Heartless Few Box Set

by MV Ellis

  He’d be right, too. This is nonsense—we’re not teenagers, and yet we’re behaving like schoolkids making out under the bleachers. Maybe he’s married, or has a girlfriend who is due home any moment. That would be the perfect end to this epic fail of a day.

  He’s staring at me now. The heat behind the look is so intense that I shift from foot to foot, suddenly uncomfortable under the weight of it. The sparkling jewels of his eyes are molten with lust, yes, but there’s something else too that I can’t quite put my finger on. Something in his gaze is tender. Longing almost.

  Then it happens. Exactly what “it” is I can’t quite say, but what I do know is that it feels significant. It’s as though there’s a shift in the air, and I get the sense that somehow, this is one of those moments you look back on and realize that they were the beginning of something. The point of no return. Although we’ve just devoured each other with our lips, the intimacy we’re now sharing seems… more, somehow. It’s unnerving, being this close to him, neither of us speaking, just feeling. Regret floods over me. Danny. I look away, desperate to break the heavy vibe.

  How does he do that to me? He leans forward so that his lips brush gently against my ear, and I can feel his warm breath on my neck. The goose bumps seem to be a permanent feature now. I brace myself, knowing he’s going to tell me that he’s made a mistake, and it’s time for me to leave.

  “Turn around and bend over the counter,” he urges hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. I hesitate, not really taking in what he’s saying, still dazed from the intimacy of our interaction. He continues, not waiting for a response.

  “I’m going to fuck you from behind.”

  Wait, what? Rewind! Let’s back the hell up a minute. What did he just say? As the words sink in, it’s as though someone has thrown a bucket of ice water on my libido. It’s gone from smoking hot to stone cold in less than a nanosecond.

  This guy’s a piece of work. When they were handing out charm, he must have been too busy blowing smoke up his own ass to take his fair share. I can’t believe I was sucker punched by his ridiculous good looks—and whatever that zing between us was—and almost did something that I would have most likely regretted. In fact, I already regret it.

  It’s so not like me to think with my libido like that, and now I know why. This guy might look like a god among men, but he’s obviously a total knuckle dragger. These thoughts run through my mind in the split second after he’s spoken, and almost without me knowing it was going to happen, my arm shoots out and I slap him across the face. Hard.

  I’m in shock at what I’ve just done. It was a reflex, I guess—just like tearing off my clothes and running through the house naked. I have literally never slapped anyone like that before, and I doubt I will again. It hurt. But apart from a slight wince on impact, Arlo doesn’t seem to have registered that anything has happened. He must have felt it though, if my aching palm is anything to go by.

  “Yeah, no. That’s so not gonna happen,” I say, my voice firm as I shove him as forcefully as I can.

  I’m met with a wall of solid muscle, and he doesn’t move an inch. Not in the direction I want him to, anyway. Instead, he steps forward, tightening his grip around me and drawing me toward him again. I’m still shoving at his chest, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but to no avail. He’s built like a brick shit house, and he’s not going anywhere unless he wants to.

  “Oh come on, you can drop the little-girl-lost act with me. We both know you came here to get a piece of me. You don’t have to pretend otherwise. I’m not put off by a woman who knows what she wants; in fact, I find it sexy as hell.”

  Oh God. He’s seriously deluded. After the lengths I went to explaining the situation, and just slapping him in the face, he still thinks I’m some kind of stalker fan who was holed up in his designer shower to get my hands on his junk. I don’t suppose I’ve helped matters by jumping on him like a woman just escaped from a nunnery, but still.

  “I’ve already explained this. It wasn’t like that. I wasn’t stalking you, or whatever you think—”

  He steals the rest of my sentence with a kiss, but it feels completely different to the first one. Gone is the tender, featherlight touch. Now he presses his beautiful, shapely lips to mine with much more force. His tongue seeks out mine urgently again, but this time, I don’t want him to find it. A few moments ago I was enjoying going with the flow, but the bubble burst with his vulgar words, and reality kicked in. Hard. I just want to get out of here, but as I try to push him away again, he leans in more forcefully, moving with me.

