Staring at my chest, she whispered, “It’s never been like that before.”
“Like what?”
“So overwhelming.”
As soon as the words were out, she scurried back into me, and I folded her close, stroking the back of her head. My own head was throbbing, but I was pretty positive I hadn’t busted any of the stitches.
Even if I had? Worth it.
What? I’m a guy.
“Overwhelming in a good or bad way?” I asked, putting the stitches completely out of my mind.
“Good.” The word was muffled, her breath warm against my bare skin, but I heard and grinned into the night.
I don’t know how she knew, but suddenly, I was being smacked on the back.
“Ow!” I complained, still holding her tight.
“Don’t be smug.”
I laughed.
“Neo,” she whined.
Still laughing, I kissed the top of her head. “It was like that for me too.”
She pulled back, seeking the truth in my eyes.
I let her see, and when she did, she smiled.
45
Ivory
* * *
Skilled fingers trail up my calf, moving past my knee to sensually explore the softness of my inner thigh. Humming in delight, I shift, opening up, granting more access because the way he touches is absolutely addictive.
Shivering with delight, his fingers continue to stroke, but he adds the soft touch of his lips. They feel plump and slightly wet as if I am so delicious the taste of me makes him salivate.
The tip of his tongue peeks out, cool against my burning flesh, leaving a trail of shivers in its wake. Arching up, I offer myself like some kind of meal, gasping with my own hunger when his lips close around one erect nipple, tugging and sending shots of electricity all the way down to where his one hand still plays between my thighs.
Strands of his hair brush over my chest, heightening every single touch he graces upon my skin. Panting, wanting more, I reach out for him, meaning to pull him over me, meaning to disappear beneath his body and get lost in his lips.
My hands meet air and panic assails, turning all my heightened desire into need, turning my hands greedy as they search for him once more…
My eyes shot open with a gasp. A sheen of sweat made me feel sticky, and the pounding of my heart was deafening in the quiet room.
Blinking up at the ceiling, I fought for breath, fought for composure.
How could I compose myself when my body was warring between desire and panic? Between wanting and loss?
“Neo,” I whispered, rolling toward him for comfort.
He wasn’t there.
The blankets fell to my waist when I pushed up, and uneven strands of hair clung to my sticky cheeks. Holding a palm against my chest, I measured how my heart raced and stared again at the space where Neo should have been.
The dream floated back, the warm desire it contained beckoning me, reaching out and offering me something far better than reality.
For a moment, I almost succumbed, but then I shook my head. Was last night just a vivid dream?
Emotion filled my chest and prickled behind my eyes. It couldn’t have been. It felt too real. My body felt too… satisfied.
Confused, I glanced down, fisting my hands in the blankets.
A flash of color caught my eye, making me sit up a little straighter, focus on myself a little more. Red plaid flannel buttoned up around my body, the top few buttons left undone.
My stomach dipped, and my hands left the covers, grabbing the fabric to make sure it was real. There was absolutely nothing red plaid in my closet. In my entire penthouse.
Still clutching the shirt, I let my eyes roam the dim room, landing on the black nightie and robe I’d put on after my bath last night. They were on the floor in a heap, tossed aside and forgotten.
Don’t show yourself to anyone else dressed like that ever again. His voice echoed through my mind.
A vague, hazy memory of him pulling this shirt around me, of me sighing when the scent folded me close, chased the back of my mind, tingling my belly with butterflies.
He’d buttoned it around me, kissing my temple before pulling away.
It wasn’t a dream. Neo had been here, and we’d spent the night doing things in this bed that were so good it was no surprise I’d at first thought I’d awakened from a dream.
Stumbling out of bed, I padded across the floor. “Neo?” I called, voice still sleepy.
He wasn’t in the bathroom, so I went out to the kitchen and eventually searched the entire apartment, only to find he wasn’t there.
The more I moved, the more aware I was of places aching that had never ached before.
How could he just leave after that?
Finally admitting that he truly was gone, I went back into the bathroom to study my reflection and the red flannel hanging to my thighs.
“If he hadn’t left this shirt, I might actually think it had all been a dream,” I mused, noting a small dark mark just below my ear.
Clutching the edge of the counter, I gasped and leaned closer to the mirror. “A hickey!” I declared. “Never in my life,” I said, offended… but then a smile curved my lips.
The doorbell rang, and hope blossomed in my chest, the flannel floating behind me as I rushed toward the door, not bothering to call out to whoever was there.
Neo. My heart sang.
“Oh,” I said. The obvious letdown in my tone was not missed by the man who was not Neo standing on the other side.
“Agh!” Marco gasped, jumping back so the two women accompanying him had to do the same. Pressing a hand to his chest, he swept his dark eyes over me from head to toe. “It’s even worse than I thought!” he announced, coming forward once again. “Thank God I brought reinforcements.”
The women behind him made sympathetic sounds.
“Marco!” I exclaimed, still processing that it was not Neo but my stylist instead.
