Gravity (Wilde Boys Book 1)

by Sara Cate

  I laugh, but he doesn’t.

  After a moment of burning under his stare, I straighten my shoulders. “I’m not ashamed of what I do. I like the way it makes me feel.”

  “How does it make you feel?” he asks. His voice is quieter, more even-toned and careful. Careful is good. We’re treading into forbidden territory because I have a feeling he knows exactly how dancing naked for men makes me feel, but he’s asking it anyway.

  Without shying away from the topic, I look up with a gentle twist of my shoulders. “It makes me feel sexy. Powerful. When I dance, it’s like people actually see me. Like I have control. I’m a more confident version of myself.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I continue. “I know you think I ‘weasel money out of men’, but what I do is no worse than what you do. It’s about power, and it just so happens my body is my power.”

  As he throws the meat on the skillet to sear, he turns to look at me for a moment, a look of contemplation on his face. Then he steps toward me, stopping when his body is only inches from mine. “Your body is not your power, Zara, and those men don’t see you. I see you, and maybe I shouldn’t say that because you’re with Nash, but I’m saying it anyway. You’re a tough girl, and your body is beautiful, but if you think it’s the most powerful thing you have, you’re selling yourself short.”

  As he turns away, it feels like flames are crawling up my spine, scorching my cheeks while I’m left reeling on the countertop. Alistair and I are dancing around something I didn’t see coming. It’s like once I came back to Del Rey, I became a different person than I was before, and it’s making me see things in a new light.

  Alistair is constantly forcing me to face things I don’t want to… blaming me for trying to seduce him, my fear of flying, the way I put myself down. He’s unapologetically brutal in his truths, and I should hate him for it, but I find myself wanting to just be around him. For some reason, I keep putting myself in front of that bullet.

  “You know this thing with Nash isn’t real, Alistair.”

  He looks away, focusing on the sauce as he adds the onion. “Of course it is.”

  “No, it’s not. I know you want it to be real, and I’m trying to help him, but I don’t feel like I’m doing anything. I mean...he left without me today. Without a word.”

  He turns toward me again, stepping closer as he seems to be planning his next words. This time, he places his hands on the countertop, framing me between them. I’ve already lost the ability to breathe, so when he looks up at my face, the air leaves the room.

  “I have to tell myself you're Nash’s. Do you understand? I’m not trying to scare you, Zara, but I’m giving you a lot of money to do everything you can to bring him around. I know he’s rough with you. I know he’s struggling with those feelings, and I know on the other side of that struggle, he’ll be a stronger man. I see what you awaken in him because it’s the same thing in me. My son needs you, but I don’t.”

  His eyes travel the length of my face and neck before he pulls away and goes back to cooking us dinner. With his back to me, it feels as if he’s completely shut himself off. Now, I feel like an idiot. So I hop down from the counter and walk out toward the pool.

  The night is cool without any wind and not a cloud in the sky. The stars look ten times brighter than they look anywhere else. I can even see the milky way out here, but I’m too distracted by what just happened with Alistair I can’t even focus on the beauty of the stars.

  He brought me out here to be some emotional punching bag for his son because they are both so fucked up. He doesn’t think I have damage too? Like I want to be the one to help Nash, but what about me? I know I took the job, and I know I asked for this, but it hurts all the same. I never expected Alistair to be nice to me, but the more he pushes me the more I feel something in me shatter. I want to break down and cry, but I won’t let that motherfucker see me break. Not for a second.

  I’m not about to take this lying down. He wants me to do my job then I’ll do my job.

  I pull out my phone and search up Nash Wilde on Instagram. It doesn’t take long before I see him pop up in stories and feeds. One is time-stamped seven minutes ago, and it shows him at a club in the city having a drink with a couple of guys I don’t recognize.

  Turning on my heel, I stomp back into the house. As I slam the door, Alistair is turning off the stove.

  “You want me to do my job, then you have to help me.”

  “How?”

