by Lauren Wood
“So, tell us everything,” Veronica gushed the moment I joined their table.
“Hello to you too,” I replied, immediately waving over the waiter to order a drink.
“Richard Hayes,” Miranda swooned in a dreamy voice. “I can’t imagine what it’d be like to date him. Much less to have him fighting other men for my affections.”
“I’ve seen him in court on TV a few times and some of his press conferences,” Kate chimed in. “He’s so arrogant and bossy. I’m getting wet just thinking about it.”
“Sexy as hell,” Veronica concurred.
I thought they’d go on like that forever, but then they all stopped and turned to me with wide expectant eyes.
“He’s…really down to earth in person,” I lied.
“Down to earth!?” Miranda shrieked. “Boooring! Who wants down to earth? Not for you Isabella Landson. You only deserve the most fabulous…including your men.”
“If he’s too fabulous, I might not be his type…if you know what I mean,” I quipped.
Not wanting their fantasies about Richard Hayes or Michael Waters or any of the other rich and famous men to be destroyed, they carried on with their gossip—throwing out their theories about each man as if the person who would know best wasn’t sitting right across from them.
I didn’t mind. It was entertaining to hear what they thought, and it saved me from having to talk about it anymore. But as they went on, I felt that old familiar restlessness and boredom creeping back in. Sometimes I wondered if I needed to find new friends. Maybe that was the problem. But these women were some of the most powerful, successful, fascinating people in the whole country. What group of friends could possibly be better than that?
I didn’t join them for drinks and dancing after the restaurant, which seemed to be a habit of mine lately. My mother would have said leaving a group early in the evening was always a good thing. It only added to your mystery and allure, which people craved in a person. Maybe she was right. But it sure was a lonely way to go about things.
As I reached for the handle of my car door, I paused. Suddenly, I caught myself thinking about that chance meeting with Dawson in the park when I decided to take a walk. At least he had made things interesting. Maybe another walk would welcome some new exciting thing into my life.
But as I strolled down the crowded sidewalks, bustling with the city’s nightlife—Dawson was all I could think about. I slowed down too much, for too long apparently. That coupled with his phone call earlier had let him creep right back into my mind, like some kind of poisonous vine that took over everything.
My phone rang in my purse, and I stopped to quickly dig it out. Maybe it was him calling again. I had to admit, I kind of wanted him to try and talk me into that rooftop dinner again. Especially if he was serving something other than wheatgrass shots, legumes, and brussel sprouts.
But this time, it was Richard calling. I didn’t want to answer. Not in the way I didn’t want to answer Dawson’s calls. But in the very real way that made me get a sick sinking feeling in my stomach.
However, he was one of the bachelors in the final running. I would have to see more of him, whether I liked it or not. I would have to give him a fair chance. Hell, maybe he could change my mind. At the very least, I didn’t want our future dates to be awkward because I ignored him too much.
Just as my finger hovered over the answer button, it flinched over to the red button to ignore the call. Shit! Why did I do that?
The better question was…Why didn’t I just call him back?
I let out a heavy sigh, dropped the phone back into my purse, and kept walking. I didn’t know what was wrong with me.
Actually, the scary part was…I knew exactly what was wrong with me. Dawson had gotten under my skin, and I wanted to be under him again. There was no use in denying it. I would just have to find some way to live with it.
I knew he wasn’t the right guy for me. That much was obvious. But what was the harm in having a little fun with him before I was married off? Surely no man in his right mind, especially Dawson, would have any complaints about that. Wasn’t that all men really wanted anyway?
15
Dawson
I didn’t know why I was torturing myself by watching the shit-show that was Isabella’s dating life being broadcasted all over the internet. It was a horribly masochistic obsession, but I couldn’t look away. I didn’t own a TV, but I kept my laptop opened on my kitchen table and streamed the latest webisodes of Izzy’s dates—all rich, cocky assholes who likely only had an interest in her because of her money, name, and the spotlight it thrust them into.
What do these guys really know about her? Do they even care? There’s no way they could possibly see her the way I do.
The better question…What does she see in them?
I couldn’t even begin to guess why she wanted to subject herself to any of this, especially since she seemed bored out of her mind at every dinner. That was the thing…I saw a spark in Izzy that never came out with these guys. When she was with me, something in her perked up and became more alive. And the feeling was mutual. She sparked all sorts of new invigorating things in me as well.
I watched on bitterly as the episode concluded with yet another guy trying to drag the night out and make their move on her, but every time she turned them down. There was something in her that was holding her back from their offers. I hoped it was me. More than just hoping, I suspected it was me. There was no way she was oblivious to all the things I felt while we were together.
I slammed the laptop shut, grumbling all of this to myself, and pulled myself up to grab a beer from the fridge. It hissed as I popped off the cap and headed out onto the balcony to try and get some fresh air and clear my head.
I scanned the clouds in the sky, then the streets down below. None of it did much of anything to soothe my bad mood. Not even the cold, fizzy beer sliding down my throat helped.
A woman down below suddenly caught my eye as she crossed the street, approaching my building. I was drawn to her because she looked like Izzy, but I told myself it was just my imagination. I saw her everywhere. Any time a redheaded woman passed by, or some rich looking fashionista came into view—an alarm went off in my brain, trying to convince me it was her. But it usually wasn’t. I assumed this time was no different…
Until the woman stopped at the front steps and tilted her head back, looking up towards my balcony. The moment I saw past the brim of her hat, I realized that this time it actually was her.
“Isabella!?” I called out.
She slid her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose and waved. “Hi, Dawson!”
“What are you doing here? Trying to reenact Romeo and Juliet with me and this balcony?”
