Wildest Dream (Redfall Dream #4)

by B. B. Miller

  With a groan, I punch the pillow and roll on my back, a ball of rage forming in my belly as I replay my parents’ words in my head. But I’m just as frustrated with myself as I am with them. Because honestly, I’ve allowed myself to be used for so long, why would they think this time was any different?

  Being confronted by Sean was the final straw in this hellish evening. He was all I could think of on the long ride home. I never dreamed he’d be camped outside my door like an avenging angel, his soaked T-shirt plastered against his chest, and practically vibrating with anger.

  Flinging an arm over my eyes, I swallow a sob. His anger was understandable, and it matched mine, but the hurt in his eyes tore at me. That he would question how serious I am—I press my fists to my eyes and snort derisively. Of course he questioned it. I can’t blame him.

  He’s right—I don’t owe them anything. But he doesn’t understand what it’s been like for me all these years. He thinks he does, with all his years of dealing with the media and paparazzi and gossip blogs, but it’s different for him. His lifestyle uses them as much as they use him. He was prepared, hell, he expects to be the center of attention. He courts it…thrives on it.

  I was forced into my situation. Sean can’t truly understand the days of terror I felt after it happened. Wondering if that day was the day a picture of me, naked and drooling with some guy ready to shove his dick into me, would be posted somewhere my friends would see it. Where my family would see it. Days of imagining what my dad’s opponent’s campaign would do with it—nothing is off-limits in politics. Wracking my brain to figure out what to do without going to the cops because all it would take is one enterprising reporter on the local beat to find my police report and realize I was Senator Skinner’s daughter for all hell to break loose. How I wept out of sheer relief when Kevin had told me Dale took care of it and I didn’t need to worry anymore. And he takes care of it to this day.

  “Fuck,” I groan, slamming my fists into the mattress. “Fuck, fuckity, fuck!” I glare up at the ceiling and swipe the wetness from my eyes. Time to pull yourself together, Cass. You’ve wallowed enough. I know what I have to do, despite the chaos it’s going to cause my dad. As much as I owe him, I can’t allow that to keep me living in the past.

  Never in my wildest dreams have I ever imagined a man more perfect for me than the whirlwind that is Sean Murphy. He’s bold, he’s unpredictable, he’s…everything. An incredibly talented, vibrant man with a generous, passionate soul. His music academy is going to help so many kids, and I don’t think he wants any credit for it at all. That’s so incredibly rare, at least in my experience. He’s fearless and if he wants something, he does what he has to do to get it…like owning my heart.

  I can’t believe he came all the way over here when he heard the news, but…that’s Sean. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and it’s one of the things I love about him. There’s no subterfuge, no hidden agendas. My heart jumps when I remember the intensity in his stormy emerald eyes when he held my face between his hands.

  “He’s crazy about me,” I whisper in amazement, and then snort a laugh, shaking my head. “He must be crazy.” Maybe so, but I can’t take the risk of him walking out of my life.

  Because I’m just as crazy about him.

  A muffled ringing coming from under my ass startles a yelp out of me. After a few seconds of fumbling, I pull my forgotten clutch out from under the comforter and retrieve my phone. It’s probably Kevin, checking up on me…but no. Damnit. “Hey, Jack.”

  “So…” His wary drawl speaks volumes. “I hear we’re engaged?”

  “No, we’re not,” I growl. “My parents went rogue in front of about fifty donors, and the media picked it up before I could do anything about it.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “That’s putting it mildly. Did your dad call you?”

  He heaves a sigh, and I think I hear ice tinkling in a glass. “Yeah. He was more excited than he’s been in years. Pissed that I hadn’t told him, but that passed when he started talking about grandbabies. How did your parents find out?”

  I roll my eyes at the thought of the earlier debacle. “Sorry about that—Mom overheard me talking to Kevin about it tonight, and she and Dad decided to seize the day.”

  “So, no engagement, then?” He sounds resigned, and I sigh in agreement.

