by Serena Grey
I wake up with an intense sensation of nostalgia and sadness, and the questions no therapist could ever answer. Why did everything go wrong so fast?
There were no external factors. My parents were in love. They were happy. We were happy, and without warning our lives fell to pieces, leaving us broken, wounded souls, unable to deal with memories of pain.
Perhaps if my mother had been a less passionate creature, she wouldn’t have tried to leave my father based on unsubstantiated rumors from a busybody. If she’d loved him less, she wouldn’t have been speeding that day, barely able to control the car. Perhaps if my father had been more considerate of her feelings and spent less time on business trips, she’d still be alive. Maybe if he loved her less, he wouldn’t have died when he lost her. Because that’s what happened—he died too, and only a shell remained, a shell that couldn’t bear to live, even for his sons.
Beside me, the screen of my tablet shows a picture taken outside Cameron’s restaurant last night. In the picture, Rachel’s face is turned away from the camera. An accompanying article speculates about the mystery woman with me and Cameron.
Off the market? the headline screams.
I grimace as another headline squeezes in through the walls I’ve constructed around my memories.
Ballerina Alicia Creighton dies in fiery auto inferno.
Almost as if it’s happening right now, I can hear my brother crying, asking for our dad, my mother’s voice as she loses her temper and then loses control of the car. I remember carrying Aidan out of the wreck, and the hands, strong hands, holding me back from the burning car, forcing me to watch my mother burn…and do nothing.
My soul is tearing all over again. “Let me go,” I mutter under my breath.
“Do you need anything, Mr. Court?”
I shake my head, and the stewardess retreats.
Calming myself, I direct my mind to Aidan. Wherever he is, it’s my job to make sure he’s okay.
He’s all that matters now.
And Rachel.
I close my eyes as she slips into my mind.
Rachel.
Thinking about her lights me up inside, and for the rest of the flight, I allow myself the luxury and the pleasure.
It’s raining when I arrive at Aidan’s cabin. There’s a spare key hidden under a window ledge, and I let myself in.
The small living room is empty. In fact the whole place is bare and clean, very spartan. There’s a fire in the grate, telling me Aidan has been here. That’s not the only sign. On an end table in front of the worn leather couch, there are three unopened bottles of scotch.
In his short life, Aidan has tried almost every harmful vice. Alcohol addiction, gambling, and even drugs…every path that presented itself as a means to forget the one thing for which he’s always blamed himself, he’s tried.
He discovered from experience that those things don’t work, and that suppressed memories always return.
Now he’s returned to considering the forgetfulness he can find in a bottle.
I consider dumping the contents of the bottles in the sink, but I stop myself. If he has been here for days and isn’t passed out drunk by now, it’s likely he has a handle on the situation and whatever he’s dealing with.
The door opens, and my brother walks in, soaking wet. He’s not surprised to see me. The car outside would have told him I was in here.
He shrugs off his dripping jacket. “Hey man.”
Everyone always forgets how young he is, but I never do. I try not to hover, not to worry or control, but he is still my little brother, the only thing left from an idyllic past only the two of us can remember.
I study him with a raised eyebrow. “You’re running around in the rain now?”
“I needed some time.” He smiles and joins me at the fireplace, warming his hands over the grate. “I thought you were in San Francisco.”
“I was, but…here I am.” I eye his wet clothes. “You should change out of those clothes before you catch your death of cold.”
It’s the wrong thing to say. His eyes harden and I can see the memories of that cold morning in their depths. Wilson’s voice, grave and pained. “It’s your father. He’s dead.” Aidan, a teenager, screaming “I killed him!” over and over, crying until he had to be sedated.
“How’s that for poetic justice?” he says now.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I sound harsher than I intended.
Aidan doesn’t reply.
I take a deep breath, hating my role of the scolding big brother. “You skipped out on work, didn’t tell anybody where you were, switched off your phone…is there something you want to tell me, Aidan?”
A shadow of hurt crosses his features. After a moment, he shakes his head. “Not really.”
“Aidan—”
“Landon, I’m fine. I needed some time off to clear my head.”
My eyes go to the bottles on the table. “So it’s the pressure from the play?”
“Something like that.”
There’s more, but he’s not ready to share. “Aidan.” My voice is firm. “You’ve taken on a lot of responsibilities for someone your age. I know you’re committed to the production, but if you want to pull out and start seeing a professional again, I’d understand.”
He doesn’t like what I’m saying. A stubborn frown deepens on his face. “You’ve always had a lot of responsibilities,” he retorts. “Even when you were much younger than I am now.”
I sigh. “That’s different. I had to—”
“Take care of me? Be the responsible one?”
“Maybe. Yes.”
He scoffs. “Maybe now it’s time for me to be responsible for myself.”
I study him for a moment then smile. “So, what are you doing hiding so far out here?”
He glares at me, trying to hide the smile tugging at his mouth. “I painted myself into that corner, didn’t I?”
I’m just happy to see him smile. “You know I’ve always been smarter than you.”
He snorts. “Erm, who was it that mistook some girl trapped in an elevator for a hooker again?”
