Relentless

by Sybil Bartel

  Her voice was a thousand times sexier than I remembered.

  “Sure thing, princess,” the bartender quipped in a tone as dry as the wine she’d asked for. “Coming right up.”

  The bartender walked off, and I wasn’t sure if he’d recognized America’s most famous supermodel or not. Blonde-haired, green-eyed, tall, graceful and stunning, she was more beautiful than the first time I’d met her.

  But her eyes?

  Eleven years ago they’d been wide and soulful, and I couldn’t have looked away if you’d held a gun to my head. I didn’t care at the time that she was married to the owner of the music industry’s biggest record label, I’d fallen in love with her at first sight. But now I was looking at a different version of that woman.

  This woman looked haunted.

  She didn’t look like the Fallon Amherst who’d graced more magazine covers and done more endorsements and starred in more music videos than any model I’d ever seen before retiring at eighteen and taking on charity work.

  This woman looked a hundred lifetimes past that.

  But it didn’t discount the fact that she was still beautiful, still widely known and now, thanks to her daughter, there was an additional potential security threat.

  I glanced behind us. “You here by yourself?”

  Her net worth should’ve been reason enough for her to travel with a security detail, let alone the eight-figure settlement the tabloids said she’d gotten in her divorce last year. But add in the shit her daughter was dragging, and Fallon Amherst was a prime target for a K&R.

  Taking a wallet out of her purse that I was sure cost more than my last truck, she gracefully placed a credit card on the bar. Then she turned to me. “Do you know why I chose to stand at this end of the bar, next to a man who’s young enough to be my son?”

  Well… damn. “No, ma’am, I don’t.” I threw the ma’am in on purpose, trying to decide if I was insulted.

  She dropped her hammer. “Because you’re not going to hit on me.”

  I couldn’t help it, the side of my mouth tipped up. “I’m not?”

  “No, you’re not.” Not returning the smile, she faced forward again.

  “And the men at the other end of the bar?” The guys in suits had been eyeing me since I’d walked in. Fallon may be the most beautiful woman to ever walk God’s green earth, but she didn’t sport a key ingredient those men were after. “They would’ve hit on you?”

  “It’s always a possibility,” she replied offhandedly, missing the mark. “Now, if you don’t mind, I prefer to have a drink in peace.”

  Needing a shave, I rubbed a hand over my chin. “Funny thing, that.”

  She sighed. Then she graced me with an irritated glance. “Excuse me?”

  The bartender came back with her wine.

  I shoved the twenty at him.

  She started to protest, but the bartender did me a solid and took my money. “I’d lose my man card if I took your money over his.” Quickly ringing up her drink, he started to place the change in front of me.

  I held a hand up. “Keep it. And thanks for trying harder.”

  Smirking, he tossed his tip in a jar by the register and walked off.

  Fallon Amherst took a sip of her wine.

  Sweet Jesus, she was beautiful.

  Kicking the stool out between us, I couldn’t decide if this was the luckiest day of my life or fate’s cruelest joke. “Simple truth. A drink goes down better with a friend.”

  I knew I wasn’t her friend. She didn’t know who I was. And I’d bet my bank account that if I was still wearing the L&A polo her daughter had ripped, Fallon Amherst would’ve walked right back out of the bar faster than I could’ve said wait.

  Standing proud in her sexy-as-fuck heels, she didn’t move. “I’m not your friend, and you were drinking alone before I got here.”

  Holding my beer up to her, I winked. “Hope springs eternal, and for the record, this is my first one.”

  Setting her wine down, she looked at me and frowned. “How old are you?”

  “Too old to be your son.” That I was sure of.

  Raising one eyebrow, she shook her head. “I seriously doubt that.”

  I nodded at the empty stool between us. “Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll prove it to you.”

  She glanced at the barstool like it offended her.

  I sweetened the deal. “I promise not to hit on you.” I didn’t know if I could keep that promise, but if it got her to stay even a minute longer, I was willing to try.

  “You’re already hitting on me,” she countered.

