Gravity (Wilde Boys Book 1)

by Sara Cate

  “At least one formal dress,” he adds just before he takes a call and walks toward the door.

  She sends me a terse smile before turning and guiding to the dressing room in the middle of the store. “Please have a seat. What can I get you to drink?”

  “I’m fine,” I answer, trying to look as confident as I can, sitting here in this luxury store in a pair of shorts that cost me twelve dollars.

  She disappears for a few minutes and returns with an arm full of hangers. I spot dresses and shirts, skirts, and a fur-covered shawl. I wish I could say this shit wasn’t for me, but I’m all out of shits to give when it comes to my pride. I will take every single piece of clothing she wants to put on me, and I won’t feel bad for it for one second.

  “Actually, I’ll have a glass of champagne?” I say, holding my shoulders a little higher.

  “Of course,” she replies without a lick of sincerity. She hates me. I mean...who wouldn’t? I came in with Alistair Wilde who’s offering to buy me a brand new designer wardrobe. Fuck, I’d hate myself if I wasn’t the one reaping all the benefits.

  Just as she returns with my flute full of bubbly, I take it and glance back at Alistair. He’s no longer on the phone, but he glances up from the screen long enough to let his eyes linger on me, smiling back at him.

  Then I disappear into the dressing room. As soon as the curtain is closed and I’m sure I’m alone, I stare into the mirror and silently scream. This feels like someone else’s life. It is someone else’s life. This was Emma’s life, and I guess I should feel bad that I’m living it now, but I don’t. I don’t feel anything.

  I go through the various outfits. At first, I tell the shop girl they’re all perfect, but as the second glass of champagne hits, I start feeling bold. Sending back pants that are too plain and dresses that are too colorful. I demand more black, more class, higher quality.

  Coming out in a sundress that hits the floor, I come face to face with Alistair who is sitting on the plush sofa, waiting for me.

  “Let’s wrap this up. I have a meeting this afternoon.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say with a fake scowl. I’m feeling a little buzzed from the free champagne, but he just looks annoyed. As I turn and walk back into the dressing room, I see his reflection in the mirror and catch the way his eyes linger on my backside. I shut the curtain and grab the black sequin formal gown on the hook. I saved it for last, but I’ve been staring at it since I first came in. As I slip it on, I stare at myself in the mirror, and I search for someone familiar.

  The dress fits perfectly. The neckline is a little higher than I usually wear, but the back is a see-through fabric with an embroidered design all the way down to my ass. It’s so low I can’t even zip it up. With it half-zipped, I step out and expect to find the eager shop girl ready to help me, but she’s at the front with another shopper. So I level my stare on Alistair who is currently staring at me like he has no idea who I am.

  “Help me zip it up,” I tell him. I might be toying with him a little, but I don’t care. It’s shameless, but using my body for power is what I do, and I don’t feel bad about it.

  “It looks fine,” he says averting his eyes and staring back down at his phone. His hips shift slightly on the couch.

  “I need to make sure the top fits at my shoulders. Just get up and zip it.”

  I watch as he clenches his jaw and stands, pocketing his phone. Turning my back to him, I hold my hair back, waiting for him to zip. In the mirror, I notice the slightest hesitation in his hands, his gaze fixed on my ass, the top of my panties showing where the dress dips so low. Then, he pulls the zipper up so slow, I can hardly breathe. In a slight sway, I press my ass back until I’m brushing his body, and he doesn’t move away.

  As I turn my head, I watch his face and feel his breath on my neck. Then, while he’s still standing so close, I rotate until I’m facing him. His eyes are dilated and hooded, lust filled as his gaze meets mine.

  He almost looks like he wants me, and I have to force myself to be still as I ask him, “So, what do you think?”

  The next thing I know he’s pushing me backward until I’m in the dressing room. Turning, he snaps the curtain closed and faces me with a wild look in his eye. My heart is pounding rapidly, but my brain can’t seem to catch up with what is happening. I don’t know if he’s about to attack me, kiss me, or more. And I don’t know how I will react to any of it.

