The Redemption of Memphis Drake: A Second Chance Romance

by Shay Stone

  SEVENTEEN

  The Most Important Rule of All

  I catch a cab and am sitting on Nyla’s steps with a bag of groceries and a dozen roses repeating to myself that she’s just a mark when she arrives home around eight o’clock. She’s on the phone having a heated conversation with whoever’s on the other end.

  “I said you’ll get your damn money. Now I have to go.” She hangs up, slowing her stride when she sees me. “You don’t actually think we’re still having dinner, do you?”

  “You’ve gotta eat, right?”

  “Not with you.” She steps past me and inserts her key into the lock.

  “I got you flowers,” I state the obvious, scrambling to my feet and holding out the bouquet.

  “You really think flowers are going to make up for what you said?”

  “No, but they do have a lot of thorns. I figured maybe you could beat me with them. It might make you feel at least a little bit better?” I reply, following her inside.

  “Don’t be cute.”

  I shrug. “Can’t help it. I am cute.”

  “No. You’re an asshole,” she retorts, dropping her purse and keys on the counter.

  “Yeah, well I’m that too.” I set the bag and flowers beside her things and place my hands on her hips. To my surprise, she doesn’t move. “I’m sorry. Michael was talking about taking you out and I got jealous. I wanted him to back off. Forgive me?”

  “Fine. You’re forgiven.” But it’s clear from her tone that I’m not. She turns away, plucking her screaming phone from the side pocket of her purse. She declines the call and massages her forehead like she’s fending off a headache. “Listen, it’s been a long day. Will you please leave?”

  “Nyla, please.” My hand goes back to her hip. I need to touch her.

  “Memphis, this was a mistake. Everything that happened today just reminded me of why I don’t date guys from work. So please, from now on, let’s just keep things on a professional level.”

  “I don’t want to keep things on a professional level. There’s something here,” I say motioning between us. “You know it and I know it. I’m not going to let you push me away because of some stupid rule. You don’t want to date guys you work with, fine. Max offered me a job today. I’ll bust my ass to finish this auditing for Edward and then I’ll take the job with him. Problem solved.”

  “No!” she shrieks, her voice filled with panic.

  “No, don’t take the job with Max?”

  “No, don’t rush through the auditing. I need more time.”

  My brows bunch together. “More time for what?”

  Before she can answer, her cell rings again, flashing a different number. “Great! Now what? Hello? Yes, this is Nyla … uh-huh … I’m terribly sorry. I appreciate you calling me, Joe. No. Please don’t call the police. I’ll be right there.” She hangs up the phone and pinches the bridge of her nose with her fingers. “Damn it!”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing. You need to leave. I have to go,” she informs me, texting something into her phone.

  “Nyla, talk to me. Please.”

  “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  I follow her outside and open the door to an awaiting cab. “Where are we going?”

  “We’re not going anywhere. Goodnight, Memphis. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Her phone pings, and she curses reading the text as she gets in the taxi. I barge my way in with her.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she snorts.

  “Going with you. Look, you can either let me, or I can get another cab and follow you. Either way, I’m not letting you go alone.”

  She glowers at me but relents, scooting across the seat. “Fine. But I’m only letting you come because Max is in a meeting and I can’t get a hold of Colin.”

  The address she gives the driver is to an old Irish pub across town. We climb down the stairs into a dark and dank cellar of a room reeking of smoke and stale beer. The dim lighting casts a glow on the patrons giving them the appearance of shadows more than human beings. It’s the kind of place people go to drink their lives away without being bothered or guilted for doing it.

  I hurry to keep up with Nyla as she makes a beeline for the back of the tavern. It’s apparent she’s been here before and knows exactly where she’s going. At the end of the bar, a man is hunched over with a glass knocked on its side in front of him.

  Nyla shakes him gently. “Hey.”

  The guy lifts his head and I’m surprised to discover it’s Harrison. There’s vomit down his shirt and crusted on his chin.