  True, but I managed to hold back a grin, so I was counting it as a win. “How about this? You have a seat, drink your wine, and I’ll make you smile. After I reassure you that you’re nowhere near old enough to be my mama, I’ll wish you a good night without even asking for your number.”

  She exhaled, and turmoil clouded her pretty features, but she didn’t say anything.

  Knowing damn well what was causing the unrest written all over her face, a flash of guilt ate at me, but I pulled the stool out another couple inches anyway. “Promise I won’t bite if you join me. I also promise that wine’ll go down all the smoother for it.”

  Inhaling, she looked like she wanted to flee, but then she surprised the hell out of me.

  She sat.

  Tasting victory and childhood dreams, the win spread a smile across my face like a high school quarterback touchdown. “Good choice, darlin’.”

  Staring straight ahead, she crossed her long legs. “You can wipe the grin off your face. You’re not getting anywhere with me.”

  I laughed. “I already did, Miss—” Catching myself just in time, I didn’t say her last name.

  Mistaking my pause, she shook her head before taking a sip of her wine. “I think you already know my name, Mr. Southern Accent.”

  “I don’t have an accent.” She had an accent.

  “Right. And you also don’t know who I am.” No humor on her stunning face, she swirled the wine in her glass, but she didn’t look at me.

  I remained silent.

  Then I waited.

  She finally glanced at me.

  I didn’t just hold back a smile, I held back every unbelievable, cosmic-level, bullshit boggling mind-fuck that fate had thrown to land me right here, right now, and I let her simply look at me.

  Maybe she’d see it.

  Maybe she wouldn’t.

  I didn’t fucking care if she realized who I was in that moment.

  She.

  Was.

  Here.

  And she was looking at Thomas Knight, the man. Searching my whole damn face, her gaze drifted south to my shoulders, then my arms.

  Relentless, I pushed off the bar and sat up straight. The muscles in my arms flexed, and I slowly turned on my stool to face her.

  Her gaze dropped lower, and she sucked in a sharp breath. Then she studiously looked back at her drink. “What are you, a fighter?”

  “Most definitely not.” I faced forward again, resting my arms on the bar.

  “You’re built like one.”

  “So you noticed.” I smiled. “Who’s hitting on who now?”

  “Whom,” she corrected.

  “Either way, same sentiment.” I took a sip of my beer and waited her out.

  It took three seconds. She inhaled and let it out slow. “You’re not going to tell me what you do?”

  “You’re not gonna tell me your name?” I countered.

  “I think that’s a little premature, don’t you?”

  Caught off guard by a single word, I didn’t answer. I contemplated the beer in my hand.

  A hint of defiance crept into her tone. “Not a fan of having your good intentions brought into question?”

  I gave her a slice of personal information I didn’t give anyone. “I was born premature. At twenty-eight weeks, to be exact.” My mama blamed everything on it. Said I was broken since day one, and God didn’t have the good sense to spar
e me from this life.

  Fallon’s tone and expression did a one-eighty. “My apologies. Had I known, I never would’ve been flippant about that sort of thing.”

  I smiled because I knew she, of all people, wouldn’t have. Her charity work for children’s hospitals spoke for itself. “How’s your wine?”

  Her cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked forward as she took another sip. “Good.”

  “See? Smoother going down with a friend.”

  “Saying you’re friends with someone implies a level of familiarity.”

  Damn if I didn’t like her brand of banter. “All friendships need to start somewhere.” Ours started eleven years ago, she just didn’t know it. I held my beer up. “To new beginnings.” Hers and mine.

  She eyed me suspiciously. “Who says I need a new beginning?”

  I chuckled. “Darlin’, you’re in a hotel bar by yourself on a Sunday night. And since I’m a gentleman who keeps his promises, I’m not gonna disrespect you by hitting on you and mentioning the crucial part of that statement I left out.”

  “Which is?” she challenged.

  My expression deadly serious, I gave her the truth. “That you’re stunning.”

  “THAT YOU’RE STUNNING.” HIS VOICE deep, his accent Southern, the compliment rolled off his tongue like smooth velvet.

