Need (Bad Boys with Billions Book 3)

by Laura Marie Altom

  Carol

  “Thank you for coming with me,” I said to Ella at Margot Bartholomew-James’s graveside service being held at Cypress Lawn. Margot would be interred in an imposing family mausoleum.

  “Of course.” She gave my gloved hand a comforting squeeze. “She’d done so much for so many of the charity boards I’m on that I would have come anyway.”

  A cold rain had set in, making the already sad occasion that much worse.

  My morbid curiosity about this woman whom Nathan had been among the last to see alive led me to this point. She’d been a beloved member of San Francisco’s elite, and throngs had turned out to pay their last respects. Margot’s son and daughters and father stood teary-eyed through the brief service.

  While a priest delivered words I hoped would bring comfort to Margot’s family, I found myself scanning the crowd, wondering if Nathan would be there. It had been a week since we’d met at the coffeehouse, and I still couldn’t bring myself to return to the condo that was no longer mine, but ours. Even though the police had released it for use, and my cleaning service assured me everything was in order, for me, the place was filled with ghosts. There were happy spirits from times spent laughing in bed and making love in the shower and tub. Then came the angry spirits from when I’d been violated by those texts and Nathan had been arrested for the murder I’d always known he could never commit.

  Rain mercilessly drummed the umbrella-wielding mourners until the priest’s words could scarcely be heard. Mounds of once beautiful flowers served as a painful, wilted reminder of the fragility of all living things.

  The priest performed a quick wrap-up, and that was that.

  The woman’s life had been reduced to a tragic story of love and lust that would no doubt be whispered about for years to come.

  I wanted to be angry at Nathan for even the small role he’d played in Margot’s life, but the truth was, if all of these loving people had been beside her, she wouldn’t have been so lonely as to feel the need to hire an escort. If anything, Nathan had given her much-needed comfort, and if he was to be believed about having counseled her to work things out with her husband, Nathan might have actually been one of her few true friends.

  Ella and I walked arm-in-arm to her car, careful not to fall in our heels.

  I caught myself from a near trip on a brick paver when I saw him—Nathan, standing all alone beneath a redwood. He had no umbrella and stood stone still, as if welcoming nature’s abuse. Did he wonder if there was something he could have done to prevent this awful tragedy? Did he harbor guilt for ever having known Mitsy at all?

  Far from wanting to run from him, I ached to run to him.

  My heart cried to offer not just my umbrella, but true shelter from this awful storm.

  But if I did go to him, then what? I wasn’t anywhere near ready to forgive him for the emotional damage he’d done, which left me stashing my umbrella on the floorboard of Ella’s car, then climbing into the passenger seat.

  Not being strong enough to go to him served as just one more regret on my already monstrous pile.

  Christmas morning, I sat with Mom in her cozy living room, sipping eggnog and watching her open her presents. I’d gone a little overboard, buying her jewelry and designer purses and shoes and a whole wardrobe of clothes for the silly little dogs she loved.

  Even though the sun shone, the temperature was chilly, so I’d made a fire.

  For years, she’d insisted on using a fake tree to do her part in saving forests, and this year was no different. While she’d trotted off to the bedroom to try on the Chanel dress Santa had brought her, I looked at the ornaments, remembering the day Nathan had bought the hand-painted salt-dough Yorkie for my mom. That had been a big day for us. Nathan and I had an epic battle, but once the smoke cleared, he’d offered to quit his job. If he hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have stayed with him.

  But now that I knew he hadn’t quit, our happy resolution felt soiled.

  Could I believe him when he told me he’d tried quitting?

  Uma had gotten a lot of press lately, and for all of the manners she’d tried to teach Nathan, she’d done some very bad things. Not only had she been involved in pandering, but in drug trafficking and white slavery. Nathan could have been right about her hiring him specifically to pin Margot’s murder on him. Who’s to say murder-for-hire hadn’t been another of her specialties?

  “What do you think?” Mom emerged from her room to deliver a runway-worthy twirl. The navy scoop-necked shift would be perfect for her upcoming class reunion, classy without being too stiff.

  “You look stunning. Give me another spin so I can see the back.”

  She did, and the dogs went nuts barking.

  “They must approve,” Mom said.

  “You’re going to be the hottest mom at that reunion.”

  “Who said I was going? I still haven’t decided.”

  “You’re going if I have to drive you.”

  “Stop being so bossy.” She retreated to her room, but shouted down the hall, “Besides, if you get to tell me what to do, that means I’m allowed to do the same when it comes to Nathan! Go get him, and bring him back for Christmas dinner!”

  I snatched up Tinker Bell for a cuddle and collapsed onto the sofa. “Do you think that’s a good idea? Sharing a meal with a man who sliced clean through my life like a pair of your groomer’s clippers?”

  The dog cocked her head, looking at me as if I’d sprouted elf ears and a bushy white beard.

  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” I straightened her bow.

  Mom returned, and she’d changed back into her pajamas. “That dress is gorgeous, but I’ll take comfy clothes any day over dressing up. I don’t know how you stand it.” She gestured to my current outfit, an emerald-green wool skirt and ruffled white blouse. In an attempt to not feel like such a womanly failure, I’d worn my favorite garter belt, lacy panties, and sheer stockings, too. “Always being so fancy.”