“Oh, you poor thing!” he crooned, rushing forward to sweep me into a hug. “There, there.” He patted my back. “I’m here now.”
“I missed you too,” I said into his shoulder.
Pulling back, he held me by the shoulders to look at me in pity. “I mean, I expected you to be bad, but this…” His eyes widened when he took in the flannel. “Is that a synthetic fabric? Dear Lord.”
Releasing me, he snapped his fingers, and a familiar paper cup was passed into his hands.
“Here, darling. I stopped by your favorite café down the block for this latte. I should have gotten a double shot.”
“Ahh!” I exclaimed, making gimme hands at the cup. “You really got this for me?”
His head bobbed. “Mm-hm. Organic heavy cream, no sugar, just the way you like it.”
The first sip was like heaven on my tongue. No, seriously, I heard angels sing. “Ohmigod,” I rushed out, sipping again. “Now this is coffee.”
“Girls!” Marco snapped around, all business. “Get set up. This is going to take awhile.”
The two ladies went ahead of us into the apartment, going off to do their usual setup.
Clicking his tongue, Marco lifted a strand of my hair, his eyes sad. “Who took a machete to your hair?”
“The man trying to kill me,” I said around another sip.
“Agh!” He nearly fell back, pressing a hand to his chest. “So it’s true. Someone really is trying to kill you?”
I nodded, and because Marco could truly understand, I held up my bandaged finger. “And he ripped off my nail!” I wailed.
“No!” He gasped again. “Not the nail!”
My head bobbed, lower lip pouting.
“Well, he’d better never meet me in a dark alleyway because, honey, the things I would do!” Marco announced, snapping his fingers.
Tears filled my eyes. “I missed you,” I said, suddenly turning emotional.
“Oh, baby,” he said, pulling me in for a hug. “Don’t you worry. Marco is here now. I’l
l take care of everything.”
Sniffling when he pulled back, he stared at the flannel again. “Where in the world did you get that?” Holding up his hand, he stopped my answer. “I don’t need to know. Just go take it off. Burn it. You can’t feel like yourself if you’re wearing that.”
I took another sip of the heavenly coffee and went off to change.
“Who kidnapped you anyway, Paul Bunyan?” Marco muttered, moving into the apartment.
Inside my walk-in, I slowly stripped off the flannel and, without thinking, lifted it to my nose. Neo’s unmistakable scent filled my senses, tingling the base of my spine. Echoes of pleasure whispered beneath my skin, making my eyes slide closed.
A noise out in the other room brought me back, and suddenly, I felt incredibly silly for standing in my closet, clutching the shirt of a man who’d slipped away so quietly that if it weren’t for his shirt, I might still doubt he’d been here at all.
46
Neo
* * *
The dark chased away my doubts.
The sun shone light on them once more.
I never claimed to be anyone I wasn’t. I never said I would stay.
But slipping out of her penthouse left me feeling ashamed and somehow dirty, not at all like the man I was.
Still, I kept walking, slipping into the city as though it were my own personal shield. Awash with guilt, imagining her face when she opened her eyes and I wasn’t there.
Truthfully, I wanted to stay, but I knew where I belonged.
Wasn’t it easier to walk away from something before it was taken away? Before you were left alone?
I thought last night would feel like a good-bye, a way for us to get over the chemistry constantly trying to pull us together.
Last night didn’t feel like good-bye.
It felt like a beginning.
And fear took over. Fear sent me fleeing.
There was no happy ending for a princess and a misfit. That wasn’t how the story went.
47
Ivory
* * *
“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?” Marco beckoned, self-satisfaction dripping from his voice as he stared at my reflection.
The little storybook quote left me with a small pang in my heart because it made me think of Neo.
Smiling, I gazed at him in the mirror instead of myself. “Well, I think it’s you.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, my dear.” Marco preened, giggling.
He really was a gorgeous man. Tall, broad without being bulky, and a flawless deep complexion. His dark hair was cropped super close because he often said he was too busy doing his clients’ hair to bother with his own. And because, “I look damn good in any style.”
Marco always wore makeup, dressed with flair, and exercised so the skinny jeans and trousers he favored always looked good. He was single even though he often said he was “ready to mingle.”
Marco’s high standards and ambitious work schedule didn’t allow for a lot of mingling.
“You’re done,” he announced, waving his hand with panache, acting like he was some sort of fairy godmother.
Maybe he was. I did look way better.
My fair skin no longer appeared colorless but plump and healthy. Newly shaped brows framed my blue eyes, and the scrape on my cheek was hidden with expertly applied foundation.
My black hair was no longer limp and haggard but glossy and cut into an asymmetrical style so it was slightly longer in the front than the back. Originally, I’d planned to get extensions, to reclaim all the length I lost.
I didn’t want that anymore. Somehow, it didn’t feel like me.
What length I did have was layered to compensate for the hack job I’d been subjected to, and Marco used a styling wand to add loose curls that looked just the right amount of messy and polished.