  “Don't mind me, just grabbing a coffee,” a voice booms from the other side of the room.

  We immediately turn toward the kitchen doorway. A mirror image of Arlo Jones’s face stares back at me. I’m both confused and stunned by the fact that there are now two of these perfect specimens of manliness before me. No prizes for guessing that this new one is either Arlo Jones’s clone, or his identical twin. He has fewer tatts and close-cropped hair vs. Arlo’s thick shaggy mop of thick hair, but clearly identical otherwise. The look on his face says he’s not happy about the scene unfolding in front of him. I wonder how much he saw.

  The only thing worse than dealing with one angry Adonis right now is the prospect of two of them, even if one of them does appear to be on my side—the glare he has fixed on his brother can only mean trouble. Personally, I want nothing to do with either of them. I use the distraction caused by Arlo number two to my advantage, grab my bag and shoes, and get the fuck out of there.

  I hear a commotion behind me as I dart toward the door, but I don’t have time to stop to take in the scene unfolding. As I open the front door and race down the expansive drive, I’ve never been more relieved to hit the streets of Manhattan. I keep up my speed for a couple of blocks despite my bare feet, even though I’m pretty sure that neither man has followed.

  Three

  I arrive at the subway puffing and sweating, and decide to call Gloria, right away. I slide down the wall outside to sit on the ground. Partly for the cooling effect of the tiles against my back, and partly so that I can put my shoes on as I speak to her. I can imagine what a sight I must be—soaking wet hair, sweat covered face, braless, and barefoot. Nice.

  The phone barely rings before Gloria is on the line.

  “London? Are you okay? I was about to call the police after I couldn’t reach you.” The concern in her voice is obvious.

  “Yeah. I’m okay, thanks. Sorry I didn’t pick up before. I’ve only just left there now.”

  “Well then you have a lot of explaining to do, young lady. A lot. What the hell has been going on over there?” Now she knows I’m safe, the concern is quickly replaced with anger.

  “Umm… it’s pretty embarrassing really, but I guess you got most of it from what he said.”

  “I suppose so, but I need to hear it from you also.”

  This has been without a doubt the most humiliating day of my life, and it seems it’s not over yet.

  I sigh. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to rehash it all, but feared she would want me to. After the mess I’ve gotten her into, the least I can do is explain myself, so I take a deep breath and confess all.

  “Umm… in a nutshell, I got there today, and found an army of spiders on the ceiling. Literally my worst nightmare, but obviously I couldn’t leave them there, so I got the bug spray and a ladder from the storeroom, and I sprayed the hell out of them. In a way my plan worked too well, because then they started falling down on me, and I had a complete meltdown.”

  Each time I tell it to someone else, I realize how dumb it sounds.

  “All I could think was that I needed to shower and get them out of my hair and clothes, and off my skin. Just talking about it is creeping me out right now. If my arachnophobia was bad before, it’s through the roof now. I went down to the bathroom in the basement and almost gave myself third-degree burns in the shower.”

  “London!”

  “I know, I know, and I’m
sorry. It seems so crazy now, but I guess I wasn’t thinking straight at the time. I thought I was alone, like every other day, and I was totally going to clean up after myself when I was done. That’s when the homeowner walked in, and as you heard, he wasn’t pleased to see me in his shower. Then no matter what I said to explain, he wouldn’t believe that I wasn’t some kind of crazy stalker fan, or something.

  “Is that house really his? It’s so massive and immaculate, like something out of a design magazine. I always felt like I was sullying it, even though I was cleaning! I also thought that the owner was an aging music mogul, not some young and ridiculously famous rock star. Why didn’t you tell me he’s not much older than me?”

  I know I’m babbling, but I’m trying to avoid getting to the punchline of the story. Gloria is going to kill me.

