I need her to feel the word, not just hear it.
"Does it bother you? Lying here with a woman engaged to another man?" Her words break now and it shatters my heart hearing the pain in her voice.
"No." I press my lips to her shoulder, avoiding the urge to nip at her. "Because your heart doesn't belong to him." I trace my tongue over her, blowing on the moist skin. "Pretend you can do whatever you want. What would that look like?"
Her breath is a sigh against my mouth. My fingers trace the length of her spine. Her body is stiff and unyielding.
"I never really thought about it."
I'm taking a dangerous risk right now, deliberately mixing arousal with fear and uncertainty. "Try." I shift again, pressing closer without really moving. The sensation of her skin against mine, the softness of her body, is pure sensual overload. I could stay here forever, just touching her.
"I'd be cut off. Financially."
"You do have expensive tastes," I nibble on her ear. "I don't know how much those leggings you like to wear cost but they're sexy as hell."
She makes a noise in her throat. My distraction is working. I can feel her purring. "I'd have to find a job. Which will be impossible once my father tells his friends not to hire me."
"Why do you need to work in a company tied to your father?" She subtly rocks her hips against my leg. It's torture not slipping my hand between her thighs. I want to feel her wetness coat my fingers, feel her swell beneath my touch.
"What else am I qualified for?"
"I can think of at least six things. Three of them involve marketing and whiskey."
She smiles up at me. "Just because I know the brands doesn't mean I know how to sell them."
"You catch on pretty quickly."
"Not quickly enough to pay the lease on my apartment when it comes due in six months."
I trace a small circle on the swell of her breast. Her nipple tightens, shrinking into a dusty pink tip. I trace my index finger around it and am rewarded with another rock of her hips against me. This time, she brushes against my erection, leaving a light kiss of moisture against my cock.
She surprises me then, slipping her hand between our bodies to stroke me. Her fist is tight around me, just enough pressure to draw out the pleasure of her touch.
"That gives you six months to figure something out." It's harder to think now with her hand fisted around my cock. She rubs her thumb over the tip, spreading the wetness across the crown. "Jesus that feels good," I whisper.
"Does it?"
"Fuck yeah." She's shifted the rules of the game on me. In an instant, I’ve gone from teasing her and touching her to being teased, being touched. She urges me onto my back and slips on top.
She's fucking perfection. Her breasts are heavy and full, swaying gently as she moves her thighs apart to straddle my hips. She's glistening between her thighs, already wet. I want to put my mouth on her, to feel her from the inside as she comes.
She lowers her hips, touching her damp curls to the ridge of my cock. A feather-light tease. One I cannot look away from. She sinks lower, her lips spreading to surround me, slipping down my length, coating me in her wet heat. "Jesus, do that again."
She obliges me, sliding her sex over mine again, a delicious, sensual friction. The sight of my dick slipping through her slick folds is an erotic torment, blinding me with intense pleasure. She slides again, teasing my cock at her tight opening.
Her eyes are closed, her hips moving more quickly, her heat driving me closer to the edge.
She reaches between our bodies, lifting me until I'm there, just there. Her body sucks at me, drawing me deeper as she sinks smoothly onto my cock, inch by glorious, tight inch.
Her palms brace against my chest as she stills for a moment.
"Does it hurt?"
She leans down, lifting her hips, sliding off my cock, then lowering back once more. "It feels amazing."
And then she starts to move.
Chapter 24
Eli
* * *
Deacon and Kelsey both agreed to be enlisted into the evening’s festivities, and Kelsey’s wearing a long-sleeved, white button-down blouse to hide the thorns and roses that twist over her arms.
The three of us whipped together a drink menu and packed out the van I use for catering yet again.
I love them both for their willingness to bust their asses for me at a moment’s notice. But that’s what’s great about my place. It’s really ours. I swear to all the powers that be that I will do right by them.
Always.
We're at an old mansion on the western edge of Durham. It sits on several acres and when I looked it up, I discovered it was one of the few original houses that survived the destruction of the Civil War. It's been restored to its original splendor, and near its entrance, I'm surprised to find a monument to the slaves that died building the original house and who worked the land.
"Well, that's interesting," Kelsey murmurs dryly as we're unloading the whiskey.
Deacon lifts one eyebrow. "Because an I'm sorry monument makes everything better?"
"But of course." Kelsey pats his shoulder gently. "Now is not the time to critique our beneficiaries’ intentions. Down that path lies nonpayment for services rendered."
I smile. Kelsey is so fucking pragmatic sometimes it's scary.
We get the bar set up, putting the higher-end whiskey literally higher up. It creates the perception of something out of reach and feeds the need to be seen ordering it.
People, wealthy or poor, are remarkably simple creatures sometimes.
Parker will be here later. I'd kissed her and followed her down to the bar where I talked her through my accounts receivable and how I've been focusing on building my brand. Simple yet elegant, The Pint is a name that's both familiar and obvious, but the logo is written in old English letters, drawing a connection between old world and new.