  “Fly me into the city.”

  “Right now?” he asks, looking at his watch.

  “Yes, right now. Nash is at a club there, and I’m going to find him.”

  I see the fight in Alistair’s expression. He wants to argue, to tell me not to go, and part of me wants him to. As much as I want to eat that delicious smelling dinner, I don’t want to be around him for another moment.

  He’s contemplating it. Clearly stuck in some moral dilemma, he finally nods. After turning off the stove, he leaves the food on the cooling burners, and heads out of the kitchen. “Okay, let’s go.”

  As soon as the words are out of his mouth, I want to take it back. The thought of getting in that helicopter suddenly hits me square in the chest. Walking past me, he seems to notice it. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes, I have to get over it anyway. And the sooner I can get over my fear, the sooner I can get Nash in the air.” I say it, repeating his words to me from last night. I’m throwing them back at him, but he doesn’t react.

  Alistair touches my elbow for a moment, his intense dark stare fixed on my face. Then, he moves away, walking toward the helipad.

  I make a quick run to my room to throw on some makeup, shove everything I need in my purse. Jogging out to the aircraft, my hands won’t stop shaking.

  Every nerve in my body is screaming at me to back out of this. As I grip the handle to the door, ready to pull it open, my stomach turns, and I have to bow over. It feels like someone is standing on my chest, and I can’t take a full breath. Panic sets in and before I know it, I’m only breathing in short, gaspy spurts.

  Suddenly, big arms are around me. I’m pulled away from the plane until I’m flush against his chest.

  “Breathe, Zara.”

  His chest is warm, and if I hold still long enough I can feel his heartbeat against my cheek, so I try to quiet my breathing just to hear it. His hands rub large circles against my back.

  I don’t know why I want to cry, but my eyes start to fill with tears for no reason at all. I feel Alistair’s head rest against mine. His deep voice vibrates against my face, and I know this is inappropriate, but it’s also innocent. So, I wrap my arms around his waist and bury myself against his large body.

  Fuck, I’ve craved this comfort for so long that even as my heartbeat starts to steady, I don’t want to let go. Alistair is security. There are no rules in our relationship, only that we shouldn’t have one. But everything about him at this moment is drawing me in.

  Then, without loosening his arms around me, he speaks. “I know you’re angry, but I chose you because you can handle it. You can handle him and me because you know the same pain we do. It was never about you using your body to lure him in, Zara. It was about you and that steel fucking heart of yours.”

  I gasp against his chest. But he doesn’t give me a second to react. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he pulls away, avoiding my gaze.

  “Come on,” he says, opening the door and ushering me inside the plane. I try to keep my breathing level and avoid thinking about anything other than each slow inhale and exhale. I keep repeating his words in my head. I have a steel heart, a steel fucking heart. He lets go of my hand and leaves me alone in the helicopter while he goes around to get in on the other side. Suddenly I feel cold and alone. When did Alistair’s presence start to have such an effect on me?

  As he climbs in, he takes my hand in his. The seats in this are so close we’re almost shoulder-to-shoulder.

  I try to focu
s my attention on everything he does from starting the engine to flipping all of the switches. He puts a headset over my ears, and the muffled sound only quiets my senses, making me a little more calm. Then, the blades above start spinning, and it’s all so loud, it’s like white noise silence in my head.

  I have a steel heart.

  After a few more switches, the helicopter starts to lift. I grip his leg as we move, and I try not to think about my sister or Preston or anything that happened before today.

  Today I’m just a girl in a helicopter with her fake-boyfriend’s dad—with my hand on his leg. I clench my eyes closed as we pick up speed on the runway.

  My hand squeezes as we get higher.

  “Just breathe.” His voice sounds like it’s in my head now. Calming. To the rhythm of my heartbeat. It feels as if my weight settles against the seat and we’re no longer being forced back against the ground. We’re floating.

  “You okay?” he asks, covering my hand with his. I finally let go of my deathgrip on his leg.

