by Kendra Leigh
Copyright © Kendra Leigh 2015
The moral right of Kendra Leigh to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except for review purposes. For permission requests, write to the author at [email protected].
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is purely coincidental.
Except for the original material written by the author, all songs, song titles and lyrics mentioned in the novel Bound for Nirvana are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
Published by Evoke Publications
Cover art created by Tugboat Design
Copy Editing by The Polished Pen
Formatting by Tugboat Design
ISBN: 978-1-910713-07-5
To all those searching for their Nirvana.
For the chance to love, the chance for peace, and the chance to breathe.
Chapter One
The morning light assaulted my gritty eyes, still sore and puffy from tears and disordered sleep. A sense of turbid emotions roiled in my stomach as I recalled every detail of the night before, but my conscious settled on only one.
Guilt.
For months now, Ethan had been trying to guide me gently out of the shadows of my past, trying to prove to me that I was strong enough to face this world without the acceptance and approval of my family that I’d spent a lifetime seeking. Last night at the restaurant, when I saw my mother’s pendant snaked around the neck of a perfect stranger, when I heard the poisonous words of hatred oozing from my father’s mouth as effortlessly as the sweat from his pores, it should have been enough. Enough!
But instead, I’d hurt the only person I love—the one person who had taken the weight of my burden as his own; who’d promised to love and protect me, and make me whole again. I had pushed him away, just like he’d said. Asking him to stay out of my fight had been wrong on so many levels. After all, hadn’t we agreed to fight our demons together?
It had taken my subconscious to hit me full force in the face, and the cold, hard truth to manifest itself in a nightmare to make me realize Ethan was the only one at the bottom of that precipice, the only one who would catch me when I fell and that actually, it was enough. It was way more than fucking enough. It was time to close that door.
Despite the warm, weightless feeling this knowledge had awakened in my soul, and despite the relief of taking the first steps to exorcising my demons, my heart was heavy with an icy-cold layer of guilt.
I turned over, eager to climb back inside Ethan’s warm loving arms, to explain how sorry I was, that he was right and I was wrong and for him to tell me it was going to be okay, that he’d forgiven me, but the space beside me was empty.
Clambering out of bed, I began a search of the apartment, but there was no response when I called out his name, just the cold sound of silence. The only evidence that he’d returned last night at all was the scent of him on my skin and the empty coffee cup on the breakfast island. Picking it up, I pressed the rim, where I knew his mouth had been, against my lips, closing my eyes to imagine him there.
The luminous green numbers on the oven clock told me it was only seven-thirty, which meant he’d left earlier than usual for a Monday morning. Ethan never left without saying goodbye, even if it was a wordless brush of his lips against my temple as I lay in a half-conscious state. There were no messages on my cell, no note left on his pillow or the bedside table. All this knowledge played havoc with my gut and the steady realization that he was still outrageously mad at me. He’d held me in the middle of the night when he’d saved me from the horror of my nightmare, soothing me through my torment when I’d needed him, but it hadn’t erased his anger. I’d hurt him deeply.
The silence was suddenly overwhelming, a deathly quiet reminder of life before Ethan and loneliness—desolate, empty loneliness. Stricken with a surge of panic, I hurried over to the large glass doors and pushed out onto the terrace. The scent of the flowers and shrubs caught on the breeze, filling my nostrils with memories of the day before, when I’d stood blindfolded as Ethan waited to present his final gift. A vision of the happiness that had radiated from his sparkling blue eyes when I’d agreed to move in with him flashed in my mind, and it hit me once again. Guilt.
I needed to put this right and had to do it now.
With an idea in mind, I’d showered and dressed quickly in skinny jeans and white blouse, pulling on ankle boots and my leather jacket before boarding the elevator. Armed with yummy pastries and coffees from Minnie’s, I’d made it to Ethan’s office building by nine-thirty.
On the thirtieth floor, I pushed through the frosted doors and walked slowly through the foyer, acknowledging Todd at security and Emily at reception. By now, most of the workers at his office were familiar with me, greeting me by name or with a simple wave. Over the months, I’d been a frequent visitor to Ethan’s offices, sometimes bringing breakfast or lunch, or just calling while passing, to steal five minutes and a cheeky kiss. But I’d never arrived without prior warning before.
With the beat of my heart resounding in my pulsing ears, I moved through the corridor and towards Ethan’s office.
“Oh, hi, Miss Lawson.” Laura, Ethan’s pretty, red-haired secretary looked up from her desk. “Is Mr. Wilde expecting you?”
“Um…” As I was about to answer, I looked past her through the glass door into Ethan’s office. My eyes found him immediately, sitting at the long white table opposite his desk, one arm supporting the other as he ran his knuckle over the stubble on his jaw line—the way he often did when he was concentrating or something was troubling him. He wore a navy blue suit and vest over a pale blue shirt, the color perfectly accentuating the cornflower blue of his irises. The sight of him made my heart constrict with a surge of overwhelming love, my eyes misting with emotion, and I felt an absurd, irrational jealousy toward the people whose company he willingly shared. Joining him around the table, were Damon, the beautiful Alex, another woman, whose face I couldn’t see, and two unfamiliar men.