  He presses me against the mirror and puts his face close to mine.

  “Listen to me, princess. I didn’t hire you to try and seduce me, so stop this shit right now.”

  “I’m not—” I argue, but he places a hand over my mouth to quiet me.

  “You think I don’t see what you’re trying to do. I saw you working at your club, using this body of yours to weasel men out of their money, but this shit won’t happen here, do you understand? I know what women like you want, and you’re nothing but a distraction. The only reason you’re here is to distract Nash from whatever the fuck is going on in his head. So, let’s be perfectly clear, Zara. You don’t get more money by trying to fuck me. Just do your fucking job and get my son’s head out of his ass.”

  As he pulls away, I finally take a breath and bite down my urge to cry. With shaking hands I pull down the zipper of my dress, and I let his words replay in my head as I do.

  A moment ago, I felt like royalty in this dress, and now I feel like a whore—Nash’s whore.

  But one thing is for sure. I will not let that asshole see me cry. So I pull on my cheap clothes, and I fix my hair. Rushing out of the dressing room, I violently bump against Alistair’s shoulder as I pass. Leaving him to pay the bill, I stomp out the door and wait on the street.

  I may not be rich or classy, but I’m sure as fuck no princess. I’ll do my goddamn job, and I’ll get my money, and I will never see the Wildes again.

  10

  Two years before the crash

  “Are you sure?” Nash asks as I sit on the shore, hugging my knees to my chest.

  “Those things are dangerous. I’m just fine sitting here, thank you.” I catch a subtle roll to his eyes before he takes off on his jet-ski splashing water toward me as he crosses the bay. Like specks of light across the water, I watch as he and Preston and Alistair all cross paths, bouncing in the wakes and sending giant waves at each other.

  I’ve heard too many horror stories about those things, people losing control, hitting other people or skimming over each other. Those blades are enough to dismember someone. No thank you.

  Plus, Emma’s boyfriend’s brother is a little too good looking to make me feel comfortable. I know any other girl would jump on the opportunity to ride on Nash Wilde’s jet ski, but I’m not ready to let my guard down yet. This is still all too insane to me.

  I hear footsteps in the sand approaching from behind me. Emma plops down in the sand, and immediately the tension between us fills the air. I broke the news to her yesterday about passing up my ballet internship. She’s not just mad at me, she’s disappointed, frustrated, helpless. Emma hates being helpless.

  My sister, the control freak, wants to dictate my entire life. She expects everything will be as perfect as hers. Be a shining college student, get a perfect boyfriend, follow your dreams, and succeed at all of them. Emma doesn’t know what failure feels like. She has no clue what the pressure of achieving perfection feels like for people like me.

  “I’ll just say one thing and then we can completely move on,” she says, holding up her hands. “You’re twice as hard on yourself than you are on me. I would never treat you the way you treat you, Zara. If I had an opportunity like you have, you would never take that away from me. So why take it away from yourself?”

  “Fair point.”

  “Watching someone you love throw away their talents is the most frustrating thing I’ve ever experienced.” She’s picking at the sand sadly, and it really does hurt to see her heartbreak.

  “I’m sorry, Em. I really am, but I’m not as sad about it as yo
u are. I’m at the peak. It’s not like I can make a career as a dancer, so I’d rather put my focus on something more practical.”

  “Like what?” she asks.

  “Like snagging me a rich boyfriend with a private island.”

  She bursts out in giggles, and I clutch her arm as we both try to stifle our screams so as to not alert the men on their jet-skis that we are just common folk and total imposters who do not belong here. When my sister told me she was dating a Wilde, I didn’t believe her. But then we boarded a tiny helicopter at a tiny airway for a quick weekend getaway, and I was sure we were in the plot of the movie Taken or something because this kind of stuff doesn't happen to real people.

  Except for, of course, my perfect sister—who just happened to charm Preston Wilde after her company was contracted to code Wilde Aviation’s big app launch.

