Maybe Christa interested me more because she hadn’t fallen into my bed within hours of us meeting. She didn’t care for my money or status. Hell, she didn’t care for me, although I’d dared to hope the needle might have been edging in my favor—until I’d asked about Max’s dad.
Fuck.
* * *
I walked into my living room and yanked off my tie, tossing it over the back of a nearby chair. My suit jacket followed, and I loosened the top button of my shirt. Christa’s joke about jeans entered my mind, and I smiled to myself. I spent my life in meetings with prospective clients, or with my investment banker, or at some function or other. I rarely went anywhere that didn’t demand a suit. In fact, I hadn’t worn jeans since I started my company at age twenty—four years after my father had tossed me out onto the street with a thousand dollars in my pocket, a suitcase full of clothes, and dared me to make it. Too bad for him that I did. They said revenge was sweet. That was true. I’m still dining out on the sugar.
I poured myself a glass of whiskey, much needed after spending two hours surrounded by hyperactive, screaming kids. Weirdly, though, I’d assumed a place like that would be my worst nightmare. It had been far from that.
I left my drink on the coffee table and traipsed to my study to pick up a contract that needed reviewing. I sat and began reading, making the occasional note in the margin, but I couldn’t focus. For the first time in a long while, I found myself with a Saturday night that didn’t require my attendance at some godforsaken event. I had nothing to do, nowhere to go, and I was bored. Correction, I was lonely.
I knocked back the whiskey and forced myself to go through the contract. I’d be on a flight to San Francisco in the morning to discuss the proposal, and there were a lot of changes I wanted to make. But my mind kept wandering to Christa and her reaction to my question regarding Max’s father. It wasn’t her terse response to me that had my instincts firing, but the flash of real terror I’d seen cross her face at the mere mention of him. Plenty of people went through bad breakups—I’d never had a good one, if mine could even be called relationships—but I’d never come across anyone who’d reacted as she had.
I was itching to research her background and see what I could dig up. I had the software and the knowledge to find out whatever I wanted, but I couldn’t do it. For some unearthly reason I hadn’t begun to understand, I didn’t want to betray Christa like that. If she chose to tell me, at some point in the future when she trusted me more than she did today, then fine. I was a patient man—sometimes. I could wait. For a little while.
The evening loomed ahead of me. Usually, I’d call one of the many women in my contacts list, have her come over for dinner, drinks, and sex before calling Paul to escort her home again. I never allowed them to stay over. The thought of having to make polite conversation in the morning over breakfast… No thank you. But tonight, the only thing that perked up my dick was the thought of Christa.
I picked up my phone. I’d be in San Francisco all week, and I didn’t want to leave things on a bad note. It’d make Friday night awkward, and I needed her on top form. I made several attempts at writing a casual text, all of which came across as too stiff and formal, so I deleted each one. I wasn’t used to second-guessing myself. Normally, I didn’t even think about what I wrote or how it might come across to the recipient, but this woman had me tied up in knots. I felt as if I’d been sucked into a vortex and the forces were violently tossing me around.
Ah, fuck it. I gave it another go. Yep, better.
I wanted to say thank you for allowing me to spend time with you and Max today. I really enjoyed myself. I’m sorry for my thoughtless comment. I certainly didn’t mean to pry. I’ll see you Friday.
I hit send and waited. When she didn’t respond, I began to pace. Minutes turned into an hour, and still no reply, so I hit the gym. If I didn’t get rid of this negative energy, I wouldn’t sleep, and I needed to be well-rested in advance of tomorrow’s intense negotiations.
Feeling much better after taking out my frustration on the punch bag, I showered then ate a solitary dinner that my housekeeper had left in the fridge. I was on my way to bed when my cell phone dinged with a text. Christa. My heart jumped up into my throat. What the hell was happening to me? I was as excited as a schoolboy getting his first glimpse inside the girls’ changing rooms simply because she’d bothered to reply. I didn’t even care what it said. She’d responded. That was all that mattered. I opened her message.