And then I’d urged her to go home and get ready for tonight. She needs to shine and most importantly, she needs to be one hundred percent on. There’s no room for error in perception.
She isn’t convinced she can leave, that she can walk away from the only world she knows. But the seed has been planted. She is thinking about it now, dreaming of the impossible.
Tonight is for me to learn more about the players in the game. To figure out how to exploit any openings.
I’ve opted tonight for a white button-down, rolled at the sleeves. I know my audience, and the slight rule-breaking of exposing my inked arms will draw more eyes and whispers. Once the whispers start, I'll be holding court steadily for the rest of the evening with the wives who want to know the man behind the beard. The tattoos are an opening for conversation, drawing their wealthy eyes to my marked skin.
I can smile and wave with the best of them. That's also why I've got Deacon and Kelsey. I want the smiling and the drinking.
There are two opportunities for The Pint tonight.
The first is purely selfish—we do this right and it’s more business. I've got business cards on the bar, easy enough to pick up. Providing alcohol service to expensive parties wasn't on the business plan for another five years, but I'd be a fool to ignore the opportunity that's presenting itself. I have no moral principles against taking advantage of meeting Bennington Hauser’s contacts tonight, and any doors that serving them might open.
The second is to get to know Hauser better. To figure out what Parker needs to do to slip free of him and the life he wants her to lead.
Both should be relatively easy to handle.
Until Parker walks in wearing a cream cocktail dress that is fucking stunning.
She's brilliant and smiling, polished and poised. I watch her for a moment as she shakes hands, laughing at offhand remarks. If I hadn't spent the afternoon with her, I'd never guess she was anything other than completely at ease.
My balls tighten watching her. I can see the curves beneath that dress. I know how she feels in my hands, her hips spread over mine as she r
ides me.
"Careful, loverboy, you're going to embarrass yourself." Deacon's voice is a gentle reminder that eye-fucking the guests is never a good policy.
I make a rough noise and look away. "Thanks."
"It hurts, doesn't it?" He's adjusting the mid-priced whiskey, turning the labels in a way that highlights their contrasting colors.
"What's that?"
"Falling this hard. Catches you by surprise."
I look down, adjusting the card reader in an effort to keep my fingers busy. "It's complicated."
"It always is." He leans on the counter. "The question is, what are you going to do with a woman like that? She's not going to want to be chained to a bar, working fifteen, twenty hours a day."
I steal another peek at Parker. She's turned to one side, a polite smile on her lips, her fingers wrapped effortlessly around a champagne flute filled with a pomegranate champagne that Deacon concocted for tonight's event.
"She can stay or go or do whatever she wants." I focus on setting up.
"Spoken like a man who doesn't sound like he's used to letting go."
Deacon isn't wrong often. He's not wrong now, but I can't tell him that. Because as much as it hurts to admit, I'll eventually have to let her go.
She won't stay. She can't. I might know how to move in her world, but she doesn't belong in mine.
I just can’t leave her trapped.
Her father walks in and it's like watching all the oxygen get sucked into a vacuum. Everyone gravitates toward him.
Even Parker, who smiles and kisses his cheek without ever revealing to the world the truth of her life.
* * *
Parker
* * *
My father smiles warmly. You'd have to know what you’re looking for to see how irritated he is with me.
It's not his eyes that give it away. No, it would be too easy to spot his mood if the tell was in his eyes.
It's in his jaw. The tension in his smile radiates down his jaw.
"I'm glad you could find it in your schedule to make it," he says, kissing me lightly on the cheek.
"I'm sorry I worried you. I was deeply engaged on a project." I wonder how Eli would feel about being called a project. I sip the pomegranate champagne to hide my smile from my father.
"Have you seen Davis? He told me you spoke at the fundraiser."
It's hard to hate my father. He says all the right things and asks all the right questions. But none of it is genuine. It's all meant to make him look like something he isn't: a decent human being.
"We spoke." I don't want to talk about my future sentence. Not when I can still feel Eli surrounding me.
"And? Are you coming to the city next weekend for Lainey’s birthday party?"
"I don’t think I can." I scan the room, looking for any sign of Davis. "Dad, can I talk to you about something?”
“Sure.”
He’s wary now but if I don’t do this here, I’ll never get his attention. “I’m not sure if Davis is being honest with you about…everything."
My father waves at the hostess, smiling brilliantly in the way that men who are familiar with how money moves the world often do. This is a party for the men he needs to make sure his bids on government contracts win. He’s not a politician but he damn sure knows how to work a room like he was one.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, remember a few weeks ago when your company got in hot water with CNN for that Facebook post about veterans and guns? About how it was insensitive and exploitative?"
He's listening, even if he's busy taking stock of who is in the room. Especially those donors attached to big dollar signs. "I certainly don’t need the reminder. Where are you going with this?"
"Davis…didn't delete his own post when he shared it. He left it up."
Finally, my father turns to look fully at me. It's unnerving seeing the calculations behind his eyes. "So?"