  “Jack, I just…can’t.” I grab a fistful of hair, hating everything about this. “You’re a wonderful man and six months ago I might have agreed. But it would’ve been just as wrong then as it would be now.” I take a deep breath and smile a little as the weight on my heart lifts. “We don’t love each other. It would be wrong for us to get married only to make other people happy. I’m sorry.”

  He sighs. “I know. You’re right, of course. I just thought…” He huffs a laugh. “Well, it sounded like a good idea at the time. I’ll make sure my dad doesn’t issue any kind of a statement. I told him to hold off until I’d spoken to you.”

  A sad smile colors my voice. “I’m sorry; I know this kind of puts you in a bind, but…” Even in the dark room, I can see the rain streaking down my skylight. In my present mood, it feels like even the sky is crying. “I bet your partner will be glad to hear it’s not really happening.”

  “He will. Adam. His name is Adam,” he says, his voice warming, and I hear the ice clink again. “What about your friend? Sean? What does he think?”

  “He basically thinks I—well, both of us—are ‘bloody fucking idiots’ for even considering it, or words to that effect.” My heart clenches when I recall Sean’s own proposal. For whatever reason, the thought of that doesn’t scare me like it did before. “Tonight…well, he didn’t take tonight’s debacle well.” The memory of Sean standing there, dripping water on the floor, and shaking with justified wrath, chills me.

  “Well, hell, Cassidy.” A hint of his Wyoming twang shows in his soft chuckle. “Why are you still talking to me? Get your ass moving, girl, and fix it.”

  His words snap me out of my gloom. I sit up abruptly, clutching the comforter to my chest. “I…I have to go, Jack. Bye.” I can hear his laughter and a faint “good luck” as I end the call and toss the phone on the bed. Jumping up, I quickly dress in casual clothes and swipe a brush through my hair. I grab my phone and dial quickly, listening to it go to voice mail as I shove my feet into flat boots.

  “Answer, you stubborn Brit,” I growl and hang up when it goes to voice mail. “Fine, have it your way.” I jam it in my jeans pocket and grab my purse, knowing it’s useless to call back. He’s not going to answer.

  Pacing the room, my frustration comes to a boil when I realize I don’t know where he lives. All I know is that he’s in a penthouse somewhere. Fuck! He may not have even gone back home, I suppose, except Sydney is still staying with—Sydney!

  My feet barely touch the stairs as I run down to my desk and flip through my customer book until I find the one I want. My eyes dart to the clock; it’s ridiculously late, and I pray she’ll forgive me.

  “Hello?” There’s not a trace of sleep in her voice, which actually worries me a little.

  “Sydney, it’s Cassidy Skinner.” Her relieved hum emboldens me. “I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but I need to see your brother. Is he with you?”

  She sighs. “Yes, he’s here. He’s… Cass, are you okay? He couldn’t talk to me when he got back.” Her concern is almost palpable, and I take a ragged breath.

  “I will be. Can I come over? How do I get there?”

  Her brief hesitation sends my heart plummeting to my feet. I’m sure she only wants to protect her brother, and I pray she doesn’t shut me out. I wonder if she hears the desperation in my voice. “Yes. Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” she says after what feels like an eternity and rattles off an address near Central Park. “Text me when you get here, and I’ll ring the doorman to let you in the lift.”

  “Thank you, Sydney.” I can almost hear her smile at the relief in my voice.

  “No problem. Hurry, Cass.�
��

  I summon a Lyft, and while I’m waiting, there’s one more thing I have to do before I leave.

  “Cassidy? What’s wrong?” My mother sounds exhausted, but too damned bad.

  “Nothing is wrong. I’m not marrying Jack. You and Dad need to issue a correction. Pronto.”

  She heaves a sigh. “Oh for heaven’s sake… Look, we just boarded a red-eye back to Washington. I have to turn off my phone. We’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “You can call tomorrow, but it won’t change anything.” I step outside as I see the Lyft round the corner; I scan the street before locking the door behind me. It looks like the photographers have called it a night, thank God. “Issue a correction or I’ll do it myself. I don’t think you’ll like that option, so I suggest you don’t dally.”

