Shana’s grip of my shirt intensifies.
“Damn, my lady, I love the way you think. Maybe while we’re at it, we could scale a few fences.”
Shana giggles the most perfect melody. “Seriously, I’m in town for two more weeks.”
“Are you suggesting we play it cool out there?”
“As much as I would like to do otherwise, and believe me, I would, but tonight is supposed to be about my best friends.”
I also recall the reason why I’m at this bar. “Yes, me too. I’m at a bachelor party.”
“Seriously?”
“I am.”
“We seem to have a thing for weddings.”
“Do you recall Cynthia?” I ask.
Her smile fades. “Your date at Kimbra’s wedding.”
“My fake date,” I correct her. “Yes. Well, everything I told you was true. This weekend is her fiancé’s bachelor party. If you remember, I said that he and I are friends. His name is Eric.”
Shana nods. “I remember, the one working in Indiana.”
I brush my lips over hers, fighting the urge to linger and taste more of her sweetness. “Damn. How are we supposed to walk out there and act like strangers when we have all this history?”
“Call me...in the morning? I wouldn’t be opposed to repeating some of the history.”
“Oh no, my lady. I want to make another one.”
“Another one?”
“Another history. One where I don’t let you get away.”
I lean closer one more time. By the way Shana wiggles between me and the wall, I know I’m unsuccessful at hiding my reaction to being near her. That reaction is growing painfully harder every second. Yet I don’t want to back away. I need to be close.
Like my body needs air, I want one last savor of her tangy lemon taste.
This time, her palm comes to my cheek. The soft touch lingers as our lips move ever so slowly. With a deep sigh, we both back away.
I cock my brow in question. “I suppose walking out to Kimbra hand in hand isn’t an option?”
“Not yet. This would be awfully sudden.”
“Is tomorrow too soon?”
“Hmm. Tomorrow, whatever shall it bring?” Her question hangs in the air like a whimsical melody.
Taking a deep breath, I inhale her perfume, hairspray, and presence. It’s a concoction I could easily grow accustomed to. “It’s springtime in New York. The possibilities are limitless.”
Although I don’t want to do it, I take a step back and allow her to pass. Before she does, she leaves one last chaste kiss on my cheek. Our fingers graze one another’s as she gives me a final smile over her shoulder and heads into the ladies’ room.
I lean against the wall and watch her disappear behind the restroom door.
Her loss is real, a hole in the depth of my soul. Nevertheless, it’s easier tonight than it was the morning she flew back to London. This time I know the truth.
I can’t let Shana Price go.
I won’t.
Placing my hands in my pockets and bending at the waist, I think back to this afternoon. It was her on that stage. The revelation fills me with hope. Not only was it her, but while she was up there, looking incredibly hot and sexy, she was thinking about me.
It takes all of my self-control to not stay in this hallway and wait for her return.
If I did, I know what I’d do. I’d start as I did before, backing her against the wall. And then, grabbing that round ass, I’d lift her sexy-as-shit legs until they’re wrapped around my waist, and finally, I’d wish to every higher power in the universe that she weren’t wearing the tight jeans...that instead, she was wearing the negligee from earlier and nothing else.
I take a few more deep breaths. My current line of thinking is doing very little to ease my discomfort. But it has done something. It has made me more determined than ever.
I let her go once. I walked away thinking we would be better off apart than dealing with a long-distance relationship. I was wrong.
A day hasn’t passed that she hasn’t been on my mind in one way or another. Sometimes it’s as simple as a fleeting memory...
Red Gatorade.
The aroma of coffee.
The mention of Saks Fifth Avenue.
A tall chain-link fence or a parking garage.
There are times when those innocuous memories blindside me. And then there are other times when her memory has been more difficult to deal with, as it is now. During those times I’ve had to take matters into my own hands.
This time, I swear to myself, will be different.