"So the media were able to get the picture because he didn't delete his post. I can't help but wonder why he didn't take it down as soon as you directed your communications chief to take it down." I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. "I'm sure it's nothing. It just felt a little off. I said something to him and he finally took the post down. But it just felt…weird having to tell him."
The entire snafu with the errant Facebook post was something trivial. Incredibly minor, in the grand scheme of things. But it's a brilliant way to get my father to start questioning whether my match with Davis is the right alliance.
It doesn't get me out of the situation immediately. But I've planted a seed, if nothing else.
"I'll talk to him." He waves at someone behind me. "You should come home next weekend."
"I have work. My internship duties call." I take another sip from the gloriously sweet drink that has just enough alcohol to loosen me up.
My father tips his chin at me, his eyes glittering darkly. "You never did tell me why you turned down Montgomery's offer. It would look much better on your application for the executive program than some bar in Durham, no matter how good the whiskey is."
I wonder how hard it is for him to not choke on the disdain. It practically drips from his words.
"I wanted to do something different." He'd never believe me that his long-time friend sent me a sad picture of his dick. He'd ask me what I'd done to lead him on. Or why I was trying to ruin the reputation of a man like Montgomery Carlisle.
There's no reason to even waste my breath. No, there are other ways to deal with my father and his so-called friends.
"Which reminds me. You've got a bunch of events planned in the coming months in the local area. I was thinking a great way to shore up local favor is to use local vendors whenever possible—smaller ones. Spread the wealth around, so to speak." I tip my glass toward the bar where Eli is pouring a tiny drop of water in a glass of whiskey. "You’ve seen what The Pint can do on last-minute notice. He has one of the most exquisite whiskey collections I've ever seen. If you add him to the event programs, you'll curry local favor and have access to some rare whiskey and unique blends."
"What are you proposing?"
No wasting time or words. "Put him on contract. Have him agree to support every event in a two-hundred-mile radius. You get guaranteed service at a bargain."
"How do you figure paying every month for a service I don't use is a good investment?"
"How much is tonight running you?"
"I've set the tab for twenty-five thousand."
I run the numbers quickly in my head. "You've got five events in the next six months. You offer fifteen thousand a month, plus fifteen percent overhead expenses for every thousand dollars you go over. You save in the long run and Eli's whiskey ends up in more people's glasses. It's brand expansion for him and a bargain for you."
"Won't he lose money?"
"I have my doubts that Eli ever loses at anything."
My father looks sharply at me. "You've been thinking about this for a while."
"I paid attention in my marketing classes. There isn’t a comparable whiskey collection anywhere in the South. You need to present yourself as one of the people. Whiskey is a good way to do that, while still allowing you to signal to your donors that you're a winner."
He takes a sip from his own glass. "Talk to Eugene and run the numbers. Your back-of-the-napkin calculations sound a little sketchy."
I smile up at him and for once, it is one hundred percent genuine. "I'll do that."
One of my father's politician friends walks up, demanding an audience. I back away smoothly, melting into obscurity as quickly as I can.
"What are you smiling about?"
My internal victory dance comes to a record-screeching halt at Davis's voice in my ear. "Just had an enjoyable chat with my father." My smile is tight now and it requires genuine effort to keep it looking natural instead of forced.
I may chip a tooth before the night is over at this rate.
"You look lovely tonight. Did you do something different wi
th your hair?"
I had Eli's fingers threaded in it. Somehow I don't think Davis would appreciate that response. "New shampoo."
"Have you checked your email today?"
I sip my drink and suddenly wish it were a hell of a lot stronger. "Anything interesting?"
He's going to tell me. He's just going to drag it out a bit before he does. It's his way of lording what he knows over me for as long as possible.
"You should really do more research about the people you choose to associate with." He hands me his phone.
It's a photo of me with Eli the other night. Sitting a little too close. Looking a little too comfortable. The innuendo in the image is bad enough. The headline makes my stomach pitch. Congressman’s Fiancée involved with War Criminal.
The words are a lead weight around my neck. I feel ill as I skim the text.
"Ready to come home yet? Or do you want to continue hanging out with your own personal Lieutenant Calley?"
I forward myself the article, hand him back his phone, and drink the rest of my champagne. "Does my father know?" I'm going to need something a hell of a lot stronger to get through the rest of the evening.
"It hasn’t run yet. I've asked the reporter to hold off until we have time to prepare a statement."
I open the document on my phone. "What do you think is an appropriate response?"
"Complete disavowal. You didn’t know there were this many skeletons in his closet. You need to start distancing yourself from him, starting tonight."
Someone once told me that nobody is a hero all the time. There are only moments, and what you do in those moments matters more than a lifetime of other actions.
I look up at Davis. At the future I see looking back at me from the edge of the abyss.
And I stand there, too afraid to take the leap.
Chapter 25
Eli
* * *
“My daughter tells me you've got quite the taste in whiskey."
After I Fall: A FALLING NOVEL Page 16