“Miss Lawson?” the secretary urged.
“Oh, um… no. He’s not expecting me. I’m sorry, I can see he’s busy, I’ll just see him later.”
“Oh no!” She seemed flustered suddenly. “I hate to be rude, but I’d rather you didn’t just leave; it’s more than my job’s worth to let you go without informing him. I’m under strict orders… we all are.”
A glance around the room showed several faces looking back at me, a couple of them nodding, as if to confirm what she’d said. Then I felt his gaze on me—a hot, intense, gravitational pull. I turned to look back through the glass door and our eyes connected. Moments seemed to pass before either of us reacted, and then the other table members turned to face me, undoubtedly curious as to what had distracted him.
Flushing at the unwelcome attention my presence created, I averted my eyes, glancing down at my shoes briefly, before returning my gaze. Alex smiled politely; Damon glanced dubiously between the two of us, as if picking up on the tension.
Suddenly, Ethan pushed gracefully to his feet and glided across the room with long, purposeful strides. My pulse began to race with nerves.
“I was about to inform you, Mr. Wilde.” The secretary stumbled over her words the second the door opened, eager to avoid being reprimanded.
> “It’s fine,” he snapped simply.
Annoyance emanated from his aura, but his deadpan expression gave nothing away. Moving toward me without a word, he placed his hand at the small of my back, the welcomed contact sending an unexpected tingle up my spine. He guided me across the room and the sea of onlookers, through the door of what was obviously a boardroom, and closed it quietly behind us.
The room was vast, a mammoth boardroom table dominating the most part and a sheet of glass separating the room from the rest of the city. My eyes darted around in search of a wastepaper bin, the bag of pastries and coffee now seeming garishly inappropriate. Unable to find one, I decided to abandon them on the table instead.
Ethan glanced at me, his impassive countenance still firmly in place as he thrust his hands into his pockets and strode past me to the window. For minutes, neither one of us spoke, the air growing thick with the strain of the prolonged silence. Fear suddenly curled around my spine—fear that this time I’d pushed him too far and too hard for him to find his way back to me.
Moving with cautious determination, I closed the space between us until I was only inches away. He didn’t turn, but I knew he could sense my nearness from the way his shoulders seemed to rise and fall with the quickening of his breath. The gap between us, though small, appeared to hum and crackle with an electrical charge, his familiar, heavenly scent soaking into my senses. The effect on my body was instant, like an addict desperate for a hit after a night of painful withdrawal symptoms.
Tentatively, I placed a trembling hand on the space between his shoulders, sending a silent prayer of thanks to God when he didn’t flinch from my touch. Encouraged, I closed the gap, leaning my forehead against the warmth of his strong back and bathing in the glow of our incredible, undeniable connection.
“Forgive me,” I whispered.
He seemed to quiver slightly, as if my words had initiated an involuntary sob, and suddenly the extent of the hurt I’d inflicted on him was horribly evident. I grasped him to me, molding myself into his back.
“I love you, Ethan. So much, my heart physically hurts. You are the single most important thing in my life, and nothing is more crucial to me than making you happy. Please don’t give up on me.”
Abruptly, he turned, gripping me almost painfully by the tops of my arms, his features pinched with a combination of disbelief and panic. He opened his mouth to speak, but seemed exasperated, as if words wouldn’t suffice, and then his fingers were burrowing into my hair to cup my head and pull me hungrily toward his waiting mouth. Crushing his lips against mine, his tongue invaded my mouth in a desperate plea to claim me, kissing me like his life depended on it, like the blending of our mouths and intermingling of our tongues would somehow smooth the crack that, for now, words could not.
My response was instant, like a burning fire coursing through my veins, and instinctively, I gripped his shoulders, hauling myself up to wrap my legs around his waist in a possessive clinch. Shifting his hands to the backs of my thighs to support me, he turned me to the window, almost slamming me up against the cold, hard glass, as his pulsing erection jabbed into the junction of my thighs. The friction was painfully arousing, and a stab of longing shot through my core, so that my only response was to tilt my pelvis in search of more.
I cradled his head with my arms, devouring his eager kisses, our breath coming in heavy labored gasps. Suddenly, his hands were beneath my shirt, pulling it up to reveal my bra and snatching at the cup to expose a swollen, heaving breast. His fingers pinched and pulled at the taut bud of my nipple, sending a pleasurable pain straight to my aching groin and a cry of erotic agony hissed from my lips.
Without warning, there was a noise from out in the corridor, the sound of talking, and then the handle was turning and the door began to open.
Ethan released me, swiftly placing my feet on the floor as we both scrambled with my shirt to hide my near nudity. Then, spreading his arms, he leaned his hands against the glass in an attempt to shield me from the intruders.
“Oh, sorry, Mr. Wilde.” A male voice sounded both startled and mortified. “I thought I’d booked the room out…”
“Give me a minute, Tom.” Ethan’s response was firm, yet polite.
