a pair of old sweats, and trotted out to get his treats.
…
Chloe stirred the sausage tortilla soup in her brand-new blue Le Creuset pot. Even at seventy percent off, the pot had been a total splurge, but she figured she deserved it. Her small apartment was furnished, and the only real money she spent on clothes was for cosplay. So since she’d just finished up a big job, she’d bought what she really wanted.
Cooking was like therapy for her. The act of taking unrelated ingredients and molding them, mixing them into something delicious, was like a balm to her soul. There was no pressure. No one or nothing to let down. She cooked for herself so if she screwed something up, no one knew but her.
She didn’t have to talk to anyone. Well, she did talk to her ingredients. And her dishes. She’d already told her pot that she loved it. But they didn’t talk back, which was the best part about them.
The sausage tortilla soup was a new recipe she’d seen on Pinterest. Her profile on that site was an odd amalgamation of recipes, video-game cheats, and cosplay costume ideas. That fit her and her mind, which was a complete hodgepodge of information.
She stirred the soup one last time and then propped her spoon on her cat-shaped spoon rest. It had been a housewarming present from her brother Ethan. She was touched, because her cat had died shortly before her move. She’d planned to get a new pet but she needed time to mourn Chester.
She smiled, thinking of Ethan picking out a spoon rest for her. She couldn’t imagine he bought it in person, but even the thought of her brother googling something like that made her giggle.
There had been an Ethan years ago that would have easily charmed his way into some kitschy boutique to look for a present for her.
But that was before the accident. Before he’d taken their sister for a ride in his fancy new sports car. Before he took a turn going too fast, showing off. Before the tires slid on gravel and the whole car flipped.
Before Samantha Talley died of a broken neck and Ethan landed in the hospital recovering from third-degree burns, leaving him covered in scars.
That had been over two years ago and Ethan spent every single day since then beating himself up with guilt. Chloe understood the guilt, but it was an accident. She wished Ethan could see that. She loved her brother, always would. She knew he’d never be the Ethan he was before, but this one was hard to bear sometimes, the guilt often visible in every line of his face.
Her cell rang from its spot on the counter. She glanced at the screen and thought about ignoring it, but she knew her mother would just call again. Chloe worked from home, so she didn’t have much of an excuse, even if it was a Saturday.
She picked it up and answered, settling it into the crook of her shoulder while she began to clean up from preparing the soup. “Hello?”
“Hey, Chloe, it’s Mom.”
She pictured her mom sitting at the kitchen table, staring out her large bay windows at the backyard, where she had just about every bird feeder known to man. “Hey, Mom.”
“Did you do anything last weekend?”
Well, last weekend, she’d been dressed as a warrior princess, getting screwed in a hotel room by a stranger. Her face flamed. “No, not much, just worked.”
“And are you settling into your apartment okay?”
She glanced around. It was small, but she didn’t need anything big. The complex itself was fairly new. The walls were painted a nice cream and the wood floors were a warm honey color. She’d found a blue braided rug on sale, which went well with her blue-and-tan checked couch. Admittedly the couch pattern was a little ugly but it was the most comfortable damn couch she’d ever sat on. “Yeah, Mom, I really like it.”
“You know, you could have moved closer to us instead…” Her voice trailed off.
Chloe dug her nails into her palms until the pain focused her. This was the problem, and had been the problem since Samantha died. Her parents refused to admit they blamed Ethan for Samantha’s death, but it was evident in the way they treated him. Ethan did blame himself, and exiling himself from their parents was this self-imposed punishment. He’d been the driver; he was the one who’d lost control of the car.
He’d told Chloe he didn’t want to repair the relationship. Ethan didn’t want to see the consequences of his actions any more than her parents wanted to forgive one of their children for the death of another. No one was at fault and yet everyone was at fault.
Or really, it was just one stupid accident.
Either way, Chloe was caught in the middle of a tug of war that was never-ending. Samantha had been the effervescent daughter who held the Talley family together. She’d been the one to smooth everything over with charm and class. With her gone, there was no glue and the Talley family members were all loose orbits, spinning off into space. No matter how hard Chloe tried, she couldn’t bring them together, couldn’t ground them. She’d never been able to.
And after her sister’s death, it had never been more apparent that Chloe was never and could never be Samantha.
Chloe wanted to fill that hole for her family, but it was becoming rapidly apparent no one could, because that hole had grown larger than life. Her sister had always been the prettier one, the outspoken one. And now that Samantha was gone, she was frozen in time as the beautiful, charming, utterly perfect woman.
Chloe struggled in this weird new role as the remaining Talley daughter. She’d known who she was before, quiet sister to her gregarious older siblings. She’d been the baby, content to remain in the shadows, proud of her beautiful sister and successful brother.
Until the accident, which turned Ethan into the black sheep while her parents suddenly remembered Chloe existed. Their attention had been stifling, consuming, as they seemed to want to wrap her in a protective bubble. Chloe didn’t know
how to react under this microscope, what to do, and everything she did do seemed to make it worse.
She filled a glass of water and took a couple of gulps. “I know, Mom, but Ethan asked me to move closer and I… I like it here.”
“I see.” Her voice was tight.
“Ethan is…” Good wasn’t really accurate, but she felt the need to talk about him, remind her mother she had a son. “Busy. He recently bought half of a magazine company.”
Her mother didn’t respond. It was like Ethan didn’t exist. The tension leaked through the phone like poisoned gas.
“D-do you want me to have him call you?”
Her voice came quickly. “I don’t want Ethan to feel forced to speak to his parents.”
Chloe bit her lip. “Um, yeah, okay. I get that.” Why couldn’t she find the right words to say, the sandpaper to smooth away the rough edges in her mom’s voice? Samantha could have done that in her sleep. “You could visit me, if you want.”
“I’ll speak to your father.” She sounded distracted now. “I just wanted to call and check on my daughter. Do you have plans today?”
“I’m trying a new recipe.”
“And plans to be social? I looked up some places that have singles nights.”
Singles nights. Good God, those words were like a shot of pure terror right into her blood. This was the problem. As the only remaining child her parents spoke to, she was smothered by their well-intentioned advice. “Uh-uh, no, Mom. That’s all right. Maybe I’ll call Ethan and—”
“I’m sure he has some single friends that are upstanding in the community.”
Chloe could barely converse in public, the least of her concerns was her hypothetical date’s social status. “Sure.”
“Great, speak to him about that.”
Playing For Her Heart Page 3