Won’t I see you before Friday?
A smile inched across my face. Those six words held a hidden meaning—interest. If she didn’t care, she either wouldn’t have replied at all, or she’d have said something banal like “okay”.
I climbed into bed, wishing she was beside me.
No. I’m flying to San Francisco in the morning for a week of meetings. I’ll be back in time to pick you up at seven.
I stared at the screen, willing it to make a sound. Come on, come on. Reply. I wanted to keep the conversation open. It made me feel closer to her, and less forlorn about the lonely week ahead.
Have a safe flight. Hope it goes well.
She’d retreated into a casual response to hide the real meaning behind her initial question. This woman intrigued me every time I engaged with her. Time to test the waters.
I’ll miss you.
It took an age for her to reply, but when she did, fuck, it was worth the wait.
I’ll miss you, too.
12
Christa
Unlike my first week, the second one dragged. Max acted up very single day, signaling his terrible twos had well and truly arrived. From refusing to eat his breakfast to throwing his favorite toy at the wall, to tantrums that lasted hours—or at least it felt like that. By the time Friday came around, I was exhausted, my brain fried from trying to absorb all the information Greg was throwing my way, my nerves frayed from Max’s behavior, and my emotions on a knife edge because I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Dayton.
I must have reread our text exchange on Saturday night a hundred times. Something had changed between us since lunch at the Stardust Diner. Maybe it was the way he’d used benevolence rather than aggression to get us a table, or how gentle and patient he’d been with Max while chaos reigned all around. Whatever the reason, I’d stopped comparing him to Sutton simply because they were both super-rich. From what I’d witnessed of Dayton, his similarity to Sutton started and ended with the size of their bank accounts. For sure, Dayton had an edge to him—show me a successful businessman who didn’t. But he’d exhibited a different side with me, one that was thoughtful, almost caring, even humorous at times. When Dayton teased me, it wasn’t in the nitpicking, belittling way that Sutton had favored.
I wish I’d reacted differently when he’d asked about Max’s dad. His query had been completely normal, yet I’d responded sharply and sullenly, and probably heightened his curiosity. I should have told him the truth—that Sutton didn’t want anything to do with Max—and left it at that. But the mere mention of Max’s dad, by name or association, sent fear rushing through me, and I reacted disproportionately. The cognitive behavioral therapist I’d seen after my physical injuries had healed explained my responses were completely normal. Apparently, my anxiety levels were heightened compared to someone who hadn’t suffered trauma, so even when I had no reason to feel alarmed, the slightest thing could set me off.
I hated how easily I overreacted without reason—case in point, Dayton’s innocent question regarding Max’s sperm donor. Yet another thing Sutton had stolen from me—the ability to put things in perspective.
I managed to force enough dinner into Max’s mouth to stop the mother in me worrying, but I had to admit that when Mrs. Flannigan knocked at the door, my most prevalent feeling was relief. The thought of having someone else take the strain for a few hours and I could eat a hot meal while sipping a chilled glass of wine… absolute heaven.
“I have to warn you,” I said the second
I opened the door, “Max has been very naughty this week.”
Mrs. Flannigan smiled reassuringly. “Dear, he’s two. That’s his job.” She took off her coat and hung it over the arm of the chair. “Now, you go and get yourself ready, and I’ll take care of this young man.”
I might love Mrs. Flannigan a bit.
I escaped into the relative sanctuary of my bedroom. Cassandra had helped me choose a dress last night—or she’d chosen a dress, and I’d fallen in love with it—a black cocktail number which she said fit the bill perfectly given Dayton and I were going to dinner tonight, rather than attending a more formal gathering. I’d refused her offer to come back over tonight to fix my hair and apply my makeup. I didn’t like the idea of getting used to being preened and pampered. When all this was over, I wanted to be able to slip into the old me without any issues. I had no doubt that my time of playing Cinderella would come to an end sooner or later.
