Never Let Go: Top Shelf Romance Collection 6

by Steiner, Kandi

  HER

  When I broke up with Craig, it was clean and neat. With Stephen, our parting was rough, the result of a fight, one where he’d called me names and accused me of cheating, his face red, spittle flying. I had started out explaining, trying to explain the nature of my friendship with Trey, how he didn’t mean what he’d said, how even if there had been moments of attraction it had never gone anywhere. All of those words had stopped in the face of complete hysteria—the kind, conservative man I’d dated for a year was gone, this new Stephen ripping a brass sconce out of the wall, then smashing a Queen Anne chair through the French doors. I’d shut my mouth and fled through the front door, all of my excuses and explanations worthless in the presence of that. I got in my car and ignored his calls, his voicemails full of venom and hatred, a combination that only cemented my decision.

  Screw my attraction to Trey. Screw the inappropriate things he said. That night, I sent Stephen a short text breaking up with him for one reason: he was insane. Maybe his display of rage was out of love, a reckless passion he had hidden for the last twelve months. But it is unacceptable for him to behave that way, to handle anything that way, much less a few careless words Trey had tossed his way.

  Trey is my new problem. When I’d left Stephen’s house and went straight to the office, I was half-furious with Trey for causing it all, half-emotional from the fight with Stephen. Confronting Trey hadn’t helped, his confident declarations catching me off guard, my system too raw to handle the dark look in his eyes, the soft touch of his lips against my throat, the brush of his fingertips and beg of his voice.

  “Tell me you want to fuck me, Kate.”

  I close my eyes and wonder how I will ever face him again.

  * * *

  “You know you guys can’t go back to being friends now.” Jess digs out a bit of baby food and holds it out to Skylar, who clamps her mouth shut and looks away.

  I sprinkle glitter over a line of glue and say nothing. “Wanting to fuck you has never been the problem.” Had I actually said that? Had I told Trey that I wanted to fuck him? My mind hurts just thinking about the repercussions. I turn the cardboard page on its side and tap the excess glitter off, Jenna squealing with pleasure at the shimmery result. “He’s in New York,” I say. “So at least I don’t have to see him this week.”

  “But you’ve talked to him.”

  “Yes.” Of course we’ve talked. It’s habit to call him on my morning drive in. Fifteen decisions a day go smoother when discussed with him. There is no “running of Marks Lingerie” without both of us, hand-in-hand, pushing it forward. “But on the phone … I don’t know. It’s different. It’s easier.”

  “Because you can’t rip each other’s clothes off?” She gets up and moves to the fridge.

  I eye Jenna’s face, who blinks at me in the innocent way of a child. “Let’s talk about it later.”

  Jess snorts. “Jenna, go upstairs and play.” Jenna’s chair squeaks against the tile and she is gone, her bright blue cowboy boots thudding across the kitchen and up the stairs with the thundering sound of a grown man. I watch Jess settle back in her chair, pulling the high chair closer.

  “He flies back from New York on Tuesday afternoon,” I say. “He wants me to come over for dinner, to catch up on everything he’s missed.”

  Jess turns, her eyes wide. “Tell me you’re going to finally do it. This is it! This is the moment!” She wipes off her hands and reaches for the house phone. “I’m going to call Mom.”

  “Stop.” I grab the cordless handset off the table, tucking it in between my legs. “I’m not having sex with him. I’ll be in Stage 9 period territory on Tuesday.”

  “Ugh.” She gives up on her reach of the phone and turns back to Skylar. “Hey, maybe it’s a good thing.”

  “It’s a great thing.” It’s the only reason I agreed to come over. Nothing like a giant maxi pad to guarantee my virtue. “But it doesn’t matter. He won’t make a move.” I don’t mean for the words to come out glum, but they do. Every part of me, from my libido to my voice, is confused. Should I be happy? Mad? Worried? I pick up a colored pencil and draw a face on the page. Skinny nose. Cartoon eyes. Long lashes. I pick up a red pencil and hover above the blank space where a mouth should go. Finally, I draw a flat line, sketching lips around it that press together in a … I pull back the pencil and examine the sketch. A constipated expression. I sigh, and attempt to correct the lips into a smile, the ending result clownish.