  For a long moment, I openly stared at him, but he had it wrong.

  More muscles than I’d ever seen, youth on his side, a complexion you couldn’t buy with any amount of money—he was the one who was stunning.

  I may have been beautiful when I was his age, but he was the one a photographer would kill for now. Perfect bone structure, bright blue eyes, naturally blond hair—the camera would love him and the modeling industry would fight over him. He was that striking.

  And that was before he smiled.

  Oh dear God, his smile.

  He was a vision when he smiled. It reminded me of someone or something I couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it felt familiar and captivating, and I wanted to drown in it.

  Except he was so damn young.

  I had no business even considering a man his age, but God help me, I was sitting here wondering if he’d be as dominant in bed as he was at this conversation.

  Holding my stare, his serious expression was only broken by the calculated, sexy tip up of one side of his full lips. “Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.” He nodded at my glass. “Drink your wine.”

  Flustered, trying to remember the last time I had sex, let alone the last time a man made me long for more than a night alone with a good book, I tore my gaze off him. But pretending I wasn’t affected by him proved far more difficult for my racing heart.

  “What feeling?” I dared to ask.

  He didn’t reply right away.

  Taking a sip of my cool wine, trying to play it out, I waited.

  But just like a few moments ago, he didn’t answer.

  I already knew his game. His tactic wasn’t unique. But my reaction to it was.

  I never played into a man’s hand, not even my ex-husband’s. But here I was, sitting next to a man with more muscles than any of the security details my ex-husband had hired, and I was fantasizing for the first time ever about taking a man to bed.

  I looked back at him.

  He chuckled, the sound rich and unaffected by the burdens of life. “You didn’t think I’d give it up that easy, did you?”

  If flirting were a marketable skill, he’d be a billionaire. Then again, any man who looked like him deserved to be cocky. “I think you lied.”

  His expression easily slipped to pensive. It was a good look on him. “Can’t say I’ve been honest my whole life, but I’d wager a slice of my aunt Ginny’s pecan pie on the honesty of every one of my statements tonight.”

  A Southern drawl with just enough twang to be noticeable, calling me ma’am and darling but dropping the “g,” he wasn’t from Florida originally. “Texan?” I guessed.

  He grinned and tipped an invisible hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

  God help me, my heart fluttered. “I still say you lied.” I took a slow sip of wine, then punished myself by looking back at him. “I think I am old enough to be your mother. You are hitting on me and…” I paused for effect, because as much as I wanted to deny it, I was enjoying this back-and-forth with him. “…you haven’t made me smile.”

  If I was being honest, my first statement was a test. When he’d first seen me, I could’ve sworn he’d recognized me. Then he’d asked my name and I wasn’t so sure. Forgetting my name wasn’t unheard of. But if you saw fashion magazine covers or watched TV in the past two decades, you’d probably seen my endorsements or music videos I’d been cast in, or any of those silly people’s choice type awards I’d won. So knowing who I was but forgetting my name wasn’t unheard of. Except he hadn’t mentioned any of it. He was either playing me or he genuinely didn’t know who I was.

  My second statement was simple truth. He looked barely old enough to drink. My third statement, I was calling him on his bullshit. He was a colossal flirt. And that last comment? It was pure selfishness. As I sat next to him, there was some invisible draw pulling me into his smile, and I didn’t want to think about the mess my life had become or the latest trouble Summer had gotten herself into.

  I just wanted to feel, if even for a moment, a reprieve.

  For once, I wanted to smile off camera and mean it.

  So unbeknownst to the beautiful golden boy sitting next to me, I’d thrown down an impossible gauntlet.

  If he was a fool, he’d pick it up.

  If he was smart, he’d find some young, innocent girl who thought he walked on water and make pretty babies.

  If he was a man, he’d do exactly what he’d said he’d do. He’d finish his beer and walk away.

  Anticipating his next move, I sipped my wine.

  Studying me, his too-muscular arms rested on the bar like he was as comfortable here as in his own home.