  “Yeah,” I reply. “I’m sorry.” When I try to pull away, he snatches my hand in his, and my heart picks up speed.

  Suddenly, we link fingers, and I feel weightless.

  “Thank you,” I murmur, although I don’t quite know what I’m thanking him for. He squeezes my hand in response.

  We stay like for a moment, gazing out at the black nothing without speaking, our hands linked, and my heart has settled. I’m not panicking, and I’m too distracted by my hand in Alistair Wilde’s that I can’t remember why I was so afraid of this.

  Every few seconds he pushes a button or flips a switch, but for the most part, he keeps his free hand on the giant bar in front of us.

  “Don’t you need both hands?” I ask.

  “Not yet. When we land I will.”

  Land. That thought makes my stomach clench. My breathing picks up and grows heavy.

  He feels it. “I promise a smooth landing, okay?”

  I nod and try to focus on the sound of his voice, the feel of his hand, the scent of his cologne. It’s not for another five minutes until I hear other voices on the headset and Alistair replies with something technical.

  I can’t help but notice how sexy he looks, so in control, so experienced.

  “I have to let go now,” he says, and I reluctantly peel my hand from his. “You can still hold onto me if you need to.”

  Without hesitation, I latch onto his arm, wrapping myself around him without restraining his movement as he puts both hands on the bar and I feel the aircraft start to descend.

  A small whimper escapes my lips, and he pats my leg.

  It’s not that I’m afraid. I know in my head we will be okay. I know he does this every day and there's no one I'd be safer with, but the motion triggers something in me. It triggers my dreams—no, my nightmares. It reminds my body I’m supposed to be afraid. Like it takes control, no matter how much I try to fight it, the fear takes over and manipulates me to believe that what happened to Emma and Preston will happen to me.

  It reminds me I deserve it. I should have been the one to die that day. It should have been me.

  I clench my eyes closed and try not to think about my sister and about the fear she must have felt. If she felt anything at all. I try not to think about the impact, the explosion, the abrupt ending of her life. But those thoughts come anyway, and I’m gripping Alistair tighter.

  Before I know it, the skids touch the ground in a smooth landing. A yelp escapes my lips.

  It’s too dark to see where we are, but we seem to be in what looks like a backyard much like the one on Del Rey. There are houses nearby and other helicopters parked at the edges of the concrete platform.

  “Downtown is only a fifteen minute drive from here. I have a car waiting for you. You can ride back on the boat with Nash tomorrow. I assume that’s where he’s sleeping tonight, but if not, just tell the driver to bring you back here. The house should be ready for you.”

  It must be nice to have the world at your fingertips. A helicopter, a boat, an extra house all at your disposal. And I wonder briefly what Alistair or even Nash would be like if it wasn’t for all of their wealth. Would Nash be the entitled control freak that he is now? Would Alistair still be as intimidating? As powerful?

  “Thank you,” I mutter as he walks me to the waiting car. Someone opens the door for me, and I realize this is where I leave him, and something in me starts to panic. Almost like I don’t want to leave him.

  “Just tell the driver where you need to go. Text me if you need anything.”

  I turn to find a nice-looking man about the size of an oak tree standing next to a black car that is waiting for me. When did Alistair coordinate all of this? It’s insane. I wave to the man, but as I turn back to Alistair, he gives me one last hesitant glance.

  I want to say something to him, and by his expression, he wants to as well, but neither of us speak. As I turn away, I miss the warmth of his arm against mine.

  16

  The drive to the club is quick. I check Instagram again to be sure he’s still there, and according to eighteen women under twenty-five, he’s still there. In one picture, he’s got his arm around another woman who is staring at him like he’s a fucking god. It makes my blood boil, but considering that I’m still harboring inappropriate thoughts about his dad, I don’t have a lot of room to talk.

  It’s just sexual tension. I know that. He’s attracted to me. I’m attracted to him. Nothing more.