Even my nails had been overhauled, getting a complete treatment, and painted with a gorgeous shade of red. Red was a power color, and I needed all the power I could muster right now. The missing nail was still covered and would remain so until it was healed.
“I don’t know how you did it.” Awe laced my voice.
“You look just like your old self,” Marco agreed. “No!” He immediately shook his head. “Better!”
The two assistants made sounds of agreement.
Turning toward the ladies, I took their hands. “Thank you both for your hard work today. You’ve always done such a fine job, and I don’t think I’ve ever shown my appreciation properly.”
Both women’s eyes widened.
“You’ve always been very kind.” One disagreed.
“Of course, but I can do better than kind.” I gave their hands a little squeeze. “If there is anything you ever need, please ask. You’ve done so much for me. I will be happy to return the favor. I will add a little bonus to your pay from Marco as well. Please forgive me if I’ve ever seemed ungrateful.”
Both women shook their heads adamantly. “No. No, you haven’t!”
“Well, consider this a thank-you, then, not only from me, but from those you work with who are ungrateful.”
Surprise made my eyes widen when both women swallowed thickly, clearly emotional.
“Thank you,” one whispered.
They began packing up, and I turned back to the mirror, studying my reflection once more.
Marco came up behind me, his large hands completely covering my shoulders. “Are you ready for today? Are you sure it’s not too soon?”
“I can do this,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “Everyone knows I’m back. The media is camped out downstairs, and you know the stocks took a hard hit when I went missing.”
“This is why I’m an artist,” he said, tsking and making a sour face. “Business hurts my brain.”
Sometimes business hurt my brain too, but it was also part of who I was. I owned two successful companies, and while I was also an artist like Marco, I wore more than one hat.
Ooh, I should get some new hats. They would look charming with this new haircut.
The press conference later today was happening fast, but it was absolutely necessary in many ways.
Once the two assistants were completely packed and out of earshot, I turned back to Marco. “Okay, spill the tea.”
“The tea, you say?” He raised a brow.
“You know everyone, and you work with everyone. The second I went missing, rumors started to fly, and you’ve heard them all.”
“A good stylist never repeats what is told to him in confidence,” he informed.
We both laughed.
Marco plopped down on a plush chaise, crossing one leg over the other. “Well, girl, Jessica up on Park told everyone you had to go to rehab, so your publicist concocted this scheme so people didn’t find out you’re really an addict.”
“She’s still salty I got invited to the Chanel private show and she didn’t.”
Marco bobbed his head. “Malory from Gucci is telling everyone you ran off with someone you met online.”
I laughed.
“Of course, there are the obvious rumors, that you got kidnapped and were being held for ransom.”
I made a sound of agreement. That was to be expected.
“And of course…” He went on, waving a hand, dismissing the rest. But he did it without looking at me. “There’s all the other ridiculous chattering among the rich, bored NYC housewives.”
“Marco.”
His gaze remained averted.
“Tell me.”
“I’m sure it’s just silly gossip like everything else.”
“If it’s stilly gossip, why aren’t you talking, and why aren’t we laughing?”
He pursed his lips. “Some of the elite have been whispering that perhaps Audra had something to do with it.”
I felt my forehead crease. “My stepmother?”
“Mm-hmm.” Marco pulled out a bottle of water and took a sip. “Apparently, Audra was insanely angr
y your father left W to you and not her.”
“But my father left her more than enough money and their homes. What would she want with his company? She isn’t even interested in business.”
I thought back to when my father first passed away, trying to remember the reading of his will and how Audra behaved. I couldn’t remember. How could I be expected to? My father had just passed away. I was overwhelmed with grief and fear.
His passing left me with no parents and a stepmother who always just tolerated me because she had to.
Not that she was ever outright mean. She was always just cool and aloof. It wasn’t something I ever really focused on because my father had always been so warm.
But… murder? That was extreme.
“That’s why I said it was all the baseless chatter of elite housewives.”
I must have appeared shaken because a sound of distress ripped from his throat.
“Now look at you all upset. This is why I didn’t want to say anything. Those stodgy old ladies wouldn’t know truth if it hit them right in their liposuctioned asses.”
I smiled. “Of course, you’re right. I mean, it’s absolutely preposterous to think Audra would have anything to do with what happened to me.”
“Look at the time,” Marco announced. “I would stay, but I have a full day. Beauty waits for no one.”
I accompanied him to the door, thanking him again for his magic.
When he was gone, I leaned against the door, suddenly feeling overwhelmed and weighed down. Without even thinking about it, I went straight to my walk-in, hugging the flannel into my chest.
It was ridiculous that I found comfort in this item, considering the man who left it didn’t even bother to say good-bye.
We never said good-bye.
It was also ridiculous that when I looked up into the full-length mirror, my reflection confirmed what Marco declared. I was just like before.
But I wasn’t.
I was different somehow. Changed.
A single tear dripped from the corner of my eye, streaking over my cheek to cling precariously off my jaw. There was a horribly queasy feeling churning in my belly, splashing up into my throat.
Ivory White : A House of Misfits Standalone Page 25