  Then he inhaled deep and started talking.

  “I had a mutt once. Mangiest piece of canine you ever saw. One day he just showed up at the barn looking like someone had drowned him twice, then rolled him in dirt for good measure. I wasn’t even sure if he was a boy or girl when I first saw him. Couldn’t tell a thing with all his matted fur.” Shaking his head, he took a sip of his beer. “Anyway, for a whole day he just hung around. I went about my chores, but I couldn’t shake him. That mutt followed me everywhere. I didn’t even feed him so much as a scrap, but he kept to my tail like he was born for it. So come sundown, I figured he deserved a break. After washing him up good, I fed him and he slept at the foot of my bed.” Glancing at me, he smiled. “For the next six years, I didn’t spend a night without that mutt.”

  Maybe more than a fraction, definitely more than I wanted it to, my heart softened. “What happened to him?”

  “Passed in his sleep. Quiet as can be, never made a sound. I fed him dinner same as I always did, we went to bed, he settled in and he never woke up. Just about broke my heart.” A reserved smile made of memories touched his lips, then he shook it away. “Best dog I ever had.” His head down, his eyes still sad, he looked at me. “But you know what?”

  My own memories of my past mingled with his story, and I couldn’t speak past the sudden lump in my throat that swelled with anxiety over my stepdaughter and ex. I shook my head.

  His honest blue eyes held me captive. “I never did see Mutt smile. Not once. Loyal as all get-out. Grateful for every pet or scrap of food you gave him. Never wandered farther than the stables, and he always came when you called him.” His hand fisted, and he punctuated his next five words, giving each one a coordinated beat of his fist on the bar. “But. That. Dog. Never. Smiled.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t a dog, but I’d felt like one for years. Except I wasn’t thinking about any of that right now. I was stupidly, foolishly, thinking about what sleeping next to this boy-man would feel like. Worse, what his arms would feel like wrapped aro
und me.

  “Dogs can’t smile,” I said offhandedly, desperate to get my thoughts away from him in a bed.

  “Spoken like a true dog virgin.” Tipping his beer back, his throat moved with a tantalizing swallow.

  The word virgin crossing his full lips, the size of his hands, the veins on his forearm, the masculine sexuality coming off him in waves—I flushed.

  He set his empty beer on the bar. “Dogs smile, but Mutt never did.”

  “You named him Mutt?”

  “I sure did.”

  “That isn’t much of a name to get excited about.” I pointed out the obvious, but I was charmed nonetheless by the name he’d affectionately given his dog.

  “Maybe he just didn’t like to smile.” His voice dropped. “Maybe you don’t like to smile.”

  I blinked.

  And in that moment, I could’ve sworn he didn’t know who I was. Or maybe I just wanted him to not know who I was. Maybe I just selfishly wanted simple. No fame, no past, no ex, no stepdaughter, no expectations—just a woman and a man sharing a drink. Maybe I wanted it so bad, it was why I let my guard down and said what I said next.

  “Maybe I want a reason to smile.” Because staring down a camera lens for a six-figure paycheck had never been it. Neither was my failed marriage.

  “Maybe you haven’t been spending time with the right people.” Quick and sure, he reached out and brushed the tip of his finger across the base of my now naked ring finger. “Maybe you haven’t met the right man.”

  Awareness shot up my arm, then curled low in my belly, and my instinct was to whisper his name, but I didn’t know it. My years over him giving me no advantage in that moment, I let the ugly underbelly of my insecurity slip past my lips. “I don’t know if the perfect man for me exists.”

  His voice quieted with a dusty huskiness I wanted to listen to for the rest of my life. “There is no perfect man, but there’s the right man.”

  Oh dear God, why couldn’t I have met someone like him when I was eighteen. “I wouldn’t know,” I dared to admit.

  Unashamed, unabashed and unprovoked, he grasped my chin. His eyes darkened, and a fierceness I never would’ve predicted he was capable of a moment ago hardened his features with conviction. “The right man will always give you a reason to smile. Remember that.”