A sharp pain darted through my chest. I ignored it, stepping into the shower. Fifteen minutes later, clean, buffed, moisturized, I sat in front of my mirror and set about applying my makeup. I chose light shades for my cheeks and eyes, and a statement pink lipstick that contrasted beautifully with the black dress. I dried my hair in waves and left it loose. I was in the middle of strapping on my shoes when the expected knock came at the door.
My heartbeat increased rapidly, thudding against my ribcage. I wiped sweaty palms on the towel I’d used to dry my hair and went to answer, but Mrs. Flannigan had beaten me to it.
Dayton’s eyebrows shot up as I appeared. He gave me the once-over.
I shuffled from foot to foot and brushed my hands over my hips, smoothing the dress, wishing I’d had time to check myself out in the mirror. Make sure I didn’t have lipstick on my teeth or gloopy mascara in the corners of my eyes.
“Do I look okay?” I asked, worried that he still hadn’t spoken, and simultaneously hating that I sought—no, craved—his approval. Pathetically needy—or just straight-up pathetic.
“I’ll say,” was his response. He raked me with his gaze once more. “Wow.”
A smile inched across my face as I found myself ridiculously happy at the compliment. And then he did something that touched me deeply; he produced a gift and gave it to Max.
“Here you go, bud.”
Max’s eyes opened wide, his lips parted, and then he tore off the gift wrap. Inside was a fire truck with SFFD on the side. Max’s eyes weren’t the only ones that widened. The fact that Dayton had bothered to pick out a gift from a place he’d been visiting on a business trip filled my heart with gratitude. He’d probably had his assistant arrange it, but it was the thought that counted.
“What do you say, Max?” I prompted my son who, at two, hadn’t quite figured out that part of gift receiving as of yet.
“Thank you,” he yelled at the top of his lungs.
Dayton smiled. “You’re welcome.” His eyes fixed on mine. “Ready?”
“Let me grab my purse.”
I kissed Max, thanked Mrs. Flannigan, then slipped my hand through Dayton’s offered elbow. The whole thing felt so natural, like we were on a real date instead of me being his paid consort. As he held the back door of the car open for me and gently eased me onto the warm, leather interior, I knew I’d have been there even if he wasn’t paying me.
The car set off. Dayton pressed a button on the center armrest which activated a privacy screen between us and the front of the car. His hand found mine in the darkness, and as he linked our fingers together, a burst of pleasure erupted within me.
What’s happening?
“Thank you for bringing the toy for Max,” I said, clinging to a safe subject in the hope it’d distract me from the heat blooming in my core.
His thumb caressed mine. “I couldn’t resist. When I spotted it in the store window, I knew he’d love it.”
So he had purchased it. His approval rating shot up several more points.
“How was the trip?”
“Lonely,” Dayton replied, turning his head in my direction.
His honesty slayed me. Powerless to stop myself, I met his gaze. Even in the muted light inside the car, his fierce blue irises sent blistering heat shooting through my veins. With his free hand, he caressed my cheek. The tenderness of his touch, so different to the rough way Sutton had handled me, was so addictive that I leaned into him and closed my eyes.
“Christa,” he breathed, and then his lips brushed mine.
I’d never had a man touch me with such reverence. I could sense him holding back, but when his hands curved around the back of my neck and he angled my head to give him better access to my mouth, I melted against him.
A soft groan escaped from my throat, and that was when Dayton abandoned all control. He kissed me passionately, his tongue parting my lips and surging inside. He buried his hands in my hair, his kiss becoming deeper and more urgent. I was lost, stumbling around in the dark, want and need roaring through my veins, heating my blood. Don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop. If this was kissing, then I’d never really been kissed. I inhaled the smell of his cologne, his bodywash, the smell of him. I clutched at his upper arms, his muscles bunching beneath my fingers, the sheer maleness of the man before me stealing my breath and sending me headlong into a spin I never wanted to recover from.
We broke apart, gasping, both of us equally stunned at what had transpired, if Dayton’s startled expression was anything to go by.
“Christa…” He traced my face with his fingertips as though I was as precious as china and equally breakable.
