Obsessive Temptation: A BWWM Romance Limited Edition Collection

by Peyton Banks

  “You’ve not had to take the train after sitting through dinner with my parents. I’m sure you’re tired.” I pull out my phone and open the Uber application. “What’s your address?”

  Her lips twist and she shakes her head. “You won’t give up, will you?”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Fine, let me see your phone and I’ll enter the address.”

  She holds out her hand and I give her my phone. With her address entered, I make sure I have the correct pickup location before I start the search for a car. It only takes a few seconds, and better yet, the Uber is right there dropping off a fare. We load into the car, and the driver takes off. He’s not too chatty, which is fine by me. It takes us fifteen minutes to cross the city and head even further uptown. The vehicle stops, and we both get out. The driver leaves without a backward glance. I’m not sure if she’ll invite me up, and maybe she shouldn’t, but I hope she does.

  Heather screws up her face and shakes her head. “You should call another Uber. They aren’t as readily available here in the hood.”

  I laugh, feeling relief since we aren’t with my parents. “You don’t live in the hood.”

  “It’s not Madison Avenue. There aren’t any restaurants here for drivers to haunt.”

  “I want to make sure you get inside safely. And I need to carry your bag.”

  She rolls her eyes and waves for me to follow. The building where she lives is well kept, almost nicer than where I live.

  “Hi, Heather,” a woman calls out.

  “Hi, Emily, how are you doing?”

  “Great. I’m running a yoga seminar next week. It’s going to be a good photo op.”

  “Sure, I’ll get with you this weekend and discuss.”

  “Thanks for everything,” Emily calls out as she heads downstairs.

  In the weirdness that had come about since my real fiancée left me high and dry, I haven’t even asked Heather what she does for a living. I’ve been focused on me and my problems, ignoring her totally. During dinner, my dad had monopolized the conversation, so she hadn’t really had to speak. I knew Heather was into art in school. Photography would explain her weird clothing. If she worked in an artist-based industry, she could get away with almost anything.

  Heather’s apartment is on the fourth floor, a climb for sure. I will shamefully admit I’m winded by the time we reach her floor. I’m not in bad shape, but maybe the drinks I’d consumed had been too much, or maybe I need more gym time.

  “Okay, this is my place. I guess you could come in.”

  I nod; I don’t want to walk away. “I’d like to if that’s okay with you?” God, what is wrong with me? I haven’t acted like this around a woman in years. I think back, trying to figure out how long it had been since I’d been nice to one of the women I’d dated. Had I turned into my father? Fuck, I’d turned into my father.

  “What’s wrong?” Heather is staring at me with her brows bunched. I want to reach out and smooth away the wrinkles.

  “Nothing. I was just thinking about dinner.”

  "Yeah, so how long is that going to go on?" She steps into her apartment, and I follow. The place is large by New York standards. I count four doors leading off the main room, and her kitchen is almost disgustingly huge compared to the tiny space in my apartment. I'd rented the place to conserve money. My father not only didn't like paying me, but he also didn't like paying me a lot of money. I may be related to the founder of the company, but I wasn't given any breaks.

  “My mom doesn’t like to stay in New York for long. She loves the beach, and they’re only up here for a meeting my dad wants to attend. So we won’t have to pretend for long.”

  She nods as she moves to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. “I need more. Do you want any?”

  “Sure, I’ll have a glass.”

  “I have beer if you’d rather.”

  I shake my head. “No, wine is fine.”

  She brings over two glasses and motions to the couch. “Here, have a seat.”

  I take a sip, enjoying the smooth, dark taste of the wine. “It’s good.”

  “My favorite. So your parents, you were saying they don’t like to stay long.”

  I like being here. The sounds of the street below are muted. With only one light on in the kitchen and a little light spilling in from outside, a soft glow makes the room appear cozy. I take a sip of the wine. Why am I stalling, and why am I still here? I didn’t need to stay. This was a friendly arrangement that would probably turn into a business arrangement. I need to discuss money with her, but not yet. What I really want is to spend hours enjoying Heather’s company. I want to turn the lights low and talk about everything under the sun. I want this evening to last. I’d been on dates, lots of them since leaving Stanford, but I hadn’t experienced this feeling with any of those women.

  I shrug. “I’m sure they’ll be gone in a week.”

  “A week?” Heather shouts.

  “What? Is that too long? Can’t stand to be my girlfriend for that long?”

  She rolls her eyes and takes another sip of wine. “This isn’t college. I have—never mind. Okay, one week. I can do this for one week. But that’s it.”

  I hold up my hand and say, “Scout’s honor.”

  “Please, you were never a Scout.”

  “I was.”

  She rolls her eyes again. “Did you all camp in Central Park?”

  “No, we camped at the Four Seasons, it was dangerous making our way through the city streets. We had to dodge Range Rovers, Rolls-Royces, and Porsches.” She gives me her best side-eye, and I sink deeper into the couch. I could get used to her and this. The situation sinks in a little more, and I grow serious. “Really, thank you. I’ll owe you.”

  She points her finger at me and pokes me in the chest. “Yes, you will. I don’t know what I’m going to ask for, but you will owe me big time.”