  “You know me—I don’t know Kim Kardashian from a hole in the wall, let alone anyone else. Besides, it’s not important who owns the place. All you needed to do is go in there, clean, and leave, not cavort about naked in the shower. That could have turned so ugly. What if he hurt you, or called the police?”

  “Well he didn’t,” I spit out, a little too quickly, and loudly.

  “That’s a relief, but there’s also my reputation to think of,” she chastises. “You know that I’m building up a base of higher-end clients. The last thing I want is word getting around that our staff are unprofessional or untrustworthy. Apart from being dangerous, it was also very selfish. I’m extremely disappointed. I expect better from any of my staff, but from you of all people, it’s an extra kick in the guts.”

  She sighs, and I physically deflate under the weight of her disappointment. She’s right though, of course. I behaved stupidly and irresponsibly.

  “We’re not out of the woods yet, either,” she continues.

  “I’m going to have to call Mr. Jones to try and smooth things over.”

  It’s weird to me to hear someone close to my own age being referred to so reverentially—especially when they’re a total dick. He doesn’t deserve to have Gloria suck up to him, and I regret that I’ve put her in a position where she needs to. I really hate that I’ve done something that could jeopardize her business that she’s worked so hard to build. Even worse, she’s been kind enough to give me work, to help me fulfill my dream, and this is how I repay her. Not my finest hour, on all fronts.

  “Maybe I should be the one to call him, and apologize?” I offer up, hoping she’ll decline. I don’t want to see or speak to him again, if I can help it, but it would be the least I could do if it would help fix the damage I’ve done, and repair Gloria’s reputation. “Absolutely not. Let me handle this. I’m sure you’re the last person he wants to hear from.” She’s got a point.

  “Yeah, of course. I’m so sorry. I hope it works out okay with um… Mr. Jones, I really do. If there’s anything I can do or say to fix it, just ask, and I’m there. I’m sorry, I know I can’t work at the house anymore, so I’ll see if I can pick up some extra shifts at the restaurant instead. I hope it doesn’t screw you over too much to find a replacement.”

  Gloria sighs, softening already.

  “Look, don’t do anything about extra shifts yet. I’ll jiggle some things around and see if I can give you something else with me.”

  “Thanks, Gloria. I appreciate that, but I’ll totally understand if it’s not possible. I’ve only got myself to blame, and I don’t deserve any extra favors from you. I’ve got to go. I’m at the train, and I’m running hideously late for my shift at the restaurant, plus I still need to go home to change, and I don’t want to get sacked twice in one day!”

  I hang up and quickly call Murray. As predicted, he’s not exactly ecstatic I’m leaving him in the lurch for a couple of hours, at such late notice, but as I’m normally his most reliable staff member—aka his bitch—he takes it pretty well. Plus, I spin him a yarn about a specialist appointment running over time, out of my control, yadda, yadda, yadda, so there’s not much he can say.

  I’m pretty distracted as I make my way home—everything seems to be a blur as I mull over the events of the morning. The shower. Looking up into those eyes. My outrageous physical reaction to Arlo. How turned on I was when we kissed. The fact that I kissed him at all. The taste of him on my lips. The feel of his hands around my waist and behind my neck.

  After everything that happened with Danny, I haven’t been ready to get back into that side of things with anyone. In fact, I told myself that I wasn’t even going to try. My heart still very much belongs to Danny. At least it did. Now I’m not so sure. I feel like I cheated on him, even though he’s not here to be cheated on. I guess I cheated on his memory, though, if that’s even a thing.

  Not only have I not been ready to move on from my feelings for Danny, but I also promised myself I’d focus on work, and nothing else. Right now, it’s more important than ever for me to concentrate on building my career. If I’m going to make it as a photographer, I need to keep my head down to save enough money to get my studio. It’s the only way I’m going to get more experience and build my client base.

  Given all of that, my emotions are shot following what went down with Arlo Jones. I don’t know what to think about any of it. The way I felt at the time. The way I now feel. Despite my earlier anger at Arlo’s comment, and his forcefulness when I tried to pull back, as I think about how it all played out, I find myself aroused again. I don’t understand how I can be feeling this way after such a brief, and not always pleasant encounter.