  “I don’t feel particularly fancy, Mom. This is just me.” And honestly, when I didn’t look my best, I felt vulnerable. The better I looked, the more capable I felt in any situation. “Besides, I promised Ella I’d pop in for her Christmas party. I’m pretty sure she invited the whole town. Want to go?”

  “Tell your friend Ella she’s a sweetheart to think of me, but I’m itching to assemble that new quilting frame you bought me, then get to work.”

  “Just like that, you’re ready to get rid of me?”

  She laughed. “I wouldn’t mind sharing a big pancake breakfast first. Care to help?”

  “In this outfit?” I teased.

  “I’ll loan you an apron.”

  We cooked in companionable silence, each taking on the assigned roles we’d had for years. I made the bacon, and Mom made batter. We’d followed the same routine for practically my whole life. For a hot second, I’d thought Nathan might join us for this year’s tradition, but that idea had been a flop.

  “I know you don’t like talking about it,” Mom said, “but how wonderful would it have been for us to have shared the holiday with your little girl?”

  “You’re right. I don’t like talking about it, so can we change the subject?”

  “Sorry. I was just remembering all the times we made pancakes when you were little. You loved them for any and all occasions. First day of school, Valentine’s Day. Remember that year I made the hearts, and put Red Hots in the batter?”

  I smiled. “Those were good. You should totally do that for this year.”

  She left her post at the counter to give me a hug. “I love you, angel. One of these days, you’re going to have a brand new son or daughter who we’ll spoil rotten and love. As painful as it is for me to admit, I’m sorry for pushing you into looking for Fern. You were probably better off not knowing where she was.”

  “No.” I turned the bacon. “I appreciate you giving me a nudge. It’s not like I never thought about her. Her welfare was always on my mind. But now I know she’s with parents
who love her and are giving her the perfect . . .” I shifted the bacon pan off the flame before breaking down.

  Mom was back with another hug. “Let it out. You’ve had a rough go of it lately.”

  “I know I shouldn’t, but I miss Nathan. When I lost Fern, at least I had him, you know? Now, I feel right back at square one.”

  “Sweetheart . . .” She rocked me as if I were back in fourth grade, crying over Timmy Carmichael stealing the sugar cookies from my lunch. “Everything’s going to be okay. You’ll see. Let’s have our pancakes, and then you go to your party. Get rip-roaring drunk from all that free champagne, and then, before you know it, Christmas and New Year’s will be over and you’ll get back into your normal routine.”

  Her words made sense, but they didn’t make my immediate ache feel better.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, either, but while Nathan got himself into quite a nasty jam, thankfully, that’s all it turned out to be. Yes—it’s horrible that his client passed, but he had nothing to do with it. In fact, if he hadn’t been with her, someone else would have.”

  “I get that, but how do I forgive his lies? Even if I did, then, how do I trust he won’t do it again?”

  “Now you’re just being silly. Give him a chance. More importantly, give yourself a chance. You might find forgiving him is easier than losing him.”

  Mom’s words stayed with me through the party.

  I did drink more than my fair share of Ella’s holiday punch, and when Ella and Liam clinked dessert spoons against their glasses for everyone to follow them into the newly refurbished ballroom, I nearly peed my pants with excitement to find Harry Connick Jr. onstage crooning “Sleigh Ride.”

  While couples danced, I stood on the edge of Santa’s workshop. Only Liam had a ballroom large enough to hold a mini North Pole for all the children present to play in. The workshop was surrounded by dozens of Christmas trees and animatronics reindeer, snowmen and elves. The area had been fenced off, and somehow, it was snowing—albeit the flakes weren’t real, but to the kids, the result was pure magic.

  Apparently, Owen’s girls agreed. Little Darcy made a snow angel, while her twin sisters played with the hundreds of toys in the workshop.

  “Having fun?” Ella asked.

  “How could I not? Harry’s gorgeous . . .” Okay, so I may have been a little turnt, but since I was among friends, what could it hurt? It felt good to finally relax. To stop worrying about what might have been with Nathan and Fern and focus on the here and now—on refilling my punch and sneaking just one more iced cookie, and—Nathan leaned against a marble pillar.

  He looked like a movie star in his dark suit, and the part of me who’d very much missed the more physical side of our relations began to hum. I hated him, but make no mistake, I wanted him. “Why did you invite him?”

  “Nathan? He’s my friend. Give him another chance. Haven’t we all made mistakes?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  He’d caught me staring and now walked my way.

  “Ella, quick—run interference so I can escape.”

  “You’re not going anywhere.” Ella grabbed my hand.

  I finished my latest glass of punch.

  “I want to show you something,” Nathan said directly to me.

  “I don’t want to see it.”

  “You don’t even know what it is.”

  Ella cleared her throat. “I’d better check on the band.”

  “Come on . . .” He turned toward the door and urged me to follow.

  I was just drunk enough to comply. I didn’t plan on acknowledging that I was also horny, and that it was kind of tradition that when Ella and Liam threw a party, Nathan and I threw off our clothes.