  When I’d first stepped into her apartment, I’d paid attention to the size, but not much else. Now, as I sit drinking wine, I notice a few small statues; red, blue, and green vases; photos from around the world. I get up and move to a photo taken in China in front of the Forbidden City. Heather is smiling, her dimples showing. She’d always been quick to smile. I can’t remember a time my mother had smiled like that. I feel Heather beside me. When I look, she’s studying the photos which gives me time to observe her.

  Her head turns just a little, but then her eyes meet mine. All those long years ago I’d wanted to kiss her. I’d told myself she was too good for me. She blinks, her lashes resting against her cheeks and I can’t hold back. I angle myself a little and cup her cheek so I can move closer. She doesn’t back away. Excitement zings through me, and I can't believe I'm about to kiss Heather, the woman of my fantasies.

  I hesitate, wondering how muddy I’m making the waters? We were pretending to be engaged, but there isn’t anything pretend about this moment. My lips slide over hers, and it sucks the air from my lungs. I’m unprepared for the impact and lean in because I can’t stand up on my own.

  She’s got some magic over me because I’m ready to do whatever she wants. My hand drops low and rests on the sexy curve of her ass. My cock hardens, and I wonder how difficult it would be to convince her to take this further. I want to take this much farther, and I wish she were my real fiancée because not once in my relationship with Sandra had a kiss felt this good.

  Heather pulls away. I’m thinking she’s about to suggest we head to the bedroom, or maybe have a fun little romp on the couch. Again, she surprises me.

  “You should go.”

  Her words hurt. I’d thought we had a connection. We were pretend engaged, but she is asking me to leave. I don’t deserve another kiss. I step away and tug at the cuffs of my shirt. It was a move I made when I had no clue what to do. I knew this about myself and yet I still did it.

  “Sure. I need to head home anyway. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you when to show up for dinner.”

  Heather’s
eyes grow darker with anger. I feel bad since I’m being a dick. It comes so naturally.

  She moves to the door and gives a stiff smile as I pass by. There is no goodbye kiss, no hug, no kind words, just a door shut behind me. Nothing that has happened this afternoon was natural.

  I order a car, which takes five minutes to show up. It’s okay because I use that time to open my email and work. Work centers me, and I dive in, not coming up for a breath until two in the morning. I’d barely said thank you to the driver when I left the car. Not allowing anything to distract me, I rip through email after email. I may not be the head of Baxter-Scott Enterprises, but I was going to prove I could be.

  4

  Heather

  * * *

  You should leave? You should leave? What the heck was wrong with me? I lie in bed, the covers thrown back as I relive that kiss. Hell, Baxter was freaking sexy, and I want him. Want him so much it hurts. He was the sexiest man I’d ever not dated, and I was kicking myself for asking him to leave. I could have had a taste of all of him. Instead, I’d kicked him out.

  Tossing and turning isn’t my thing. I get up to draw some fabric I’d wanted to create for something special. I have an intern, Michelle Cole, coming in today to work with me. Maybe she’ll enjoy giving me input on this fabric.

  Close to one, I drop to the mattress and this time I sleep. I swear I don’t even roll over. The next morning, I think of texting Baxter, but our relationship is fake. Instead, I dive in. Work is chaotic and I have to take care of an issue in my Hollywood store. Worry hits me about five minutes into the conversation with the manager because I think I’m going to have to fly out there. I don’t want to miss seeing Baxter. He’s my fake fiancé and already he rates higher than any of the boyfriends I’ve had in the last few years. The sad state of my dating life depresses me.

  I haven’t received a call from Baxter by the time I finish eating lunch. I stare at my phone, mulling over sending him a text when I open my email. He sent me an email instead of texting. It’s a little odd, but whatever. We’re meeting at a restaurant around the corner from my store at six. I decide to work late instead of heading home or out to do yoga.

  Michelle steps in from off the street, lighting up the store. If only she would work in my shop, but she has better things planned for her life than being my sales clerk.

  “Michelle, it’s good to see you.”

  “Heather, thank you for letting me come in again today. I know you’re busy.”

  I wave her back to my office. “Sure. I have some fabric I designed last night. I wanted to see what you had to say about it.”

  “OMG, so exciting.”

  We head to my office where fabric litters the table. Michelle goes over and starts touching the cloth. I was just like her when I’d been younger. I loved touching every fabric under the sun when I was her age. I still do. Fabric is my life.

  My stomach twists as thoughts of Baxter surface. Maybe everything with Baxter will turn out okay. He’s a week-long interruption, and then I can get back to reality.

  "Here we go." I pull my sketch pad out of my bag and open to the design I'd started last night. It was bold. I like browns and oranges, but this is in shades of blues—colors that complement Baxter's eyes. I was being silly. I roll my eyes before I turn to face Michelle.

  “Oh my, it’s beautiful,” Michelle purrs.

  “You like it?”

  “God, yes. It’s gorgeous. I love it. I could see this as a dress.”

  “I was thinking pants.”

  “Pants would be good, but could you imagine wearing a dress in this beautiful fabric? You’d be the talk of the town.”