  “Nyla,” he exaggerates her name, smiling when he sees her.

  “Can you get me a wet rag from the bathroom?” she asks, and I comply returning quickly. I hold Harrison steady while she does her best to clean him up. She pays the tab and thanks the barkeep, throwing him an extra hundred for calling her instead of the police.

  “Where we going?” Harrison slurs as we prop one of his arms around each of us with me shouldering the brunt of his weight.

  “Home,” Nyla responds.

  “I don’t want to go home. I want to drink.” He jerks his arm away sending her stumbling into some stools.

  “Hey, cut that shit out. You behave,” I scold, holding a hand against his chest. He staggers, his glassy, bloodshot eyes squinting, trying to figure out who the hell I am. I glance over my shoulder at Nyla. “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” As she steps between us wiggling under his arm again, he wretches forward, vomiting all over himself and her.

  “Dammit! Get him out of here,” the bartender shouts.

  Outside, we lug Harrison up the concrete steps and out to the street, pouring him into the back of a taxi. We slide in ignoring the cabbie’s complaints about the smell. We’re covered in puke and poor Nyla looks like she’s about to break.

  “You okay?” I ask, resting my hand on her knee.

  “Please don’t tell my dad about this.”

  “I won’t.”

  She presses her fingers into the corners of her eyes to thwart the brimming tears, but they trickle down her face anyway. “This is all my fault.”

  “Hey, hey, Come here.” I tug her to me, resting my cheek against her head. “How is this your fault? He’s the one who did this.”

  She allows herself to sob into my chest for a minute or two before pulling away and wiping her eyes. “Stop being so nice to me. You’re only making me feel worse. And now I’ve gone and gotten puke all over you,” she cries, using a wadded-up paper towel in a futile attempt to clean my shirt.

  “It’s okay. I hear the vomit and snot look is all the rage in Paris. I think I pull it off quite well.”

  She laughs in spite of the situation. I lock my arms around her and she caves into me.

  “Is she crying? Why the hell are you crying?” Harrison asks, glaring at Nyla with a mixture of loathing and disgust like I’ve never seen before. “Don’t look at me like that. You of all people don’t get to look at me like that. Not after what you’ve done. He may not know. But I know.” He leans his head against the window tracing his finger along the glass whispering, “I know” once more like it’s a lullaby.

  We ride in silence the rest of the way home. Once there, we stumble our way into a bedroom on the main floor and get Harrison out of his stained shirt and jacket. Nyla pushes his hair off his forehead and uses a damp cloth to wipe the crud from his face with the tenderness of a mother caring for a small child.

  He watches her every move and starts blubbering. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I just miss her so much.”

  “I know, I miss her too,” she says, laying him back on the bed. Within seconds he’s out cold, snoring loud enough to wake the neighbors. I take Nyla’s hand and lead her out of the room, closing the door behind us.

  “Where’s the master bathroom?”

  “Upstairs,” she replies, rubbing her palm over her face smearing mascara everywhere. She sighs when she sees the black smudged across on her hand.
“I must look like such a mess.”

  “You look beautiful. Come on. Let’s get you out of these clothes.”

  The wooden steps creek under our feet as we climb, and I make a mental note to make sure no boards are loose the next time I’m over. I don’t want her or Edward falling.

  With only the moonlight illuminating our way, we cross through her bedroom into the bathroom. I turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature and shake the water from my hand. Nyla leans against the vanity staring at the ground, too emotionally drained to function.

  I strip off her jacket and bend down to remove her heels, encouraging her to use me for balance as she steps out of them. After setting them to the side, I find the zipper on the back of her dress and drag it down slowly, peeling the material from her body until it puddles around her feet.

  She stands before me in a white lace bra with matching panties. Black is streaked across her face and the ends of her hair are matted with vomit, but God help me, I still want her. Unfortunately, this isn’t the time. She’s always taking care of everyone else, and right now she needs someone to take care of her.