  “You know…” she teases as she leans back and stares out at the water. “His brother is single.”

  I simply nod, trying not to let her see how much Nash has gotten under my skin already. Those blue eyes and that dark hair that hangs down to his shoulders caught my attention the moment we arrived. I spotted something ominous about Nash right away, but he seems so guarded.

  Then she adds, “So’s his dad.”

  I send her a scowl, and she laughs. “What? Come on, he’s hot.”

  “Yeah, he’s also in his forties,” I say with a laugh.

  “He’s forty-six,” she answers with pride. “Don’t turn your nose up, Zara. You’ve dated enough stupid boys in your life. What you need is a man.”

  I can only shake my head. “Would that make me your mother-in-law?”

  “If Preston and I had kids, you’d be their grandma and their aunt.”

  We break out in laughter, high on the excitement of this whole ridiculous scenario. Still, I find myself watching them out there, with their perfect bodies, tanned skin, and glistening white smiles. I’m not made for men like that. How could anyone live up to such perfection?

  Just then, Alistair rides toward us and stops before he hits the shore. “You girls ready for a ride?”

  “No, thank you,” I call, but the words are barely out of my mouth before my sister hops up.

  “I will!” In one quick motion, she pulls her cover off and drops it onto the sand next to me. Then she dashes over to climb onto the back of Alistair’s jet-ski. She looks like a natural out here, like she actually belongs.

  Only in my dreams could I make a place like Del Rey my home.

  11

  “Hold on tight,” he says as I try to reach my arms around his broad body. The life jacket only makes it harder, and my arms don’t even reach each other.

  “If you kill me, Nash Wilde, I swear to God, I will haunt you forever.”

  He laughs, the sound vibrating through me.

  “It’ll be a fun death.”

  Just then, he hits the throttle and we take off, skimming across the crystal blue water of the bay. At first, it’s nice. The wind rushes through my hair, and I feel secure on the back. The gentle waves only create a slight bounce, but as soon as we get farther out, Nash whips the jet-ski in a circle, making us fly over our own wake. I scream as my ass lifts off the seat, coming back down in a crash.

  “Goddammit, Nash!” I shriek, and he only laughs harder.

  He doesn’t let up, only going faster and hitting every wake he can hit. The fear doesn’t go away, but after a while, I start to relax enough to enjoy it.

  “Are you ready to drive?” he asks as we come to a slower pace without stopping.

  “Fuck you,” I snap.

  “Come on. Get over your fears. What could you possibly hit out here?”

  What is it with these men and their ideas of getting over fears? To be honest, I’ve been avoiding Alistair since he insisted I get over my fear of flying by learning to fly myself.

  Plus, Nash has been in oddly good spirits since. I never really asked him to explain what he meant about his dad wanting something more from me. If Alistair was ever interested in me romantically, he sure has a fucked up way of showing it.

  The way I see it at this point, I can either drive a jet-ski or go back to the house where I have to face that asshole.

  “Fine,” I mutter.

  “Yes!” Nash responds as he heads back to the dock where the other death machines are waiting. If this is how I go, then I guess this is how I go. Could be worse.

  After he practically tosses me onto the red machine and walks me through the steps of turning it on and where the throttle is, he takes off, leaving me to handle this thing on my own. Fantastic.

  I manage to get it away from the dock without incident. As I twist the handle, it takes off a lot faster than I expect, and I let out a scream. In the distance, I hear laughter. The waves make me want to barf as I sit there, so I hit the throttle again. The wind blows my hair away from my face, and I learn pretty quickly that hitting the waves isn’t as scary as I thought it would be. In fact, being in control makes me feel a little more secure. I can stop when I want, and he was right that there really isn’t anything to hit out here.