  “It would be nice.” I could picture myself wearing this dress on Baxter’s arm. This afternoon, I’ll contact the company who weaves my fabric and see if they can get me in. I need this dress. A depressing thought hits. The design would be created too late. Baxter and I will only be together for a week. One week, that’s all I have to get my fill of him.

  “Can I show you my drawings?” Michelle asks.

  “I would love to see them.”

  We spend the next two hours talking about dresses, looking at swatches, and working on a design for one of her classes. She is an amazing designer. Her style is different than what I design, but maybe that’s why we work well together.

  Her phone buzzes and her lips twist as she rolls her eyes. “Ugh,” she says as she packs up her things.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, I just have to attend a family dinner. Yuck.”

  I laugh because I have to attend a family dinner, but it is with my fake family. After Michelle takes off, I finish my work, helping out in the store after I’m done with orders. I love talking to customers, finding out what works for them. It’s one reason I designed my Hips collection. It isn’t just as stylish as the rest of my lines, it’s maybe a little more so. The collection was made for women who weren't slim through the hips. Even some skinny women had big hips based on their DNA makeup, and I'd seen more than one designer make their clothes to fit only women who had no hips. Since I wasn't just paying lip service, I had carved out a niche market where many high-end designers failed. I also catered to my heritage. I have mixed ancestry, not just African and Irish, but I have a little Asian thrown in from some great grandmother. I embrace it all, but my skin tones are obvious, I make sure my no apology style has plenty of African influence.

  I choose a dress from my private stash of clothes in my office and hold it up. Maybe I should run next door and buy something a little more traditional. But, dammit, I’m not ashamed of my clothes.

  My phone rings right as I slip out of my shirt and pants. It’s Baxter. His call sends my heart fluttering. “Hello.”

  “Change of plans.”

  I roll my eyes and wonder why I’m still putting up with this charade. Then I remember college and how hurt Baxter had been by his parents and how I’d wanted to make him mine. We’d never connected like that and now is my chance. I roll my eyes and tune back into him.

  “Okay. So, what is the new plan?”

  “Pack a bag for two nights, though I’m going to search for an excuse for us to leave in one. We’re driving up to meet my parents for the weekend.”

  I stare at my desk, thinking of the schedule for the shop. Luckily, I had good employees. I would need to work a little, but I could bring my computer with me. I’m in too deep already, and though I owe Baxter nothing, I kind of do owe him something. He was there for me when I needed him in college.

  “Fine, pick me up at my place?”

  “Okay. Could you text me your address again?”

  This was going to be a nightmare. I pray his parents leave New York after this weekend. They were a drain on me, but this adjustment allows me the time with Baxter I crave.

  “Oh, they dress for dinner, so you’ll have to wear a cocktail dress, something muted.”

  My eyes narrow as I stare at my creations. There was one dress in particular which was pre-release. It was a one of a kind so far because the manufacturer hadn't delivered yet. But this one I'd sewn with my own two hands, and it was far from muted.

  “Sure, muted.” I hang up and send him my address. I pull on my pants and shirt before I send a note to my manager, informing her I won’t be in to cover any shifts this weekend. Not that I’m on the schedule, but I am a hands-on kind of person and the store is new.

  I grab my computer and a few items of clothing from my private closet and fold them neatly before dropping them into a store bag. I buzz out of my office right into Michelle.

  “Michelle, it’s good to see you.”

  “Heather, oh my goodness, I didn’t know you’d still be here. This is my sister, Linda.”

  “Hello, Linda, it’s nice to meet you. I was just headed out.”

  Michelle glances at her sister then back to me. “I’m trying to get my sister to try some of your clothes.”

  I nod and smile, thinking Linda would never feel comfortable in my
clothes, but hey, I’d found stiffer converts who were all business during the day but liked to wind down in the evenings and weekends.

  Linda sticks out her hand and her lips curve up a little. “My sister seems to think she’ll be a famous designer.”

  I’d fought through doubt and won. I’d been in the right place at the right time and gained a client who’d introduced me to a couple of directors who in turn introduced me to a few actresses. Then my business snowballed in a good way.

  “Sometimes, all it takes is being in the right place at the right time,” I say.

  Linda nods then glances away quickly. Maybe I’d struck a nerve. I had to go, so I couldn’t stay and chat with Michelle and her sister.

  “I hope you find what you’re looking for,” I say before turning to Marci, my assistant store manager. “I’m leaving for the evening. I sent a note to Bree, but I wanted to tell you I’ll be gone for the weekend.”

  I wave to Michelle and her sister before I take off. The crosstown bus stop is right outside my store so I hop on and then catch the subway the rest of the way home. I love being in the mass of humanity, mixing in with people of different nations who speak different languages, dress differently, live differently. A child is singing in a different language, it’s sweet. I smile to myself and glance at my phone. There is a text from Marci.

  * * *

  Weekend away? Are you going to party? Maybe go to Vegas or Key West?

  * * *

  I laugh as I type my reply.

  * * *

  No, nothing so exciting. I’m headed to Connecticut.

  * * *

  Oh God, at least tell me you’ll have a man you can play with at your beck and call.