by Amiee Louise
"Don’t go. Look, I'm sorry I overreacted. This conversation is far from finished, Peyton," Sam says gruffly, as he looks between Lyla and me.
I can’t help but compare myself to the blonde goddess in front of me. Her tall, lightly bronzed, slim perfect figure, her wavy, platinum blonde hair, dip dyed with blue streaks, her large almond-shaped blue eyes, and her small nose stud that glints in the soft light of the room. Her bow-shaped mouth, her flawless skin and her large breasts make me feel so fucking inadequate. I don't stand a chance against this beautiful, model-like creature in front of me. I swallow back the lump that has formed in my throat and stand taller. Come on Harper, chin up, tits out.
"Don’t apologise, you're welcome to each other; don't mind me. Me and my son were just leaving. I’ll be in touch."
I try to sound nonchalant, but there is an edge of malice to my voice, even though inside my heart is breaking all over again. Has he really missed me, or has he expertly fooled me into thinking he's missed me? Has he been with Lyla all this time? How many other women have there been? I brush past her, with a little more force than necessary, and leave Sam's apartment as fast as my legs can carry me. I’m desperate to get back to Remy and return to our simple life in Santa Monica.
I take the lift down to the lobby and am alone with my thoughts. As I step out of the lift, I catch sight of Cole quietly sitting in one of the black overstuffed armchairs in the corner, playing with his phone. He stands as soon as he catches my eye and tucks his phone in his jacket pocket. A look of concern marring his features.
"What did he do this time, sugar?"
I shake my head, as my eyes glaze over.
"Take me back to the hotel please, Cole. I need to leave now, I can't be here," I anxiously choke out, and he nods curtly.
He takes Freddie's sleeping form in his carrycot out to the Mercedes, which is parked idly at the kerb. He opens the door, leans in, and straps Freddie securely in the back seat. I climb shakily in the back seat, next to Freddie, and let the tears I was holding back in the confines of Sam's apartment fall down my cheeks. Cole climbs into the driver’s seat, and he regards me intently.
"Look, sugar, it’s none of my business, but you look like you could do with a friend. Do you want to tell me about it?"
He hands me a handkerchief, and I wipe my eyes.
"Fucking Lyla showed up. I can't compete with her, Cole. I never could."
I sob as Cole scrubs his free hand down his face.
"Fucking Lyla," he growls, and I shake my head.
“Please take me back to the hotel, Cole,” I plead, and he nods, catching my watery gaze in the interior mirror.
He smiles softly, starts the engine, flicks the indicator, and pulls fluidly out into the night-time New York traffic. I quickly fire off a text to Remy.
On my way back to the hotel now, babe
P xx
Throughout the remainder of the journey, I am silent and lost in my own thoughts. I want nothing more than to pack up our stuff and return to the place I now call home: Santa Monica. Soon we are pulling to a halt outside the hotel and Cole comes around to the passenger door to let me out of the car. He looks sympathetically at me and smiles warmly.
“I’ve got it, sugar.”
He helps me out of the car and unstraps Freddie from the back seat. He carries him to the affluent, glass-fronted hotel entrance and hands him to me.
“Take care, sugar. If you need anything at all, call me.”
He passes me a business card, brushes my arm reassuringly and winks. I manage a smile, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. I enter the hotel and make my way quickly to the lift, carefully trying not to jar a sleeping Freddie awake. I frantically stab the call button, trying my best not to break down in front of the rest of the hotel's patrons. The lift arrives, and I step inside, secretly hoping that I am the sole occupant all the way up to the twelfth floor. The door starts to close, and a large tanned hand slides between the doors to stop the doors from fully closing.
“Hold the elevator, sweetheart.”
I look up into the greenest eyes I have ever seen, they would give Sam’s a run for their money. His grin is swoon-worthy, and he is wearing a bright yellow hoodie, emblazoned with the words ‘Starr Inc.’ in bright red lettering. He has his hood pulled up, which covers his light brown hair. He punches the penthouse floor button, and I feel my face flush. The doors close, and the lift starts to move. I try to hide my face, but I can see his smirk out of the corner of my eye.
“You know, where I'm from, it isn’t considered a crime to find me attractive, honey.”
His American accent is deep and playful; I look up to meet his amused eyes.
“Hey.”
He salutes, and I smile.
“Hi,” I say softly, suddenly feeling shy as he reaches his hand out to me.
“I’m Jensen, Jensen Starr.”
I nod, take his offered hand, and he envelopes my hand in his large, soft, warm one.
“Peyton. Pleased to meet you, Jensen.”
He nods, mirroring my body language and he keeps his hand in mine a little longer than is acceptable. Oddly, I don’t mind this handsome strangers grip on my hand.
“You look like you could use a drink, beautiful.”
His rich, all-American voice washes over me and strangely comforts me like a warm hug.