  I can still do what I came here to do, and that’s keep Nash on the straight and narrow long enough to get him back to caring about his own future instead of throwing it down the drain.

  When we pull up to a club, tucked away in a building on the strip, the driver opens my door, and I head toward the front entrance.

  “This way, Miss York,” Hank, Alistair’s security guard tells me, and he nods his head toward the back entrance. I feel very out of place as I follow him through the VIP door, through a sleek and fancy looking hallway. Music plays in another room, and as he opens the door, I realize we’re on the upper level. Below us, there is a crowd of people dancing, hordes around the bar, and lines for the bathroom.

  Up here, it’s quieter, but the music still plays. There are far fewer people, and round couches in private booths along the wall. Much like our VIP rooms at The High Diamond, just without the poles and naked ladies.

  I spot Nash immediately. He has a crowd around him, along with a few other faces that seem oddly familiar, like I’ve seen them on TV. You can always tell the celebrities from the regular people in settings like this. Not only do they suck all of the attention out of the room like a vacuum, but they just appear more polished, more put together, careful of their every movement. I assume this comes from always being watched or filmed during every moment of their lives.

  Nash’s eyes meet mine, and his bright, beaming smile vanishes. It’s replaced with a brooding frown, and I instantly regret coming.

  Squaring my shoulders, I remind myself I’m in control here. Besides, we’re in a club. This is my territory. So, I march toward him, sliding through the throngs of onlooking women as I saddle up next to him.

  Without saying anything, I lean past him and rest my elbows on the bar. The woman behind it looks at me with a customer service smile.

  “I’ll take a vodka soda with lime.”

  She nods, and I don’t turn back when I feel Nash’s presence, leaning heavy over my back. His lips are next to my ear. I can smell the liquor on his breath.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I’m yours, remember?” I look back up at him. “Couldn’t stay with him all night—alone. I was afraid of what you’d do to me if I did.” I shoot him a playful pout, and his eyes narrow.

  A hand lands on my hip, and he pulls me closer.

  “You might be mine, Zara, but I’m not yours, and you’re really cramping my style.”

  Heat flashes under my skin, and I glance back at the girls looking down
right livid as I steal his attention. “Oh, don’t let me stop you,” I say, glaring harshly right into his eyes. “I’ll just go back to your dad.”

  I try turning away from the bar, but he holds me tightly between his body and the hard surface. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  As soon as the bartender places my drink in front of me, I take a long sip, letting the alcohol burn my throat as it goes down.

  “I’m not doing anything to you, Nash.”

  “You keep pushing me, Zara. You tell me I can’t fuck you, and I think you want me to fight for it. I think you like that idea, but I’m not that kind of guy, Zara. It’s like you want me to be a monster.”

  Heat pulses down my spine at the thought. Do I want him to fight for it? I think about what Alistair said at the house...how he sees what I awaken in Nash? Goosebumps pucker along the skin of my neck. We are playing a very dangerous game.

  “Maybe I do want you to be a monster because then at least you’ll stop being a loser who hangs out with celebrities and throws his life away for cheap pussy.”

  He pinches my hip and grits his teeth, the muscles of his jaw flexing in the green light above the bar.

  “You’re not going to change me, Zara. I know he wants you to, and I’ll admit, I’m enjoying having you around more than I thought I would, but I’m not changing shit for you or him.”

  “You think I give a shit, Nash? I get my million either way. But you’re crazy if you think I’m not going to try and squeeze a few more months and another million out of your old man, so be as stubborn as you want. You don’t hold as much power as you think.”

  Then, his jaw relaxes, and I’m shocked when he starts laughing in my face.

  “You really think this is all about me? Don’t you see the way he looks at you? You want to squeeze a few more million out of him, Zara, you’re spending your night with the wrong Wilde. So go back to Del Rey and leave me the fuck alone.”

  It’s so loud that I barely hear him. There are voices around us, someone ordering a drink right next to my ear, but I see the look in Nash’s eye enough to understand.