  I press my lips to her forehead. “Get in the shower, angel. Take all the time you need. I’ll be downstairs if you need me, unless you want me to stay.”

  “No, I’ll be okay by myself. Memphis, thank you … for everything.”

  “You’re welcome.” I linger for a moment, not wanting to leave. I wish I could get in the shower with her and wash her from head to toe, and I wish she’d trust me enough to let me do it. To care for her. To be her strength. But at this point, I’m not sure I could do it without giving into my own hedonism. I want her too much.

  After gathering her dress and coat, I make my way down to check on Harrison and find he’s still passed out. Adding his soiled clothes to the ones I’m holding I seek out the laundry room. None of these should go in the washer, but they’re going to be ruined anyway if I don’t do something. I take off my shirt and throw it in with them, hoping for the best.

  By the time Nyla comes down, I’m draining the noodles for the quick pasta dish I whipped up. She’s dressed in a black silk robe with her wet hair combed back from her make-up free face. If possible, she’s even more beautiful than usual.

  “Stop staring. You’re making me self-conscious,” she says, ruffling her hair to shield her face.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was.” I smile, scooping the food onto our plates. “If I was staring it was for good reasons, not bad. You’re stunning. Now you need to eat. Would you rather do it at the kitchen table or on the couch?”

  “The couch.”

  I grab the plates and step from behind the counter, but she stops me. Her eyes zero in on my scar. “Memphis what happened?”

  “Mason needed a kidney, so I gave him a kidney,” I reply casually.

  “Oh.”

  Now I’m the one feeling self-conscious. The blighted skin has never bothered me, but Angie hated it. Claimed it ruined an otherwise perfect body. I’m guessing Nyla’s not a fan either. “I’m sorry. I threw our clothes into the washer. I can put on a shirt if you have an extra one.”

  “No.” Her fingers glide over it, tracing the curved line with care. She sinks to her knees pressing her soft lips against my skin. I suck in a sharp breath, reveling in how good it feels. My cock throbs against my pants demanding to be released.

  She rises with the grace of a geisha taking the plates I’m still holding from my hands and places them on the counter. With deft fingers, she unties the sash on her robe until the fabric parts revealing she’s naked underneath. I rake my eyes over her slowly, absorbing every perfect inch. Damn, she’s beautiful. My fantasies didn’t do her justice.

  Her eyes shimmer with lust, begging me to take her. She fiddles with the silky material of her robe while I grapple with my niggling conscience. She’s upset, vulnerable. A good guy wouldn’t take advantage of her. A good guy would do the right thing and walk away.

  But I’m not a good guy. I’m as bad as they come.

  I push the robe from her shoulders sending it pooling onto the floor. She’s completely bare and magnificent before me. Her eyes dart away, embarrassed at being so exposed. I brush my fingers over her breast catching her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and apply just enough pressure to make her breath hitch and draw her gaze back to me. I smile. It’s been a long time since she’s been touched. I’m going to make her happy she waited for me.

  I cradle the nape of her neck in my hand and seal my mouth over hers. Fire burns through my veins and I no longer question if I have a heart. It leaps, it sings, it soars, it beats with the strength of a thousand drums, finally finding its purpose.

  It’s just sex, Memphis, I remind myself as my fingers trail their way down her smooth, taut stomach until I reach the throbbing bundle of nerves between her thighs. A swift sweep of my thumb sends her body jerking. She’s so sensitive. I stroke her gently, massaging her clit in slow circles, letting my fingers dip down and tease her slickened entrance. Her chest expands on a gasp when I slip a finger inside.

  “Oh god,” she cries out, unraveling before me. I love how her body responds to the slightest touch.

  “You like that?” I ask, gliding my finger leisurely in and out of her.

  “Yes,” she replies breathlessly. Her hand goes to her breast kneading it and toying with her nipple. Now my cock is the one jerking. I want to take my time worshipping her, but I know if I don’t take her soon, I’m going to embarrass myself all over the front of my jeans.