Making one last adjustment to my jeans, I begin to walk back out to Kimbra and Stephen. There’s a slight possibility that I might owe that guy an apology. I can’t even remember what I said to him. The only thing I can remember is seeing his hands on my girl.
Okay, she isn’t my girl.
Not yet. The timetable is set.
I always have loved a challenge.
Shana Price will be mine.
I have two weeks.
Chapter Eleven
Shana
Standing at the row of sinks, I’m caught off guard by my reflection. While that image has been all kinds of crazy today—from lead in lingerie to model and back to friend—the reflection I’m currently seeing is my favorite. I tilt my head one way and the other. After only a few minutes with Trevor, my lips are pink and cheeks flushed. Even my neck is a light shade of red from the abrasiveness of his beard.
Closing my eyes, my chest heaves as I remember the possessiveness in his kiss and the determination in his stare as he asked about Stephen. Maybe it wasn’t nice to not answer him right away, but the energy in his demand lit a spark that I didn’t want to let die.
With the way I’m reeling, it’s burning strong and bright.
I grip the edge of the sink, recalling his woodsy scent and the taste of good beer. That’s what Trevor Willis is to me, the sexy aroma of spice and outdoors and the taste of craft beer, an intoxicating combination.
I could lie to myself and say that this unquenchable twisting deep inside me is from the martinis, but I know the truth. It’s him. It’s been him since the first night we met.
My world was sent out of kilter. For nearly the last year, I’ve tried to deny it. But the truth won’t let me go. From his reaction, he’s as captive as I am. While being held hostage by an undeniable attraction sounds somewhat frightening, I love every minute of it.
As I make my way back to my friends, I see Trevor and stifle a giggle as I contemplate our plan.
Will it be possible to keep this secret for a little while longer?
It’s then that I remember that none of this is a secret to Stephen, only to my other best friend, Kimbra. My gaze narrows, as if it zeroing in my vision will help me hear their conversation. I love Stephen, but keeping secrets isn’t his forte.
What if he’s already spilled the beans?
I can’t hear them over the music and other patrons.
With Trevor standing, Kimbra and Stephen have our barstools. It’s as I approach that Stephen stands. I try to stay focused on my two best friends, but out of the corner of my eye, I catch the way Trevor’s gaze turns sultry. The simple change in expression makes my chest tighten.
Oh shit!
This is going to be harder than I thought.
“What happened to your lips?” Stephen whispers in my ear as I move to sit on the stool he vacated.
My fingers come up to my mouth to assess what he means. “Umm, I think it’s an allergic reaction to the lipstick they used today at the show.”
“Oh my goodness,” Kimbra breaks in. “Stephen was just telling us about the fashion show. Here.” She hands me my martini. “The coolness will help your lips.” She looks closer. “They don’t look too bad.”
Trevor also takes a drink of his beer, the glass barely hiding his amusement at my feigned allergic reaction.
Kimbra’s voice grows louder. “Why in the world didn’t you cal
l me?”
“Would you have gone onstage for me?”
Kimbra laughs. “No. I would have been cheering.” She turns and punches Trevor’s arm nearly spilling his beer. “And you were there? Did you scream for her?”
“First, her name wasn’t announced though she did have my attention. Besides, it wasn’t exactly a striptease. It’s not as if we were shouting catcalls.”
“However...” Stephen asks suggestively. “If you could?”
Trevor smiles as his hand comes to rest on the back of my chair. “If it were appropriate, I so would have. Shana looked beautiful up there in that white negligee.”
“Listen to you,” Kimbra says, with a smile. “If Stephen hadn’t just told us what she was wearing, I’d think you were smitten.” Her mouth quirks for a moment. “Did you just say they didn’t announce her name?”
“I’m a man. I notice beautiful women.”
“Hmm,” Kimbra hums. “Mr. Single-for-Life.”
“It’s a Willis thing,” Trevor replies.
“Oh no,” Kimbra responds. “No more generalizations. Your brother is cured.”