  So I pull back on the throttle and let the jet-ski open up, sending me flying over the water toward the abyss of the open ocean. A vision of my life one month ago comes sailing into my mind as I ride. I was working my ass off at that club, nearly killing myself every night for a few hundred bucks. I may have been good at it, but it was never really me. I had myself convinced it was though. Not that riding on a billionaire’s jet-ski in the middle of paradise is the existential wake-up I needed, but being here has really changed the way I look at my life.

  And I hate myself for comparing it to the times I was here with Emma. For the first time in my life, I don’t feel like a minor character in my own story. It feels unfair to even think that, as if gaining anything from Emma’s absence is like justifying her death.

  Something about the noise, the speed, the wind in my face makes my emotions rise to the top, and tears fill my eyes. They fly off my face as I careen over the water.

  Suddenly, there’s someone riding next to me, and I turn to stare at Nash who is smiling at me. I happen to look down at the speedometer to see that we’re flying at nearly sixty-five miles per hour. It feels like a hundred.

  Looking back up at him, I smile, and I almost like this happy version of Nash. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit, I also like the brooding, callous version too.

  Without warning, he spins away from me, and I barely have a second to react before I’m hit with a wave of water so violent it nearly knocks my sunglasses off my face. After I scream his name and slow down my jet-ski, I hear him howling with laughter as he rides away.

  We board the jet-skis on the shore, on the opposite side of the island. This place really does feel like its own world. I’ve only been here a week and already it feels like you could live your entire life here without seeing another person, and something about that sounds very inviting.

  Nash tosses me an ice cold beer from the storage box on the jet ski. We plop down in the sand next to each other and open our drinks. He hasn’t been aggressive at all today, and it’s been nice, but also...I almost wish he’d throw me down and cover my body with his. I keep waiting for those lips of his to devour my neck. But there’s nothing.

  “What were you and my dad talking about the other night?” he asks without looking at me. I was sort of hoping he had forgotten about most of that night, the fight with his dad, how afraid of him I was, and the weird warning he gave me about Alistair.

  And I don’t tell him about what went down in the dressing room.

  “He wants me to learn how to fly.”

  Nash scoffs. “Of course he does. What a prick.”

  “He told me he taught you both to fly. Said you were a natural.”

  “He shoved those lessons down our throats the minute we were old enough to sit up in the pilot’s seat.” He gulps down the rest of his beer, and I feel the tension rising between us.

  “Are you
as good as he says you are?” I ask, hoping to bring the conversation safely back to him before he gets too angry.

  Finally, he looks up at me, and a playful, curious smile stretches across his tanned face.

  “Of course I am.”

  Slowly, he moves toward me, crawling like a predator in the sand. I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning as he snakes his way over my body, stopping when his lips reach my clavicle. My half-finished drink lands in the sand as I lay back, letting him kiss my neck. Heat floods my core as he nestles his body between my legs.

  “You want me to take you for a flight?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “No.”

  Suddenly, his fingers peel back one side of my bikini revealing my bare breast and his lips cover the pink bud before I know what hit me. A high-pitched moan escapes my lips as my back arches. His warm mouth on my cold, damp skin from the ocean water feels like heaven.

  Just before he switches to the other side, he says, “That’s the deal with my dad, isn’t it? He wants you to get me to fly again.”

  My affirmative answer comes out in more of a pleasure cry. I’m not keeping any secrets from Nash. He knows the deal, so he might as well know the terms. At least some of them. He didn’t mention talking to his dad being another of the conditions.

  “So, come for a flight with me.”

  “I can’t,” I gasp as he grinds his erection against me.

  “That’s a pity.”

  And just like that, he stands up and walks away, leaving me writhing on the sand like a cat in heat. It takes me a few moments before I can put myself back together enough to stand up and follow him.

  “Wait, so if I go with you, you’ll fly again?”

  “Maybe,” he mutters as he grabs another beer.

  “How long has it been since you’ve flown?” I ask, trying to sound casual and not terrified.

  “Two years.” He says it like it’s nothing, and I’m wondering if I’m crazy for thinking that sounds like a very dangerous situation. If he hasn’t flown, isn’t that even more of a hazard?