  “Cassidy—” I hang up and quickly climb in the car.

  The elevator doors open, revealing a spacious room with soaring windows and an exhausted Sydney. She’s wearing leggings and a thermal shirt, clutching a throw around her shoulders. “I’m sorry to bother you so late—”

  “Don’t worry about it,” she says quickly, cutting me off. She gives me a wry smile, her bare toes flexing against the hardwood. “You look like I feel.”

  I laugh weakly. “That bad, huh?” I push my hood back and run a hand through my damp hair. It’s still pouring outside. I let her take my coat and nervously look around as I set my purse on a glass-topped table. “Does he know I’m here?”

  “No. He’s taking out his frustration in his studio.” She hangs my coat on a peg by the elevator and leads me through the gorgeous room; she pauses at the bottom of a curved staircase. Her eyes search mine. “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

  I tug down my T-shirt and play with the hem. “Not entirely. But, there’s really only one thing to say. If he’ll listen.”

  She gives me a knowing smile. “Good.”

  We climb the stairs, my nerves building with each step. I’ve never been this nervous about talking to a man in my life. Then again, I’ve never felt this way about a man before, either.

  As we walk down a short hall, a rhythmic pounding penetrates my senses the closer I get to the closed door—I feel it more than hear it. “It’s soundproofed, but I think the stripping around the door is beginning to go.” We stop in front of a door that seems to be vibrating. “In you go.” She pats me on the shoulder and heads back downstairs.

  My palms feel clammy, and I wipe them against my jeans. “Okay, Skinner. Don’t chicken out now,” I mutter. “If he won’t listen, then fuck him.” Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and swing the door open.

  The blast of sound hits me in the face and I blink. It’s like a cave—the light from the doorway slices across the floor, cutting through the darkness of the room. Then, I realize there’s a single candle on the floor by one of the drum kits.

  His back is to me, and he stops almost immediately. He’s sucking in great breaths as if he’s run a marathon. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Syd,” he says between pants and begins to turn. “I’ll tone it dow—” The sticks fall from his hands with a clatter. “It’s you.”

  “It’s me.” I step inside and close the door behind me. I can’t see anything, and I jump when I hear his stool creak.

  “Damn meddling twin,” he mutters, his voice coming from a different place—closer and to my left. I swallow down my nerves and peer into the darkness, willing my eyes to adjust.

  “Don’t blame Syd. I told her I had to see you.”

  “Did you now?”

  His voice is soft, almost a purr, to my right this time, and I can’t help my flinch. His accent curls around each word, making my entire body tingle. I feel like prey being stalked by a tiger. When my eyes finally adjust, he’s mere inches away. My back hits the door behind me.

  “What do you want, Fly-girl?” He leans forward, planting his hands against the door on each side of my head, his eyes boring into mine, his spicy, sweaty scent enveloping me. I’m breathing as heavily as he is. When I finally manage to speak, my voice is barely a whisper; my hands flatten against his bare chest.

  “I want you.”

  Murphy’s Law No.38: If it’s easy it’s probably a trap. Nothing worthwhile in life ever comes easy.

  Sean

  THAT FAMILIAR LAVENDER SCENT INVADES my space, my entire fucking being.

  She’s here and I’m hanging by a thread. My arms burn from who knows how long at my kit. As is often the case, I’ve been lost to the one thing I know best. It gives me clarity, doesn’t make me feel like I’m floundering. I know what to expect when I sit down. It’s automatic and cathartic, allowing me an outlet for all this pent-up emotion.

  Cassidy’s got me all twisted. For so long I’ve been all about women with no strings, but with Cassidy it’s like a thousand symphonies of them all twisting and turning.

  Tonight was unexpected, and normally I’m up for that. When it makes me feel like there’s a dagger to my heart, I’m not quite a fan.