  “What makes you think he won’t make a move?”

  “He’s had time to think about it. I think the Stephen conversation was a gut reaction for him, something he wasn’t expecting and instinctively responded to. And then Stephen told me, and I came to him, and it sort of snowballed from there.” I add a neck and jaw, then pick up a new pencil and add thick black hair. “When he comes back into town, he’ll be back to normal. Under control.” I say flatly.

  “Which is … a good thing?” Jess asks. “I’m so confused by what you want.”

  “Yeah.” I stare at the artwork critically. “Me too.”

  * * *

  His Tuesday night flight is delayed, nixing our dinner plans. Wednesday, I suffer through two morning meetings, and finally connect with him in the conference room.

  “You know, I did you a favor.” Trey taps the model on the elbow. “Turn around please.”

  “Did me a favor?” I look up from the silk fabric in my hands, watching as he draws a careful line across the model’s back, sketching out the lines of a bustier that he wants us to design. It’s Wishful Wednesday, a monthly tradition on the second Wednesday of each month. We bring in a dozen models and all of the designers, giving everyone free reign with washable markers and a couple hundred material swatches. “With what?”

  “Stephen. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be sampling wedding cake right now and picking up his dry cleaning.”

  “I would not.” I step beside him and eye the model. “That’s too low. It won’t stay up.”

  “But it looks sexy.”

  “It’s not going to be functional.”

  “Tricia,” he drawls. “Will you please get Kate in line? She’s ruining all of my fun.”

  Tricia, the model I was working on, giggles. I glare at her. “Don’t. You’ll encourage him.” I toss the robe to her. “Put that on for me.”

  “God, you’re bossy.” He looks up at the busty blonde before him. “No wonder they all request me.”

  “No one requests anyone,” I gripe, wincing as he draws a criss-cross of straps that no woman will be able to get into without help. Tricia clicks her tongue at me and I try to refocus, grabbing a handful of straight pins and moving toward her.

  “She was going to marry a boring asshole,” he stage-whispers, and I smile despite myself, grateful that we are back to normal, as normal as the two of us can be.

  “I wasn’t going to marry the guy,” I call out loudly, pulling the silk tight across her shoulders and examining the lay of it. “Now, please shut up and focus on your work.”

  “I’m done.” His voice is in my ear, so close that I flinch, the straight pins almost poking Tricia, who gives me a worried look. He straightens with a mischievous smile, and I hurl one of the pins in his general direction. “Now stop wasting time and dream up something incredible. I’m going to go pick up lunch for everyone.”

  I try to glare at him, but I can’t.

  Chapter 37

  HER

  I relax back in one of his chairs, my leg hanging over the arm, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and suck a bit of soy sauce off of one finger. On the coffee table before us, a sea of styrofoam containers sit, half-eaten sushi rolls and wasabi piles dotting the white canvases. “You ordered too much,” I decide.

  “The night’s not over yet.” He swipes a piece of salmon and stands, walking over to the window and peering out. “Want to go sit outside?”

  “No.” I stretch out my stomach, exhausted at just the thought of moving. “Entertain me
from here.”

  “Hmmm…” He turns away from the window and raises one wicked eyebrow. “That sounds fun.”

  “No,” I groan. “It doesn’t. Entertain me verbally.”

  “Your French store is killing it. We should open a second location over there.”

  “No work talk.” I sit up a little, inspiration hitting in the midst of sushi digestion. “Let’s trade secrets. You tell me one of yours, and I’ll tell you one of mine.”

  “You want me to tell you a secret?” He shrugs. “That’s pretty open.”

  “No,” I decide. “I don’t want to know some stupid arrest you had in college. You have to answer a question.” I narrow my eyes at him. “Truthfully.”

  “Oh please.” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m not doing that. You’ll ask about Mira.”

  “I promise I won’t ask about Mira.” I cross my fingers over my chest, and he rolls his eyes.

  “You don’t even have anything worth sharing. What’s your biggest sin—borrowing a piece of gum without asking?”