“It's been a bad week, unfortunately.”
Fucking understatement. He regards me intently, maintaining eye contact and cocking his head to the side.
“Ditto. Want to share, sweetheart? I’m an extremely good listener, maybe we could cheer each other up?”
I look shyly away at his flirty tone, and he steps closer to me.
“I don’t bite...well unless you want me to.”
He smirks, and I shiver as I remember those are the exact words that Sam used when he first came into Saint Sinner Ink on that fateful day. It seems like a lifetime ago now. I drop his hand as if he is on fire and take a step away from him as the lift comes to a halt at my floor.
“I...I’m sorry, this is me.”
I sidestep him, and he winks as I step out of the lift.
“I’m in the penthouse suite, just in case you were wondering, beautiful,” he calls out, as the lift doors close.
Jensen winks cheekily, and the lift begins its ascent.
I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding and rush down the corridor to our room. Freddie’s carrycot is in my hand, and I’m trying desperately not to wake him. I quickly use the key card to gain entry to our room and step inside, closing the door behind me. I lean my head on the door and gulp in precious air. Fuck me. In those seconds, I make the snap decision to just pack up and go home. Back to my new life in Santa Monica. Back to my job at Cool Beans, and back to my friends Joel, Henley, Blaze, Rayne and Dax.
I place Freddie’s carrycot gently on the hotel room floor and catch Remy’s warm gaze. As soon as his eyes lock with mine, I let out a strangled sob.
“Take me home, Rem, this was all a big fucking mistake. I should have listened when you said it was a bad idea. Please, take us home.”
I go to move into the bedroom, and Remy stops me by gently taking my hand in his.
“Beaut, the police are here to ask you a few questions.”
It isn’t until he says those words, that I look up and register the presence of two police officers.
Shit.
38
Sam
As I watch Peyton leave my apartment, I rake my hand furiously through my already unkempt hair.
“What the fuck, Lyla? Do you see what you’ve fucking done! You can’t just randomly show up here when you fucking feel like it! What the fuck are you even doing in New York?” I reprimand her, trying to keep my temper in check and she shrugs nonchalantly.
“Does it matter? It looks like I turned up just at the right time. Besides, I’m here now, baby; why not take advantage of that? I can make you feel good, Sammy.”
She moves close
r to me and runs her nails down my abs. I recoil from her touch, as if I can’t bear her hands on me.
“You need to get the fuck out, Lyla, and don’t you ever fucking call me Sammy!” I say, in an exasperated tone.
“Say it with a little more conviction, babe, and then maybe, just maybe, I’ll do as you say.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
She smirks, and I grab her wrist roughly.
“I’m quickly losing my fucking patience, Lyla. You need to leave now; I won’t tell you again,” I say with a clenched jaw, and I can feel the tic begin in my neck. “I’m fucking done, Lyla. You and me? It’s fucking over. Whatever we had or whatever you think we had, is over,” I spit harshly.
She reaches for me, but before her hand can make contact with me, I back as far away from her as I can.
“Sammy, please, it’s only ever been you. I love you!” she says petulantly, and I half expect her to stomp her foot for effect.
I scrub my hands down my face, fast losing any semblance of self-control. I pick my phone up from on top of the mantelpiece and dial the number I need.
“Cole, it’s me.”
His deep, rumbling timbre fills my ears.
“I’m driving, you’re on hands-free. What can I do for you, mate?”
I watch Lyla cautiously as she regards me intently from across the room.
“Yeah, I’ve got an unwanted guest in my apartment.”
He clears his throat.
“That wouldn’t be Lyla would it, by any chance, mate?”
How would he know that? Then I think back. Peyton. Fuck.
“Yeah, it’s Lyla; look it’s a long story, I’ll explain later. Could you come and get rid of her, please?”
He pauses for a few seconds.
“I’ve kept quiet for long enough, Sam. What the hell is wrong with you? What about the woman I just took back to her hotel in floods of tears? Everyone seems to be treading on eggshells around you and not addressing the issue, but I’m not afraid to call you out on your bullshit. I’m your friend before I’m your employee. She’s the mother of your son, for fuck's sake! Just fucking cut the girl some slack and stop being a stubborn dick for once in your god damn life!” he snaps in his deep, rich voice, which he uses when he’s really pissed.
“Spare me the lecture, Cole. You’ve got no fucking idea, have you? What about what I’ve been through? I thought she was dead, and it turns out that her parents knew she was alive. They knew, and they said nothing!”
I raise my voice, and Lyla’s attention piques at the snippet of information.
“It’s all you, you, you! Fuck me, Sam. You are such a selfish prick. What about all she’s been through? Have you considered that? It’s obvious she’s jealous and hurting at seeing you with another woman. Fucking Lyla! Of all the women in the world, it had to be her! Peyton still cares about you, you complete dick! So, I suggest you man the fuck up!”
