by Elsa Kurt
After dinner, Griffin Pierce is the first to leave. He used to be a very social man, but he appears to have retreated into himself. I’m not surprised when he thanks us and hopes that I haven’t been too much of a reminder of Grace and her projects. He is a good man, and I know I’m not the only one who hopes that he can find happiness again soon. Max gives him a warm embrace and promises to finish their conversation tomorrow.
The others are quick to follow, and I give each a heartfelt hug as they leave. They might not have been my friends at the beginning of the night, but they feel like it now. I promise to meet Cici at eleven in the morning for checkout. When I close the door behind them, Max turns up the soulful jazz that has been playing in the background and offers me his hand.
I lean into him and follow his lead across the suite, content to enjoy the strength of his body against mine for a few more hours. He is quiet, tracing gentle lines across the small of my back.
“I didn’t think to ask if you knew Griff,” he states quietly. It is a line of thought that I wasn’t expecting. “I’m in town to tie up some last details on an investment we shared. He’s become a good friend. I didn’t think to ask if you knew him. I didn’t mean to make things uncomfortable for you.”
It takes a minute for me to catch up. He must think I’m quiet because of what I said before. He honestly thinks I would consider him a liability.
“Not at all. He’s a great guy. I’m not uncomfortable. Maybe a little worried for him. He lost so much.”
Max pulls me closer and his hand drifts further down my hip.
“Why do I feel like I’m losing too?” He drops his eyes to mine. “Why do I feel like you’re already walking away?”
I have no idea of how to respond, so I do the only thing I can. I look up and kiss him.
He lifts me gently from the floor and carries me to the bed. He pulls the silk from my body and then waits as I loosen the knot of his tie and pull it from his neck. Every button on his shirt is slow torture, part of me wanting to rip it from him to feel his skin against mine, part of me wanting to savor every moment as our last.
It’s not until later, when he pushes deep inside, pushes me to the edge of control, the edge of sanity, that I fully let myself feel what he was saying. I cling to him and bury my eyes into his chest to hide the tears. I don’t want to lose. I hate that tomorrow morning I will have to walk away.
There’s a part of me that wishes I would had never gone swimming. I would have spent the day with Cici in the spa, trying to figure out what made me crazy enough to take home my stripper. The fantasy could have stayed in place.
But Max the Stripper has turned into Maxwell Scala, and my mind is having a much harder time putting things in perspective. I know this is just fantasy. I know I shouldn’t trust it. But every fiber of my being screams that this is perfection. He is my perfection.
I’ve tasted, and now I have to walk away.
Chapter 8
Maxwell
When I wake, I panic. Her side of the bed is empty. The room is dark and filled with silence.
Just my fucking luck. I finally sleep worth a damn and it gives her the chance to slip away.
I should have known she would run. Sex has never felt so much like a goodbye.
I just can’t understand why. She likes being with me, I know she does. I can see the want in her eyes. I can make her happy. I gave her the perfect fucking day.
Still, she acts like goodbye is inevitable. Haven’t I made it fucking clear?
I think back over the last 36 hours to try to figure out where I lost her. She seemed happy until tonight. Excited. Then at dinner, something changed. She grew quieter, more solemn. It was like she was attending her own funeral. What did I do wrong? What did I say?
At some point, my own stupidity hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s not what I said, it’s what I didn’t say. I put my plan in motion without ever telling her what it was. I never gave her anything past the weekend. I’m going to lose because I was too afraid to ask. Anyone in this town can tell you, you can’t win if you never make the bet.
I just hope I can find her.
I’m out of the bed and struggling to shove my leg into last night’s tux when I hear it. The shower. She’s not gone. She didn’t run. I have the chance to make my bet.
Chapter 9
Layla
Max crashes through the bathroom door with a smile as wide as the Cheshire cat and stares at me like he just won a jackpot. Suddenly, I’m very nervous.