  I make a face at him. “You think you know everything, but you don’t. I have all sorts of dark secrets.” I wave my hands in a giant sweep, encompassing all of my many juicy secrets.

  “Name one.”

  “If I do, then you’ll answer my question?”

  “As long as it’s not a question about Mira. Or about us.”

  I turn my head and meet his stare. Or about us. We could sum up our entire relationship in those three words. Attraction. Avoidance. There is an “us”. My heart quickens, that familiar race where I consider the what ifs that I typically try to ignore. “It won’t be a question about Mira.” I say slowly. “Or about us.” I shrug, like I have no idea what I will ask, like the question isn’t sitting, hot and ready, on my tongue. “I’ll find something else to ask.”

  “And your secret has to be worthy.” He leans forward. “Something scandalous.”

  I frown. “I’m not entering one of my secrets in some sort of Olympics. I’ll pick a good secret. You’ll have to trust me.”

  “One of your secrets?” He chuckles. “Kate. Please.”

  I glare at him, buying a moment while my mind frantically tries to find something scandalous in my history. I come up blank. My best secret is that I want my boss to strip me naked and pound me into next Tuesday. And I certainly can’t share that secret. I think back to my college days and work forward, searching for something … my mind zeros in on the time I gave Victor Parken a blow job in the basement of his fraternity house. I search desperately for something, anything else.

  “What is it?” Trey cocks a brow. “You think of something?”

  “Not really.” I pull at my lip. “It’s personal.” But look at what I’m about to ask him. That’s personal. This—this was just a stupid night with too much Miller Lite and not enough common sense.

  “Secret sex tape?” he guesses. “You strip in college to make extra money? Or maybe a secret baby somewhere? A—”

  “STOP,” I interrupt. “You’re ruining my delivery.”

  “I’m sorry.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “Confess away.”

  “When I was a sophomore in college,” I begin. “There was a party—at a fraternity house.” He straightens slightly, and I have his full attention. “I was drinking, and there was this guy I was kind of dating.” His eyes change, growing wary, and I watch his jaw clench, almost imperceptibly. I speak quickly, before he thinks the wrong thing. “The party was getting crazy, and so Victor and I moved downstairs, to the basement.” I pick at the edge of my sleeve. “We started kissing, and … I went down on him.” I can feel the blush, hot on my cheeks, and I reluctantly look up to Trey.

  “And…?” he all but demands.

  “And what?”

  “What happened?”

  “Afterward?” I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess we just went back upstairs.”

  There is a slow change to his face, a resettling of features, his handsome profile returning, and he rubs his fingers along his brow. “That’s your secret? You gave a guy a blowjob?”

  “In a fraternity house. And during a party,” I explain. “Anyone could have come downstairs and interrupted—could have seen me.” I flush, embarrassed at the thought. Me, my skirt riding up around my thighs, crouched and low on that sticky floor, one hand holding onto his hairy leg for balance. God, what if someone had come in and seen me, my lips wrapped around his—I clamp down the thought.

  “But no one did come in.” His lips flutter in the ghost of a smile.

  “Oh my God. We were practically exhibitionists. If you can’t see how stupid I was to do that, then you’re—”

  “Normal? Reasonable?”

  “An idiot,” I finish. “You’re an idiot.”

  “That’s not a secret.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I slam my hand down on the couch pillow. “That was a great secret.”

  “It’s really sad if that is your best secret. Seriously. Tell me you have an orgy you’re hiding behind that blush.”

  “Ew.” I shudder. “No.” I lift my chin and stare at him. “And don’t belittle it. Just because I’m not a Trey-Marks-worthy-slut, doesn’t mean that it wasn’t a big deal to me.”

  “Oh, you’re Trey-Marks-worthy.” He grins, and we are back to that place, the one where he flirts, and I deflect, and later that night I spend twenty minutes with my vibrator.

  “But not a slut.”

  He tilts his head as if considering the possibility. “In my mind, you are wildly promiscuous once out of those clothes.”

  “You’re trying to distract me from my question.”

  “Oh yes. The dreaded question. Am I required to tell the truth?”