  I followed him through room after room until the music and laughter softened to a cheery haze. The room we’d entered was dark—massive. The moonlight spilling through towering paned windows was the only illumination. Once my eyes adjusted, I recognized that we’d entered the dining room.

  The space featured museum-quality frescoes and the French Provincial table Ella’s decorator had found in a Scottish castle. Adding to the majesty were ornate buffet tables and three-hundred-year-old chairs. The rug adorning the white marble floor probably cost more than my college education.

  “We shouldn’t be in here,” I whispered.

  “I think it’s the perfect place for us to be.” He stepped closer and closer until the table’s edge bit me just under my ass. “Do you remember our first time?”

  “You mean the first time we . . .” I closed my eyes, remembering all too well how thoroughly we’d fucked. It hadn’t been pretty, but primal and dirty and satisfying enough that to this day, even after all he’d put me through, I still wanted more.

  “You do remember.” His white teeth shone when he smiled.

  He ran the backs of his fingers over my collarbone, making me sweat. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do.”

  My breathing had turned shallow, and when he leaned in close enough for his exhalations to warm my throat, I hated myself for instantly being wet.

  “We were pretty good on that pool table.”

  “So what?”

  “So . . . I think we should break in the dining room table.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  He unbuttoned my blouse, inch by agonizing inch.

  “Stop,” I whispered, desperate for him to go on.

  He didn’t stop until my top gaped open, at which point he sucked one aching nipple through my scrap of a lace bra and slipped his hand inside the cup of the other, rolling and pinching until I almost cried.

  “You can’t do this,” I said. The room had no doors to close, no privacy whatsoever. Anyone even casually strolling down the hall wouldn’t miss the action. The rush of that knowledge made me even hotter.

  “Watch me . . .” He yanked up my skirt.

  I gasped from the shock.

  He pulled out the nearest chair. “Raise your foot onto the cushion.”

  “No. We can’t do this here. We . . .”

  He raised my leg for me, planting my foot square in the cushion’s center. The room’s chill licked my core, and the whole time he strung hot kisses around my neck, he held one hand on my ass, and the other cupped my throbbing pussy. “Somebody’s happy to see me. You’re soaked.”

  “No.” I shook my head. I wasn’t doing this. But he slipped his fingers beneath that thin strip of lace and I was gone. He parted me, stroking my clit until my mind ceased to work. I tried holding back. I tried telling myself I didn’t want this—him—but then I would have been the one lying. I came hard, but he didn’t give me a moment’s pause before finger-fucking me to the point of insanity.

  “Nathan . . .” His name spilled out on a raspy sigh.

  “Shh . . .” He slashed his lips over mine, kissing me deeper than he ever had before. While his demeanor read confident, his mouth wordlessly spoke of desperation.

  I came again, shuddering and clenching around him.

  He petted me and held me till my pulse and breathing slowed, then unfastened his belt and fly, freeing himself to roll on the condom he’d taken from his wallet.

  Kneeling, he unstrapped the hooks on my garter, then proceeded to kiss my inner thigh before dragging down my panties. Never had I wanted him more. Filling me, loving me, reminding me of all we’d shared. He lifted me onto the table, where the smooth wood cooled the backs of my superheated thighs.

  He spread my legs, then lifted me slightly to plunge his way inside.

  As he pumped, killing me with wave after wave of rising tension, I bit his shoulder through his suit coat to keep from crying out.

  He was back to kissing me, and the deeper he plunged, the more I shattered.

  He was all I’d ever wanted.

  No, I had to remind myself. He used to be. No—I couldn’t even say that, because not once during the time we’d been together had I ever known the real him in entirety. I’d seen glimp
ses of the man he might one day become, but that wasn’t enough to build a shared lifetime.

  Pressure knotted and rose, higher and higher, until finally exploding in a kaleidoscope of pure, blinding sensation.

  I clung to him, desperate to hold on, all the while knowing I had to let go.

  His next kiss tasted of tears, and I drew back to find him crying.

  “Thank you,” he said. “You won’t regret taking me back.”

  But I already did. “That’s not what happened. You lured me into this, and I—”

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it.” He withdrew, taking a cloth napkin from a stack on the buffet to remove the condom and wipe himself clean. “You wanted that every bit as much as I did. Don’t even try denying it.”

  “So I wanted sex? Big deal. That doesn’t mean I want you.” Liar! Of course, I wanted him, but how could I explain that I wanted—needed—security even more? How could I trust that he wouldn’t lie again? Or one day, just up and leave me? These things happened. I was adult enough to recognize that fact and plan evasive maneuvers.

  “Wow, Carol. That’s low—even for you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know exactly what it means. The Ice Queen has returned.”

  I flinched from his cruel tone. “You don’t have to be rude.”

  “But you do? Fuck . . .” He slashed his fingers through his hair. “You’re right. This was a mistake. I thought once you realized that with my whole mess with Uma behind us, nothing else had changed, but man, was I wrong. You’re as cold as the day I first met you.”

  “Screw you.” I hopped down from the table, found my panties on the chair and pulled them on, then tugged down my skirt and buttoned my blouse.

  “I just did.” He waved, then walked away.