“Good morning.” He stalks toward the shower and slides back the glass to join me. He takes the shampoo that I’m still holding, trying to figure out what is happening.
“Good morning,” my reply comes out more like a question.
“I was just thinking,” he leans in and kisses me before turning me around and lathering the shampoo into my hair, “I like waking up in your bed.”
“Umm…” I’m working on a reply when his suds-covered hands slip under my arms and his fingertips circle my nipples. I gasp and manage, “I think technically it’s your bed.”
“Details.” He flicks one of my nipples and moves down across my belly. “We should wake up together more often.”
When I turn to look at him he drops his hand even lower and continues.
“Hear me out. Everyone knows that Griff Pierce is a terrible gossip.”
I can’t help but laugh at the statement. It’s a bit like calling spinach junk food.
“He’s probably going to tell everyone about our weekend and I just can’t be responsible for that sort of thing.” He turns me around and pushes me up against the cool tiles. He runs the edge of his fingers down my cheek. “It’s only reasonable that we make this something more…official.”
“More official?” He smiles even broader when my eyes go wide.
“Sure.” He lifts me and slides his cock until the hilt is pressed firmly against my clit. “How about you take me as your lover?”
“Oh, God.” I’m sure neither of us knows if I’m responding to his idea or the feel of his cock as it twitches inside me.
“No lover?” He nips the edge of my ear. “Not respectable enough?”
I take a deep breath and try to concentrate on his words rather than the pleasure flooding my veins.
“Well, it is Vegas, we could always get married. People have a lot of respect for marriage. Myself included.” He looks me in the eye again. “Want to spend the rest of our lives hunting for the perfect day?” and for a moment I actually believe he is serious. I actually believe that I would be standing in front of Elvis this evening if I said yes. And the craziest part is that the thought sends my heart racing. Racing, not plummeting into my stomach like a similar proposal just days earlier.
My lack of response is apparently all the encouragement that he needs.
“Don’t answer.” He covers my mouth with his and proceeds to erase every rational thought from my brain.
By the time we’re done with the shower, I would follow him anywhere, naked and begging for more. All questions seem reasonable when I have him inside of me.
But later, lying with my cheek tucked into his arm and tracing his stomach with my fingertips, my brain starts to kick back in. Surely, he must be kidding. Surely, he knows that I don’t deserve this fantasy to succeed.
“I work too much,” I begin. “I travel a ton. I’m barely ever home.”
He doesn’t respond, just takes my hand in his. Then, “I own a hotel in almost every major city in the world.” He kisses the edge of my hair.
I take a deep breath and try again.
“I really am quite clueless. I don’t always think about or even recognize the impact I have on other people. I’m selfish, really.”
His reply is faster this time.
“I’ve watched you interact with my staff. You’re not selfish. And if I need something from you, I’m won’t think twice about asking for it. I don’t need you to be a mind reader.” He turns on his side to face me. “You
know I’ve heard this list before, right?”
“Not the whole list, just the top three.” I shake my head and rest my forehead against his chest.
“I don’t need the whole list. I just need your smile.” He tilts my chin with his fingertips and I can’t help but give it to him. “That. I just want the chance to earn that. Day after day.”
I search his eyes for any hint of uncertainty, any hint that he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. I don’t understand how he can be so sure.
“What if I say no?” The lines at the edge of his eyes deepen and I can tell the words hurt him as much as they hurt me. I know in that moment that no is not a possibility.
Max shakes his head and gives me a small kiss before leaning in to whisper, “Then I guess Fat Tony will have to break both your legs.”
My surprise sends the laughter spilling across our room and chases away the pain and uncertainty I was feeling just seconds before. I shove at his chest, but he just joins in my laughter and pulls me tighter. This is his magic. His confidence and fearlessness terrify me and make me feel safe.
“This is never going to work.” I sigh and press deeper into his arms.
“Wanna bet?” he retorts.
“What are we betting?”