Even now, thinking of Rachel makes me miss her with an intensity that should be impossible. We barely know each other, and yet, it feels as if she has always been a part of my life, waiting just outside for me to open the door and let her soothe me.
“Rachel isn’t some girl,” I say quietly. Aidan’s eyebrows go up, but I don’t explain. “Are you ready to leave now, or do you need a few more days of staring into those bottles? I could give you a ride.”
“I brought my bike,” he tells me with a snicker.
I hate his bike. The thought of him on that monstrosity gives me panic attacks. “Not in this rain,” I tell him. “Stow the bike. I’m giving you a ride.”
I spend the night in New York, in Aidan’s apartment. He doesn’t need a nursemaid, but it feels good to talk and play video games and forget about the demands of my life.
The next day, I stop by the office for a few hours before heading back across the country.
It’s evening when I arrive in San Francisco. I’m eager to see Rachel, almost too eager. When I enter the suite, though, I can tell at once that it’s empty.
She probably went out for dinner. I should order something for myself and wait for her, but I’m too impatient. I call Ralph, the manager of the Rosemont, to find out if Rachel made any reservations at any of the in-house restaurants, and he says no, she left in the chauffeured car with a friend.
With a friend.
Which friend?
Alarm bells go off in my head. I’m not usually a jealous person, but the thought of anybody else having any claim to her time, or to her body…
It’s unbearable.
Calm down, Landon.
No.
She doesn’t belong to you.
For this week, she does.
My next call is the hired driver. He works for me, so in a few minutes, I have Rachel’s location.
She
’s at a lounge.
With a man.
Stay calm. I take a deep breath and go out to the balcony. Wherever she is, she’ll return after a few hours at the most.
But I want to know who she’s with. I want to know if the exclusivity rules she set for our arrangement mean anything to her.
Probably not.
The only reason she ever landed in my apartment that first night was that she was distressed over another man. She’s not mine. Sexually, I may have some hold on her, but she’s not mine, and she never has been.
The thought cuts me with a white-hot edge of jealousy.
Unable to bear waiting, I dial her number on my phone and wait for her to answer.
“Hello.” God! I’ve missed her.
I don’t bother with any pleasantries. “Where are you?”
There’s a pause. “Have you returned?”
“I have. I landed about half an hour ago.”
“You could have let me know you were on your way.”
“Why?” I sound like a jerk, but I’m too jealous to care. “I told you I would return today.”
“Yes, but…” I hear her take a breath. “I went out.”
“I gathered.” She doesn’t say more. At least she’s not lying to me. “Are you alone?” I know the answer, yet I dread hearing her say it.
There’s a pause. “No, I’m not, but I’m about to leave.”
“Where are you?”
She tells me where they are.
“I’m on my way.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m on my way,” I repeat firmly. Maybe I’m not thinking straight. Maybe I’m jealous, but while she’s with me, any friend will be made aware of the fact that she is mine.
Chapter 12
I arrive at the lounge a few minutes later. It’s a nice place. A chanteuse on a stage is singing soulful music accompanied by a talented band. At a table by the windows, Rachel sits opposite a guy I recognize instantly.
The ex.
The one who made her cry.
I suppose I have him to thank for pushing Rachel straight into my arms.
But right now, the last thing I want to do is thank him for anything.
He’s saying something to her, smiling, his hand placed over hers on the table. He’s trying to get her attention, but she’s looking in my direction. Does she hate that I interrupted her date?
I should turn back and end our arrangement. Maybe she won’t mind that. Maybe it would be for the best if I left her to continue…whatever she has with him.
I don’t, of course. I want her too much.
Rachel’s eyes follow me as I approach their table. I ignore her companion, taking her face in my hands and covering her lips with mine. She tastes of wine and sweetness, and for a moment, I almost lose my head. Finally, I release her, noting with satisfaction that she’s flushed and breathless.
That’s when I turn to her companion. I hold out my hand. “Landon Court.”
There is comprehension and jealousy in his eyes as he rises to take my outstretched hand. “Jack Weyland.”
I already knew that. “Pleased to meet you.” My voice is blank. “You write for Gilt, don’t you? Are you here for work?”
He gives Rachel a look then faces me again, chin raised. “No, I’m here to see Rachel.”
Well, he has…and now it’s time to go. I turn to Rachel. “You ready?” If she chooses not to come with me, I’ll let her go. I’ll let this all go. It will be hard, but I’ll manage it.
“You’re leaving?” Weyland frowns, his eyes on Rachel. Did he assume the evening would end with Rachel in his bed somewhere? Well, fuck him. That’s not happening.
“Yes.” Rachel rises to her feet, and I feel something like joy in my chest. “I had a great time.”
“Yeah,” Weyland replies drily. “Me too.”
I curl my arm around her and lead her outside, leaving Weyland at the table. Once we’re inside the elevator, she whirls around to face me.
“What was that about?”
I know what she means. “What exactly?” I ask in a silky voice.