  I give him a look, and he chuckles. “Fine. Go forth with this mysterious question.”

  “Who was that girl who mugged you? Why was she meeting you there?”

  He grimaces, and I can tell he had forgotten that night, forgotten my tentative questions he had evaded. Back then, I hadn’t felt comfortable enough to push for the truth, and had never brought it up again. But now, he has to tell me.

  “That’s not what you want to ask, Kate. Ask me something else.”

  “No,” I insist. “This is what I want. I told you my embarrassing secret. You tell me this.”

  “I can’t believe you even remember that.”

  “My boss stepped into my car in a bathrobe,” I say dryly. “Your dick was practically hanging out of it.”

  Any other moment, he’d laugh. Now, he just runs his palms over his face. “Come on.”

  I wait, and he looks at me, his face so filled with dejection that I almost drop it all. I almost give him a free pass.

  But I don’t. I hold his eyes and wait for him to start.

  * * *

  “The woman in the hotel room…” he pauses. “She wasn’t alone. A man was with her. I had scheduled to meet both of them.” He looks up at me. “For sex.”

  I attempt to school my features, to contain the thoughts that come. “Both of them?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t going to fuck him; it wasn’t about that. Both of us were going to please her.”

  “At the same time?”

  He lifts one shoulder. “Possibly. Depending on how it went. Sometimes they just like to watch.”

  Sometimes they just like to watch. Will I ever forget how that sounds, the easy way it rolls off his tongue? I suddenly feel dirty, my desire to exit this conversation as strong as it had been to start it. This isn’t what I wanted to hear. This isn’t what I wanted to envision, not from him. I’ve known that Trey Marks has an active sex life. I’ve heard rumors, seen Mira and Chelsea, certainly never expected celibacy. But I also never expected this. Sometimes they just like to watch. My hands feel clammy, and I pinch the underside of my wrist in an attempt to fend off a sudden wave of lightheadedness.

  “Kate?” He’s watching me, and I look away, trying to hide my disgust. I run my fingers through my hair, e
verything suddenly hot. He swears and pushes off the wall, coming toward my chair. “Talk to me.”

  “Just a sec.” I try to cough, to clear my throat and speak, but something like a sob comes out. I press my fingers to the edge of my eyes, attempting to stop the weak leak of tears. I regain some control and straighten, inhaling a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” I exhale and feel a semblance of control. “I’m just emotional today. I don’t know why I reacted that way.”

  But I do. This is major. Maybe this is the real reason why Trey has never moved past casual flirtation with me. Because he likes that, which I will never do. Sometimes they just like to watch. I meet his eyes, and the emotions in them are a combination I’ve never seen from him. Embarrassment. Sadness. Fear. He reaches for me and I flinch. He stops and stands, tucking his hands into his pockets and turning away, toward the window.

  “So that’s why you didn’t know her. Or them,” I correct. “They were just some random people off … like Craigslist?” This is getting worse by the minute.

  He doesn’t turn to face me. “Christ, Kate. I’m not meeting people off Craigslist. I’m part of a club, one that pairs like-minded people and couples. There’s a website where profiles are listed. I was in a bad mood that day and went off the rails, taking a risk on a new profile. It was a mistake, one that burned me.” I can see the tension in his shoulders, the rigidity of his stance.

  A club. Probably an expensive one, as if a membership fee and fancy website make it any less sleazy. Sometimes they just like to watch. I should leave. Walk away from this conversation, cross Trey Marks off of my heart forever, and move on. Never mind that I’ve spent almost three years pining over him. Never mind that when he breathes, I can feel it in my heart. He should have told me this. He should have told me this years ago, before I fell in love with him, before he injected his soul into my veins and I became addicted. Can I even work for him after this? Can I be around him without falling deeper in love? Before, I always thought there would be a time—once the company is kicking ass, once he is ready to step away from management and retire—when we would be able to date, when we could try a relationship. But now, with my one stupid question, with his one stupid confession, it all dies. I can’t date a man who—I don’t even understand what he does. I rub my temple. “Tell me exactly what happens.”