“Everything.” He lets the silence carry the seriousness of that word.
I feel the fear start to creep in again and feel myself waver.
“That’s a lot to lose,” I whisper.
“It’s a lot to win.” He rolls me onto my back and looks down with eyes full of conviction. “We have so much to win.”
About the Author
Catherine Curtis is an award-winning author of romantic fiction. She is a bit of a nomad but currently resides in the great state of Washington with her dapper husband and lovingly disagreeable dog Ivan. She loves to travel, cook. And most of all, read.
Previous works include:
New Year’s Invitations
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00Q94Q1JA
Confusion: A Love Story
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B02M1V917W
Social Media Links:
Facebook:
http://facebook.com/AuthorCatherineCurtis
Twitter:
http://twitter.com/ccurtiswrites
A Billion Reasons
By Elsa Kurt
Jenna
Jenna slung her battered duffel bag over her tan, too thin shoulder and hopped off the last gritty step of the Greyhound bus. Her dark brown cowboy boots kicked up a cloud of burnt sienna dust. She grinned and shook her head. That sure isn’t city dust. She slid a black hair elastic off her wrist and whipped her long, pale-blonde hair into a quick ponytail as the bus closed its door with a hydraulic hiss and lumbered away.
Her eyes swept over the acres of green grass, manicured shrubs, the horses grazing in the distance, and a lake peeking out from between the trunks of tall evergreen trees. All under an endless blue sky, unobstructed by skyscrapers. Jenna took a deep breath, letting the clean air fill her lungs. Then she promptly began coughing. Apparently, her city lungs were rejecting the fresh country air.
Someone was supposed to meet her at the bus stop—a groundskeeper or some other hired help—but she was alone by the winding dirt road. Jenna sighed and squinted at the speck of white in the distance. Averly Estates. Her home for the next twelve weeks…unless she got caught out as a fraud. If that happened, then… No, don’t think about that. It'll be fine. Dog Behaviorist. Please, how hard could it be?
Anyhow, she hadn’t completely lied on the application. Okay, dog walker might be a bit of a stretch from dog behaviorist. But with a little help from the internet and a fancy looking—albeit fake—certification award, Jenna thought she could pull it off.
She cupped her hand against her forehead and took another sweeping look across the estate. A tree-lined, pea gravel road branched off from the main road and wound a meandering path to the great house. She guessed it to be maybe a mile or so away. Nothing for a professional dog walker. I mean dog behaviorist.
Of course, she’d not factored in the blazing ninety-degree heat and one hundred percent humidity. Or the lack of skyscrapers for shade. Crap. Jenna dropped her duffel on a small patch of grass by the road, took a quick glance around, and peeled off her semi-sheer blouse. Then she rummaged around inside her bag for a tank top. Her arms were through the holes, and her head bowed when a deep voice called out.
“There are facilities at the main house, you know.”
Jenna froze, then hurriedly pull the top on. “What the hell—” In her haste, she yanked the elastic halfway out of her hair and had pulled the tank top on backward. She straightened, squinted around, and found the source of the voice. It was a ruggedly handsome older man. Jenna guessed him to be in his mid-forties. Or a well-aged fifty. Jenna eyed him coolly. Damn, even the help dressed nicely here. Shit. Jenna’s worn-out duffel held a meager array of shorts, tank tops, bathing suit, vintage tees, one dress, and her undergarments. Her purse had her all her other-worldly goods—toothbrush and toothpaste, mascara, one tube of plum spice lipstick, and seventy-seven dollars. Oh, and half a pack of cinnamon gum.
“You always sneak up on people like that?”
“No, Miss…”
“Maxwell. Jenna Maxwell,” she filled in. It was actually Jenna Caldwell, but he didn’t need to know that. The less anyone around here knew about Jenna, the better.