  I insert a second finger inside making her moan against my lips. She’s so warm and tight. I’m going to have to fight to keep control.

  Her breath grows quick and shallow and her greedy muscles latch onto my fingers. I know she’s close. But I’m greedy too. I want her first orgasm to be with me inside her. I withdraw my hand, denying her the pleasure her body craves. She whimpers in protest.

  My thumb traces over that sexy mouth coating it with her own arousal. I waste no time, pulling her to me and sucking on that pouty bottom lip. She tastes incredible. Our tongues come together eagerly. Our kiss is raw. Animalistic. I grip her ass and pull her against me, rolling my hips against her most sensitive spot. The friction nearly sends both of us over the edge. I break our kiss fumbling for the button on my pants. “I need to be inside you.”

  Her hands join mine, frantically working to get the damn thing undone. I push my pants down my legs in record speed and yank off my boxer briefs allowing my cock to spring free. Her eyes widen taking in me in. She runs a finger up my impressive length circling the tip with her thumb, spreading the bead of precum that has formed over the head. Her tongue sweeps across her lips and she begins to lower herself. I’ve fantasized about taking her mouth and having those lips wrapped around me a hundred times but now I just want to be inside her.

  I stop her descension and snake an arm around her waist, lifting her onto the dining room table. She leans back on her hands thrusting those glorious tits in my face. They’re too damn tempting to resist. I bend my head capturing her pebbled nipple, sucking ardently as I drive deep inside her.

  She gasps as I fill her, not expecting the sudden intrusion. I’m an asshole. I should’ve gone slow and let her get used to me, but I was too caught up in the moment and now I’ve gone and hurt her. I didn’t even put on a damn condom. I start to pull out, but she grips my ass, digging her nails into it and drives me hard back into her. When another gasp escapes her, I smother it with a kiss she hungrily accepts. She moves in tandem with me, meeting me thrust for thrust.

  “Harder,” she demands, her eyes ablaze. I happily oblige. Turns out my angel is a devil between the sheets.

  I fuck her hard with punishing thrusts, swiveling my hips and rocking into her. Her fingers tug my hair; her nails claw my back. Our moans grow louder until our bodies are nothing more than pools of sweat rutting against each other. The smell of sex fills the room.

  Every muscle in my body tenses and my hips sta
rt to move of their own volition. I can’t hold out much longer. “Come with me angel.”

  She nods letting me know she’s ready. A few more grunts have her calling out my name tightening and gripping me, making us one. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever fucking felt. I want to dive my head between her legs and taste her orgasm on my tongue. But my body has other ideas. I explode into her with a force that has us both quaking.

  Our eyes meet and I swear she sees me. The real me. And I know right here in her arms is the closest to heaven a guy like me will ever get. That’s when I realize I’m completely fucked. I just broke the most important rule of all: Don’t fall in love.

  EIGHTEEN

  To Sell a Lie, You Must Believe It

  At some point we finally made it to the bedroom where we lie panting and satiated after I’ve ravaged Nyla for the third time. Fast and furious, steady and slow. My dick is like a teenager again, ready to go on a moment’s notice at the sight of my angel. Her cunt is now my church. Inside her everything is right, and all my sins are forgiven. I will worship there and sacrifice myself to it over and over.

  I want to live in this place forever. I can’t remember ever being so happy. Her cheek rests on my stomach as she traces a lazy finger over my scar lost in thought. Propping one arm behind my head, I gaze down running a hand over her back “What is it, angel?”

  “Nothing. Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “About what a good man you are.”

  I blow out a breath, letting my head drop to the pillow and stare up at the Fleur De Lis embossed ceiling tiles. “I’m not as good as you think.”

  “Yes, you are,” she insists, crawling up and nuzzling against my chest. “The way you were with Mikayla the other day and me tonight, and everything you’re doing to take care of your family. You’re a really good person.”

  “You don’t know me. If you did, you’d know I’m not. But I want to be. For them … and for you.”