“So there is a cure?” I ask, forcing my most innocent smile.
“Oh, ladies,” Stephen interjects. “There is always a cure. And I personally believe I’m surrounded by two of the loveliest cures I’ve ever seen.” He turns to Trevor. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
My cheeks heat as I take another sip of martini.
It’s everything I can do to maintain the conversation with the way Trevor is secretly drawing circles on my shoulder, running his hand through my hair, and teasing the place on my neck where earlier his lips made me shiver.
I want nothing more than to turn toward him and wrap my arms around his neck. But I can’t because through it all, Stephen is dropping hints the size of grenades while Kimbra is chatting about everything, blissfully unaware.
“...we should have you all to dinner before you leave for London,” Kimbra says. “You too, Trevor. This is fun.”
“London is still up in the air,” I say. “I mean, of course, if we get the job here we’ll still need to go back to pack.”
“Apartment in the East Village,” Stephen says softly as he lowers his empty glass to the bar. “Next round is on you, boss lady.” And with that, he steps away.
“What is he talking about?” Kimbra asks.
I shake my head. “It’s not as if there isn’t enough pressure, but Stephen put a deposit down on an apartment in the East Village for when we move back to New York.”
“Is it that certain?”
I shake my head. “It’s less certain after my little stunt today of going onstage. Even though I stepped in to save the show and showcase all the lingerie, the woman who would be my superior wasn’t thrilled.”
“Why?” Trevor asks. “I was there. It went off without a flaw.”
“The sales are good, but the point of a fashion show is to showcase fashions. When the show is over, the fashions should be the headline, not pondering about the loss of one model and questions about her replacement.”
“I don’t know how you do it. Dealing in HR is enough for me,” Kimbra says.
“Well, you seem to have an in with your boss, too. That doesn’t hurt,” Trevor says with a grin.
Kimbra shrugs. “Speaking of which—”
Before she can finish I hear a voice I never expected, one thick with a British accent.
“Willis, we’re next in the pool-table queue. You’re about up.”
“Max?” I say, turning his direction. Stunned doesn’t begin to describe my reaction.
“Shana?”
The good vibes I’ve been feeling since entering the bar disappear in a puff of smoke as Max Cantel’s beady, cheating stare comes my way.
“You two know each other...?”
Trevor’s comment goes unheard as I step from the barstool, all five-foot-six inches of me, poised and ready to fight. “Get the hell away from here before Stephen sees you.”
“He’s here?” Max asks, sounding less angry than I would have expected.
“Get out. How dare you track him down—”
“What are—” Trevor tries again to speak.
“Get the hell away.” I frantically look to my left and right, wondering where Stephen went before turning to Trevor. “You know this man?”
“Yes, we’re friends—”
Max reaches for me, but I pull away. “Shana, listen to me. There’s been some misunderstanding. I haven’t been able to reach Stephen for nearly a month. I’ve left messages and emails. I’ve even sent a courier.”
My finger pokes his direction, getting closer and closer to hitting his chest with each word. “Keep your lame-ass excuses to yourself.”
It’s then that I feel another hand on my back. “I need to leave,” Stephen says.
I hear the anguish in his voice.
“Stephen,” Max asks, “what the hell happened?”
When I turn, Stephen’s back is as straight as a rod as he turns to Kimbra. “It was very nice to meet you. It seems I need to leave.”
“Umm,” she says, “I don’t know what’s happening.”
I look from Kimbra to Trevor; both of their expressions are filled with question. “I need to go too. Call me.” I stand taller. “Kimbra.”
And with that I turn toward the door, my hand in the small of Stephen’s back as I navigate our way through the crowded bar.
“Sorry, boss lady,” he says as we step onto the sidewalk. It is then that my phone buzzes as his body trembles beneath my grasp.
“Let’s get back to the hotel.”
“Wine?”
“Copious amounts of wine.”