I opened my mouth to say something, although I wasn’t sure what, when the car drew to a halt.
“We’re here, sir.” Paul’s voice came over the intercom.
“Fuck,” Dayton muttered. He locked eyes with me once more. “This isn’t over.”
Paul opened the car door, and Dayton got out, reaching back inside for my hand. My heart was still thundering as we entered the restaurant. I tried desperately to slow it down with deep, cleansing breaths. It wouldn’t look good if I greeted our guests while gasping for air. Jesus, listen to me. Our guests. They were Dayton’s guests. I was an accessory, nothing more.
“I need the restroom.”
Dayton peered down at me, his lips curved into the semblance of a smile. “To reapply your lipstick by any chance?”
“You’re an ass,” I whispered, accompanying my barb with a firm dig in the ribs. “Pink isn’t your color by the way.”
Dayton chuckled, but I did get a tinge of satisfaction when he wiped his mouth. “Restrooms are at the back to the right of the bar.”
I zigzagged between the tables and slipped into the restroom. Planting my hands on the counter, I stared into the mirror. What the heck? Dayton and I kissed. We kissed! I was right about those lips… they were made for kissing. But my plan… what had happened to my plan? I’d tried hooking up with a rich, successful, hot-as-hell guy, and he’d shattered me. Why was I making the same mistake twice?
Because Dayton isn’t Sutton.
How could I be sure, though? Sutton had been nice to me in the beginning. Well, nice was probably a stretch, but he hadn’t really turned nasty until I’d told him I was pregnant. Before then he’d treated me okay, although looking back, I realize now he’d had absolutely no respect for me. If I really dug deep into the honesty bucket, I’d been a hole to fuck and a trinket for him to use as a pretty adornment when the occasion called for it. He’d never loved me. No man who loved a woman would have so easily sanctioned the brutality I’d been subjected to.
I squeezed my eyes closed and summoned an image of Max to push away the horrific pictures crowding my mind. Eventually, they cleared, and I could breathe again. I dabbed cold water on my wrists to try to cool myself down, then reapplied my lipstick. With a final glance in the mirror, I walked back into the restaurant.
“We’re ready now,” Dayton said to the maître d’ as I rejoined him by the podium. He threaded his fingers through mine. He lea
ned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Pink is definitely your color, angel,” he murmured.
His softly spoken words laced with suggestiveness sent pleasure rushing through me. I followed his lead through the restaurant to a large round table in the center, a difficult act when clenching my thighs to alleviate a growing ache in my core. Already seated was a man in his late forties with the beginnings of salt and pepper dotted through his black hair, and a much younger woman, nearer to my own age. They stood as we approached.
“Dayton,” the man said, thrusting his hand out. “Good to see you.”
“Likewise, Marin.” The two men shook hands, then Dayton kissed the woman’s cheek. “Gorgeous as ever, Lina.”
The young girl blushed and fluttered her eyelashes at Dayton. Hmm, strange. Her response was definitely on the upper end of the flirting scale, but as I stole a glance at Marin, he showed no signs of annoyance. In fact, he was smiling broadly at the two of them.
“This is Christa,” Dayton said, tugging me forward.
I nodded and smiled at Marin and Lina. “Nice to meet you.”
“What happened to Caroline?” Marin asked, sitting.
Dayton held out a chair for me so I couldn’t see his face, but I could definitely hear the annoyance in his tone when he replied, “No need to be so tactless in front of my date this evening, Marin.”
Marin held his hands in the air, grinning. “It’s a fair question. I liked Caroline. She was fun.”
Dayton took the seat to my left and sipped a glass of iced water. “Then I’ll text you her number and you can date her.”
I frowned, confused. Now who was being crass? Dayton had done exactly the same as he’d accused Marin of. He caught my scowl—and ignored it.
“Shall we order then get down to business?” Dayton asked. “I only have an hour this evening.”
“Since when?” Marin asked, exasperation lacing his tone.
Tempting Christa: An Irresistibly Mine Duet - Book 1 Page 9