“Yes, of course. Jenna Maxwell, professional dog behaviorist from New York City. I apologize. I was resting against that tree over there and, well, I fell asleep,” he said with a shrug. He glanced down at her bag. “Is that all you brought?”
“All I need.” She added her own shrug and hoped it looked nonchalant rather than embarrassed.
The man stared at Jenna for a long moment. A faint smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “Right, then. Follow me, please. You don’t mind if we walk, I hope?”
“No, no, not at all.” Hundred-degree temps, four-hour bus ride…a mile-long walk sounds peachy. Jenna suddenly realized that he never introduced himself. “And you are…”
“You can call me Griff.” He said nothing more.
Griff. Okay, I guess that’s all I’m getting.
Jenna sighed. This guy wasn’t the first uppity staff-of-rich-people she’d ever dealt with. Mrs. Lannister in her fancy penthouse had a secretary named Johan who treated Jenna like a peasant. All while ironing Mrs. Lannister’s underwear, no less. Despite Johan and his snooty attitude, things had been going well for Jenna. The anonymity of the bustling, never sleeping city had caused her to lower her guard enough to make acquaintances, if not friends. Ophelia from the bodega set aside the best mangos for her. Abram at the coffee shop remembered just how she liked her coffee. Though she always kept her head down and a baseball cap on while walking the dogs, she began to occasionally smile and wave to the regular faces she saw. She should’ve known better. Familiarity breeds attachment. Attachment attracts questions, and questions attract trouble. Up until she’d let her guard down, she’d weaved through New York like a ghost, unnoticeable in the sea of faces. Fake identifications, burner phones, library internet, and landlords who liked cash. She’d lulled herself into believing that the city was perfect for anonymity—it was for nearly a year—but then she must’ve gotten sloppy.
Out of the blue, a small white envelope arrived at the Lannisters’ penthouse, addressed to Jenna. Johan handed it to her with a sniff and a reminder that ‘Mrs. Lannister’s penthouse was not her personal post office.’ With shaking hands, Jenna tore open the seal and read the note.
Hello, Jenna darling.
Time to come home.
–yours always, Me
He’d found her again. Like a relentless wolf tracking a scent, or a tiger stalking its prey, he was edging closer. Worst of all—he wanted her to know he was coming for her. Jenna felt a chill run down her back and shot a surreptitious glance at Griff to see if he’d noticed. He did. She spoke quickly before he could question her.
“So, Griff. What’s the boss lady like?”
“The…boss lady?” Griff turned slightly, his brows drawn together.
“Yeah, owner of this grand upstate estate. Ha—that’s funny. Upstate estate sounds funny, right?” Jenna laughed alone. Griff raised an eyebrow at her.
Okay, note to self. Really good-looking, no sense of humor.
“What, may I ask, makes you believe the…boss is a she?”
Jenna had a smart retort ready, then realized that all along she’d just assumed it was a woman. She halted. From her purse, she pulled the printout of their last email. It stated confirmation of her employment, details of the job, and the address. Signed: G. Pierce.
In fact, every email had been much the same—impersonal, direct, and devoid of character—now that she thought of it. At the time, Jenna only cared about getting the hell out of the city. If the job were stall cleaner, she’d have taken it. Room, board, and out in the boonies. That was all she wanted. A soft ahem sound behind her made Jenna look up. Somehow, she’d gone ahead of Griff, oblivious and lost in her recollections. She turned to him, her face a question mark.
“I said, here’s where you’ll be staying.” He swept his arm toward a one level bungalow style house at the end of a long, sparkling pool and flanked by huge potted hibiscus.
Jenna looked around. Her breath caught in her throat. She’d spent a year hiding in a noisy, dirty city that smelled of street food and human despair because she thought it was safer than where she’d come from. Now, she’d be hiding somewhere beautiful and serene. She would rest her head on soft pillows and hear crickets instead of sirens. It was almost too much. Abruptly she turned away from Griff’s curious stare and roughly swiped at her eyes.