Cole raises his voice, and I begin to pace the floor of my apartment, feeling more than a little agitated.
“Look, can you come and remove her or not? Because I don’t fucking want her here,” I bark, feeling all the strings that are holding me together slowly start to tear and sever around me.
Cole sighs.
“Fuck me. Alright, I’m just running an errand. I’ll be as quick as I can,” he says indifferently, and I hang up without saying goodbye.
I make my way back into the living space to find Lyla sprawled out on my sofa, completely naked and I try to look anywhere but at her breasts.
“What the fuck? Didn’t I make myself clear that I didn’t fucking want you here?” I shout, and she rolls over onto her stomach.
She rests her chin on her hand, showing off her perfectly manicured, blood red fingernails.
“We all know you’re going to fuck me, Sam. It’s always a sure thing when it comes to us. We may as well get it out of the way. You want me as much as I want you, admit it. Peyton was just an inconvenience, a stop gap while you figured out it was me you really wanted.”
I take a deep breath. What the fuck? Is she being serious right now or is she fucking with me?
“You’re actually beginning to sound like fucking J.D! When are you going to get it through your thick, pathetic skull that it’s just sex! All it’s ever been between us is hot nasty sex. Nothing more, nothing less. We’re toxic together Lyla; you ended up in fucking rehab because of me, because that’s who I am and what I do! I’m Sam fucking Newbolt! I’m every woman’s fucking fantasy! I break people, I hurt them, and then I move onto the fucking next, with no regard for the consequences!” I roar and pick up her coat.
“Get your fucking clothes on now and get out of my house,” I say coolly.
I throw her clothes at her, and she gets up from the sofa. She moves closer to me, until we are toe to toe, and she grabs my cock through my silk pyjama pants. I swallow harshly.
“Your cock tells me differently, Sam; he wants to come out to play,” she purrs seductively, and I will my cock not to react.
Come on you fucking traitor, do me a favour, just this once. I take a step back from her, not trusting myself to be near her.
“Sammy, baby,” she croons, as she follows me into the kitchen.
I look up, and she is stood in the doorway in her underwear, twirling her hair around her finger.
Fuck.
“Lyla,” I say, with a hint of warning to my voice.
She struts with confidence into the kitchen and stops in front of me. She walks two fingers down my chest and stops at the waistband of my pyjama bottoms. I regard her intently, and my resolve snaps as I let her stroke my growing erection.
What the fuck are you doing, Newbolt?
“Just relax. Let me make you feel good, baby,” Lyla purrs and drops to her knees in front of me.
She tugs my pyjama bottoms down until I am totally naked from the waist down in front of her. She takes my cock in her hand and strokes it up and down, but all I can think of is Peyton. She takes me deep in her throat, and I grunt at the feel of her wet mouth around me.
“Stand up, darlin’, this isn’t working for me.”
I drag her to her feet, and she looks at me with those blue eyes of hers, which look almost too big for her face. She runs her finger down the centre of my chest, trying to entice me to continue. I pull up my pyjama bottoms and run my hands through my hair. This is a mistake, Newbolt.
“Is something wrong, baby?” she pouts.
It isn’t adorable like she thinks it is; it’s extremely fucking annoying. She presses her already bare, and silicon enhanced breasts against me.
“Why won’t you just admit it, Sam? You feel something for me. There’s always been a spark between us.”
I make my way around the kitchen island, pick up my glass, and fill it liberally with Macallan whiskey. As I pour my drink, she moves lithely around the island and slides her hands under my t-shirt. She nips my earlobe and rakes her blood red fingernails across my abs. I growl at the feeling and grip both of her wrists in one of mine. I spin her around and trap her beneath me.
You’re going to regret this once it’s over.
I try desperately to block out the voice in my head, which tells me it’s wrong, and clear my throat before I begin to speak.
“This doesn’t mean we’re back together, Lyla. This is going to be just sex. We were toxic together, and all it ever will be with us is mindless sex.”
She looks up at me with those eyes I was once in love with, and all I see is a hole to empty my cock into.
“You don’t mean that, Sammy. We were good together, baby.”
The way she whines grates on every last nerve in my body, and just to shut her up, I grab her roughly by the shoulders and push her to her knees. She lightly licks the head of my cock and grins up at me. Fuck me, I hate this woman. I can’t stop this thought dominating my brain as I grab the blonde hair at the back of her head. I push my cock deep into her throat, and I hear her start to gag. Her eyes start to water, bu
t I don’t give a fuck as I start to pump back and forth between her soft pink lips. She pulls away with a loud retching sound.
“Sammy, calm down, lover,” she manages to say, before I ram my cock back into her mouth.
She pulls away again, her eyes wide and glossy as she coughs and splutters.
“So, that’s how you want it is it?” she asks, trying desperately to sound seductive and failing miserably.