“Coming here. Kissing me in front of Jack.” She scowls. “Acting as if I did something wrong by going out—”
She looks flustered. She has since I kissed her. The words spill out of her, and I let her talk, only interrupting when she’s almost out of steam.
“I wasn’t aware my actions were so out of place. I came here because I wanted to see you and I was tired of waiting. I kissed you because I wanted to.” I study her face. “What exactly is the problem? That I interrupted your reunion with your boyfriend?”
Her eyes skip away from mine. Is she shocked? Did she think I wouldn’t know who he was? The elevator doors slide open and she follows me to the entrance.
“I came in one of the Rosemont cars,” she declares stubbornly, as if she would rather not share a ride with me.
I open the door for her. “Your driver has already returned.”
She enters the car with a sigh. When I join her, her arms are folded over her chest. “First of all,” she tells me, “Jack’s not my boyfriend. Secondly, I don’t think it was necessary for you to flaunt our…arrangement in his face like that.”
Because she’s still in love with him? Because there’s a limit to how jealous she’s willing to make him? How far she’s ready to push him?
Because she loves him?
I pull in a breath to soothe the wild flare of jealousy in my chest. “Why do you care so much? What is he to you?”
“It’s not about him.”
“Isn’t it?” I don’t want to talk about her ex, or to acknowledge his existence and his hold on her emotions. I hate the way it makes me feel. “I seem to recall that exclusivity was one of your conditions for agreeing to this arrangement. Did that particular condition apply only to me? Am I supposed to sit back and accept the fact that you went out with him, the same man with whom you had a fight in my hotel the day we met? He’s the reason you were crying in the elevator, and he came all the way here to see you.” My lips curl. “Talk about a grand gesture.”
Her shocked expression is almost comical. That’s right. I know everything.
“Security cameras, Rachel.” I shrug. “How do you think I found you? I had dinner with my brother that night. He was trying to convince me that hookers were a better deal than relationships, and he offered to send me one. I refused. When you appeared in the elevator, I thought he’d ignored me, as usual. You didn’t leave your number, and I couldn’t get you out of my mind. So, I called him, and it turned out he had no idea what I was talking about. I had the security team at the hotel review the tapes to find out who you were, and I saw them too. I saw your argument with Jack Weyland, and I saw how distressed you were afterward.”
She’s quiet.
“Did he come here to apologize?” I continue, a taunting edge to my voice. “Am I standing in the way of some romantic reunion?”
“Would you care?” she snaps.
Isn’t it obvious that I do? I care, much more than I should. “No,” I lie. “Let’s just be clear, for as long as this arrangement lasts, I have every right to be extremely selfish when it comes to you. I don’t give a fuck about what he wants, because right now, you belong to me.”
“I don’t belong to anyone,” she replies. “I sure as hell don’t belong to you.”
The surge of possessiveness that kicked in when I saw her with Weyland rises again. I place a finger under her chin and lift her face to mine. “Unless you’re telling me you want to stop this, to end this…arrangement right now, then you belong to me.” I hold her gaze. “Is that what you want?”
She’s silent. Have I read her wrong? Is she going to throw my blasted arrangement back in my face?
Her eyes fall from mine and she shakes her head.
I taste the sweetness of triumph, but it’s not as satisfactory as I want it to be.
“Say it,” I demand.
“No,” she whispers. “Th
at’s not what I want.”
I know she’s mine before I take her lips in a gentle kiss. There is no resistance from her. She melts into me, offering her mouth, her body.
I pull her onto my lap, my fingers exploring. I’m aching to expose every inch of her skin so I can touch every part of her.
The car stops, and I release her, smoothing her hair. Her eyes stare languidly back at me, cloudy with arousal.
That’s right, baby.
“We’re here.”
She nods, still looking dazed. I place my hand on the door handle then stop and face her. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” I say softly. “I wasn’t sure…” I swallow. I missed you, but I didn’t want to stretch our arrangement to a level of intimacy we didn’t plan.
I don’t say that. Instead, I choose a half-truth that’s far easier. “I was very busy, but I should have called.”
“Okay.”
Outside the car, I place my hand on her waist, needing even that small touch as we cross the lobby. Inside the privacy of the elevator, hunger wins out and I’m kissing her again, my senses igniting with a wild possessive desire.
She responds perfectly, moaning into my mouth and matching my need with hers.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” I whisper in her ear. “Every single minute I had you in my head.”
Once the elevator arrives, and I carry her all the way into my bedroom, laying her down on the soft bed. I tear off my clothes, and she does the same with hers.
When we’re both naked, I join her on the bed. Starting from her lips, I tease her with my tongue, tracing soft licks from her mouth to her throat, then to her lovely breasts. Her skin flushes wherever I touch. I trace a path of kisses over her belly, and when I reach the juncture of her thighs, I spread her legs, eagerly tasting the sweetest parts of her.
Her helpless sounds of pleasure are like a melody I want to enjoy forever. I join my fingers to my tongue, sliding them into her. Inside, she’s hot and slick. Stroking her inner walls, I roll my tongue around her clit, intent only on her pleasure.