  I couldn’t even speak to Sydney when I got home because there was something more important that I needed to do, something that pulls me away from the edge when I’m in danger of tipping over it. Despite Syd’s protests, and assurances she’s here for me, but this isn’t something I can talk to her about.

  “Sean, you’re scaring me. I’m here. You can talk to me.” Her voice was nervous and filled with worry. I was a dangerous live wire when I left Cassidy at her shop. An intense desire to erase the last hour or so from my brain was the overwhelming goal.

  In the past, there had been one sure way to do that, and in the good city that never sleeps, it’s easy to find a little something to take the edge off.

  That temptation was always one bad decision away from something I knew I had to live with for the rest of my life.

  Ignoring the fact that it was blowing a gale, I actually walked in the direction of a place where I knew I could score what was guaranteed to obliterate the last few hours along with some brain cells in the process. It would be so easy to fall back into destructive and dangerous habits. Which was one of the many reasons I didn’t follow through. Nothing worthwhile in life ever came easy.

  Instead, I stalked home, drenched. I brushed off Syd and surrendered myself to my studio. Calling my sponsor, Russell—I’m not even sure that’s his real name—was the only option. He picked up on the third ring; relief flooded through me when I heard his gravelly voice.

  “Sean Murphy. It’s been a long time, man. How are you?” His Texas accent was a balm to the chaos raging inside.

  “I’ve been better, to be honest.” Greeted by silence, swamped with shame. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over that feeling. “Do you have time?”

  “Always. I don’t have to be at work for another half hour.”

  Pacing a hole in the hardwood seemed like the best course of action. As always, Russell just waited. In the beginning stages of kicking my coke habit, calls to Russell were marathons. He’s a fabulous listener, a sounding board, a beacon of light and information. He’s one of the many unsung heroes of the program. Like most sponsors, he doesn’t want attention, no fuss or muss. He’s been through his own hell and now he just wants to help.

  “Have you used?” he asked after an eon.

  “No.” I ran a palm across the back of my neck.

  “Do you have anything with you that you could take?”

  “Outside of a few headache tablets, no.”

  “But you’d like to?”

  “Fuck.” My fingers dug into my skin, trying to beat down temptation. “No. I wouldn’t like to. I know where it leads, mate, and I’m not going back there. Fuck would I ever love to erase the last couple of hours from my memory, you know?”

  “I do know. I know exactly what you mean.”

  I pressed my back against the wall and glared at my drum kit. “I know you do. And I was horrible to my sister.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “I told her she wouldn’t under
stand.”

  “She wouldn’t, Sean. She can’t understand if she’s never been there herself.”

  I took a quick glance at the door, knowing Syd was probably waiting right outside it, sick with worry. “Logically, I know that. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel like shit about it.”

  “It’s okay to feel that way, but you can’t control how anyone else feels about you, Sean.”

  Pushing off the wall, I moved to trace the curve of the high hat. “I wish I could.”

  “But you can’t. You can only control yourself. Your reactions. Your decisions.”

  I tapped on the brushed gold surface, anxiety twisting in my stomach. “You sure you’re not a mystical philosopher, Russell?”

  He laughed a little. “Positive.”

  “I shouldn’t need to call you.” I let out a long, slow breath, regretting the words instantly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’d probably be high as a fucking kite right now if I didn’t have you.”

  “No you wouldn’t.”

  “I thought about it.” I know this was part of the never-ending recovery journey. It’s not rational. The urge to wipe out reality hadn’t hit me in a long time, but seeing that news report tonight, knowing there’s a possibility Cassidy might never be mine, sent me right back to wanting to escape for a while.

  When you’ve experienced the warm buzz that lets you drift high into nothingness it’s easy to give in and want to feel it again. The intensity of emotions currently flooding my system is in stark contrast to that empty feeling. That’s the irrationality of the situation I’m in. I’ve never been in a better place, but it’s also terrifying.

  “We’ve all thought about it. The thing to focus on here is that you only thought about it and now you get to hear my angelic voice in your head.” That made me laugh. Russell was probably the only person who could do that right now. “You want to tell me what happened?”