Once we’re in the taxi, I pull my phone from my purse, but before checking the screen, Stephen turns my way, his eyes glassy with pent-up emotion.
“Do you know something else I love in New York?” he asks.
“You mean, besides me?”
He nods. “Yes, besides you.” When I don’t answer, he does. “Pizza.”
“Oh my God, I was just thinking the same thing earlier tonight.”
I tap on the partition separating us from the driver.
Pulling the cell phone from his ear, the driver asks, “Yes, lady?”
“Stop at Underground Pizza on Hanover before going to our hotel.”
“No good, miss. There will be no parking or standing in that area.”
Stephen lets out a long breath. “Then drive me in circles until she has our pizza.”
“Whatever you want. The meter’s running.”
I grin when I see Stephen smile.
“I’ll cover the meter, you get the pizza,” he says just before laying his head on my shoulder.
“Deal.”
He looks up. “You really are my best friend. I don’t know what’s going to happen with this promotion, but whatever it is, I’m glad to be here with you.”
I reach up and pull his head back to my shoulder. “This has been a crazy-ass night.”
“Are you going to check your texts? Your phone’s been buzzing since we left the bar.”
I sigh as I swipe my screen. Three missed text messages.
“Two from Trevor and one from Kimbra.”
“Crazy-ass night,” he says.
“You can say that again.”
Chapter Twelve
Shana
The club clothes are gone; mine lie somewhere on my bathroom floor. I traded them for more comfortable alternatives: yoga pants covered in multicolored shoes and a big T-shirt. As soon as we made it to the hotel, Stephen did the same before coming to my room. His chic jacket and trousers are gone, and in their place, he’s wearing jogging pants and a Yankees T-shirt.
Growing up in Illinois, I’m more of a Cubs girl. When I was younger, each summer my family would go into Chicago for a weekend of what my mom called family time. Most years we’d see a Cubs game. I love Wrigley, but my favorite part is Wrigleyville. Not only are the hot dogs and popcorn
always the best, but it is one of the few times we’d get to see our parents relax and sit back with a few beers. They saved their alcohol intake for special occasions.
Another annual stop was usually a place my parents considered educational, such as the aquarium or one of the museums. While I always liked the Museum of Science and Industry, I think that while listening to my parents talk, I learned more in Wrigleyville.
Unlike my parents, I don’t feel the need to limit my alcohol intake to family time. It’s not that I drink a lot or every day, but life often requires a good glass of wine. Sometimes that’s also a great time for a warm bubble bath or like tonight, just a good friend. Those are the ingredients for my special times since I don’t have a husband or family of my own.
“Would you be my family?” I ask Stephen.
“Oh, girl. I’ve said it before; you’re my sister from another mister.”
“And another missus, but it still works.”
I close my eyes and inhale the deep cabernet aroma. There are some people who can taste wine and recite a list of familiar flavors. I’m not one of them.
“I like wine,” I admit.
Stephen laughs. “You’d make a great connoisseur.”
“I could be one if I wanted to.”
When he shakes his head, I sit taller, swirl the contents of my glass, and change my voice to something that sounds somewhere between a snooty librarian and Charlie Brown’s teacher. Clearing my throat, I inhale deeply. Then I take a small sip. “Ahem, being grown in the Napa region of the valley, this full-bodied cabernet is dense in the darker fruits.”
“You’re dense,” Stephen mumbles.
I ignore him as I take another sip and look at the bottle. “Hmmm, 2010. Yes, the blackberries were prominent that year, which is very evident. I also notice a hint of black pepper and do I taste...bell pepper?”
“I love bell peppers!”
“Next time we should get them on our pizza.”
“Next time,” he says, the excitement fading from his voice. “I’m not going to get drunk because of him. It was just that...” He swirls his cabernet. “...I didn’t expect to see him and well, I wanted to hit him with a full-bodied bottle.”
All ONES: The Complete Collection Page 46