  I put my key in the lock, and before the door is fully open, I’m in tears. I can’t hold back. I’m just completely overwhelmed and exhausted by the thoughts and feelings I’m dealing with right now, and by the events at Rosemond House—from the spiders to my run in with Arlo. It’s been one hell of a day already, and it’s barely even midday, plus I have a shift at the restaurant to get through before I can really take some time to process it all. Once the floodgates open, the tears fall quickly and heavily. No ladylike little sobs or crocodile tears, over here. This is big, ugly blubbering of the worst kind. I never was a pretty crier. I make my way into the living room to get my shit together.

  I notice too late that Marko is home. Damn it. I thought he’d be at rehearsal—he definitely should be. He crosses the room in a few graceful paces, and before I know it, has me gathered in his warm, protective embrace.

  “Hey, hey, what’s all this? Shhh, shhh. What’s happened to get you this upset?” He’s rubbing my back with one hand and smoothing my hair with the other. God, I love this man; he’s always there for me, no matter what.

  “C’mon, sit down and tell me all about it. Who do I need to kill?” He’d do it in a heartbeat, too, no doubt.

  He gently pushes me down onto the couch, kneels in front me, his hands grasping mine, and looks searchingly into my eyes.

  “I’m sorry, I thought you had rehearsal,” I say, sniffing loudly, and wiping my nose on the back of my hand. Nice. I’m nothing if not all class.

  “I did, but Chantal has a torn her rotator cuff, so it was canceled. I could have done some practice by myself, but instead of hanging around there like a spare dick at a wedding, I decided to come back here and get some shit done. I wasn’t expecting you to be here either. It’s a good thing I wasn’t prancing around naked.”

  He flashes me a quick grin as he says this; his sense of humor, as ever, is switched on. I snort with laughter. We’ve seen each other naked and in various compromising positions more times than some married couples, so that’s not a concern. Plus, he might be a ballet dancer, but Marko never prances. Like, ever. He’s alpha as fuck, and I love him for it. Case in point, he doesn’t even know what’s wrong yet, and already he’s threatening to kill the culprit, and doing his best to lighten my somber mood.

  “Anyway, enough about me,” he continues. “What’s going on with you?”

  “Ugh. I fucked up. Epically.”

  I sink my face into my hands in despair, but he won’t let me hide. He peels my fin
gers back, dipping his head so that his eyes are level with mine.

  “Well spill then. I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s up. Besides, I’m dying of curiosity, so you’d better put me out of my misery, pronto.”

  He gives me his fullest grin, displaying his supercute dimple, and snaps his fingers. I slap him on the arm, trying not to smile, but I can’t deny that he’s already made me feel a little better.

  “Stop it, this is no time for jokes. You don’t even know what’s happened, it could be a life or death situation.”

  “I know you better than that, babe. If it was life or death you’d have said so by now, so don’t get testy with me.” He winks mischievously.

  He’s got me there. He and our other bestie, Nic, know me better than just about anyone.

  “So start talking.”

  I quickly recount the morning’s events, not revealing Arlo’s name until the last moment. At which point I think that Marko is going to choke on his own tongue, or at the very least, on the mouthful of water he’s chugging down just as I drop the bombshell. The look of shock and horror on his face is utterly priceless.

  “Wait, so you’re telling me that you accidentally exposed yourself to Arlo Jones?”

  I nod.

  “Arlo Jones of the Heartless Few. That Arlo Jones?”

  “The very same.”

  “Although you didn’t know who he was at the time?” He’s smirking, trying to hold back his laughter.

  “Correct.” I nod sagely, not seeing the funny side of the situation at all.

  “Then once you knew who he was, you kissed him?” His eyes grow wider with incredulity with every question.

  “Well no, he kissed me. But yes, I did kiss him back.”

  “And then when he offered to bend you over the counter and do you from behind, you slapped him in the face and fled. Am I missing anything?”