“Yeah, sure. Sorry. I didn’t mean to… I didn’t know that…”
“Tom,” Ethan asserted. “A minute.”
“Sorry, Mr. Wilde, I... Sorry.”
The door closed and the sound of voices and footsteps retreated.
“Shit!” Ethan hissed through clenched teeth, his eyes screwing closed. A few beats passed before he reopened them and focused his piercing blue gaze on me, his face remaining only inches from mine. Although his arousal was still plainly evident in the dark, smoldering depths of his gaze, it was blatantly tainted with anger.
“I’m so s—” I tried again to apologize.
Ethan laid a finger against my lips to silence me. “I have to go,” he whispered, pushing away from the glass and wincing as he attempted to adjust his untamable erection. I watched as he tried to compose himself, running his fingers through his sexy, tousled hair and adjusting the knot of his tie.
All the time, I searched for words inside my muddled mind, my tongue twisting over my urgent need to say the right thing in the mere seconds I had before he left.
Suddenly, he reached out and brushed his fingers over my flushed cheek, his thumb grazing my swollen lower lip. “I will never give up on you, Angel. Not ever.”
And with that, he strode from the room and was gone.
I waited almost a full minute, drawing long, deep breaths in a futile attempt to compose myself. Realizing that my burning cheeks weren’t going anywhere soon, I retrieved the bag of pastries and coffee and followed, striding quickly through the offices, my head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone. When I reached the bank of elevators, I dumped the breakfast in the nearest trash can and called for the elevator.
As I waited, I gazed unseeing at some random space on the wall in front of me, trying to figure out what had just happened. We’d both lost control, forgotten where we were for a few minutes—that much was clear—but let’s face it, it wouldn’t be the first time our wild, uncontainable lust for each other had gotten the better of us. Sex for us was much more than a physical release or a way of enjoying each other’s bodies. It was the way we communicated, the way we affirmed our feelings for each other when words simply wouldn’t do.
Was that what just happened? Was our reaction to each other a desperate plea to tear it up and start again? Had Ethan forgiven me? He hadn’t given up on me, he’d said as much, but doubt and anger had still lingered in his eyes. I’d seen it.
A familiar voice startled me from my musings. “Miss Lawson, wait up.”
Turning, I saw Jackson exiting the doors from Wilde Industries, his signature black suit and tie creating a well-groomed finish to his otherwise rugged good looks. I smiled a genuine smile for the first time today as he walked toward me with his sturdy swagger and buzz cut, his responding smile crinkling the edges of his warm brown eyes.
“Hey, what’s up?” I asked.
“I’ve finished here for now.” He paused to glance at his wrist watch. “I believe we’ve just time for breakfast before we head to your place.”
The elevator arrived and we boarded. “My place? Why are we going to my place?”
“You want some help packing your shit, don’t you?” Jackson pressed the button for the basement.
Of course! He was talking about my impending move to Ethan’s. I’d forgotten all about it in the haze of the last twelve hours.
“What? Now?” Thoughts of how I was going to spend the day hadn’t crossed my mind yet.
Jackson grinned. “You surely didn’t think he was going to give you time to change your mind, did you?”
After last night, I wasn’t entirely sure whether Ethan might be the one to change his mind. “I’m not sure today is the best day,” I muttered, harboring my thoughts.
He raised a
skeptical eyebrow. “He wants you home, kiddo.” As was now usual, he dropped the formalities as soon as we were out of earshot of others.
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Did he send you?”
“Like I said, he wants you home. He also wants you fed. Come on.” The doors slid open and I followed him across the parking lot to the waiting Cadillac Escalade, my smile growing wider with every step.
He wants me home.
After a substantial breakfast at Jackson’s “favorite caff,” and a detour to collect a mass of flat-pack boxes, we made our way to my apartment in the heart of Chelsea.
I stood in the center of the open-plan, loft-like space and looked around. My face crumpled as I pondered whether I really had that much to pack—my DVDs, books, clothes, a couple of boxes worth of shoes. Well, maybe four—five, max.
“Where do you want me to start?” Jackson asked, his jacket and tie already discarded, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
I shrugged.
“Why don’t you do the bathroom and bedroom, and I’ll start in the kitchen, and then make my way in here,” he suggested.
“Okay.” I paused. “But what are we packing?”
He shook his head at me. “Well, are you renting or selling?”
I pulled a face. “Renting. Selling. Renting. I’m not sure yet.”
“Well the place needs to be emptied whatever you decide. Why don’t we pack everything you want to take with you in that corner over there, and everything that you want to go into storage over here?”
I nodded, pointing to a third corner. “Thrift store corner.”
“Thrift store.” He nodded in agreement.
A couple of hours later, all three corners were full. I’d accumulated more stuff than I’d originally thought. Most of it junk, or just a duplication of what we already had at Ethan’s place—our place—towels and linen, pots and pans, and the like. The corner with stuff I wanted to take was the least occupied.