“Don’t get excited,” she huffed. “I will not be killing myself over you.”
“No, of course not. You don’t have to. You have a line of men waiting to take my place.”
“Your place?” she laughed. “Dawson, you have no real place. You’re in line with the rest of them, and at the very back of it, I might add.”
I winced from the blow of her words, still feeling irritated from before. “Then what are you doing here? Do you visit all of your gentleman callers like this? You must be a busy woman.”
“Well, you got the busy part right. So, are you going to let me up, or what?”
I groaned and bobbed my head, motioning for her to come inside, then went back in to open my front door—throwing back big swigs of beer the whole way.
In typical Izzy fashion, she breezed in and immediately started inspecting the scene. She ran her finger over furniture, like she was checking for dust. And shot judgmental looks at piles of clutter and other messy parts of the studio.
“I still don’t understand,” she said. “You could live anywhere you wanted if you just took your family’s money. They have plenty of it. Why should they be living in luxury while you live like this?” She looked around the room, pursing her lips as if it was the mos
t vile place she had ever seen. “You could get a place with room to stretch your legs and more storage for all of your work. Just think of the view and how good the light would be for your painting!”
“It all comes with a price,” I grumbled.
“What price?”
“My siblings don’t need to work, but they do,” I tried to explain. “They work these big corporate jobs and make even more money they don’t need. All for their image and reputation, so they can pretend they’re not freeloading off of our family’s fortune. Even if I did take the money, I’d be expected to be a part of their lives, but I don’t particularly like them. On top of that, they’d still look down on me for the kind of work I do and how I prefer to live. That’s just one of the many reasons I don’t want their money.”
I sat down in the kitchenette area and propped my feet up on the table, leaning back in my chair and putting my hands behind my head. “No, I like my place and my life just the way it is. This is all just fine for me, thank you very much.”
“Not good enough,” she barked. “Who cares what they think? And so what, you have to tolerate them at Thanksgiving dinner. Plenty of people don’t enjoy their family’s company. They’re not going to pass on a million dollars over it. No, I’m not convinced. Tell me the other reasons.”
I shot her an incredulous look. “Not that I owe you or anyone an explanation for my life and the way I live it, but if you must know…I like being poor.”
“You wouldn’t if you had no choice,” she argued.
“The way I see it, I don’t have a choice.”
“But you do!”
I shot up, growing frustrated. “Look, Izzy. I live a simple life. I’m not stressed or too busy, and I have all the time in the world for the things I love. Sure, I struggle to make ends meet like this. But it keeps my head straight. You don’t have time to overthink things and get all existential or discontent when you’re focused on working to pay your bills, or scheming over how you’ll pay for your next round of groceries or your tab down at the bar. If I had money, I’d just get bored and depressed like…”
Her eyes widened. “Like…like who? Say it. You were going to say like me, weren’t you!?”
“Like all rich people,” I corrected her.
“Which includes me,” she huffed in offense.
“Izzy, what are you doing here?” I asked impatiently. “I know you didn’t come to make sense of my lifestyle or to berate me with questions. What do you want?”
Her lips curled into a coy smile as she rolled her shoulder with an innocent sort of shrug. “I didn’t know if you might be up for another portrait session…or we could just skip to what comes after that.”
I didn’t want to fall for her antics again, but she did make it hard to refuse her. I walked over, stopping inches from her face, and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear—grazing her cheek as I went. “You want sex? That’s it?”
“I didn’t think you’d have any complaints.” She smiled wider, batting her eyelashes.
“This is just a fling to you?”
Her brows wrinkled. “What else would it be? I figured a guy like you loved flings. That you’d only have flings. Isn’t that the bohemian artist thing to do? Free love and all that.”
“You seem to be confusing artists with hippies during the seventies,” I smirked. “And you obviously have me all wrong. You think a fling is all I’m good for?”
“A fling is all I’m good for,” she insisted. “Look, in my family…people haven’t really married for deep, meaningful love. No, we marry for security and financial reasons. To add to the persuasion of our names and the zeroes in our bank accounts. I see no reason why I should do things differently. It worked out for all of them.”
“You’d give up a chance at finding real love to keep the status quo?” I questioned. “And that’s what will make you happy? Let me as you this...what about after this whole Heartstring Bachelorette thing is over with. You’ll marry the lucky winner eventually, right? And then what? You keep coming back here to me on the side?”
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” Her eyes clouded over with a subtle hint of sadness just before she looked away. “Who says the guy who wins my hand in marriage won’t be some form of real love, anyway? If I’m even capable of such a thing…”
Her voice grew quiet and then she trailed off, showing a softer, less secure side to all of her feelings. She was scared and grasping at straws.
“You’re desperate for something,” I whispered.
Suddenly, like a switch had been flipped, all real emotion in her vanished. She snapped back into seduction mode, shutting off the rest of it. Her hand reached out and wrapped around the bulge in my pants. “This.” she squeezed. “Is the only thing I’m desperate for right now.”
“I asked how you felt about all of this,” I murmured, trailing my thumb along her bottom lip. “But I didn’t tell you how I feel about all of this. I can give you many things, Isabella. But some meaningless fling on the side…I’m afraid I can’t do that. I can give you what you’re wanting right now, but not in the way you’re wanting it.”
“And just why not?” she pouted.
I cupped her face in my hands, speaking to her in a slow, deep rasp. “Oh, you silly woman. You really can’t see it, can you?”
“See what?”
“That I’m absolutely mad for you. Head over heels for you,” I replied. “The way I feel for you, I’ve never felt for anyone before. You light me up, and I know I light you up too. That’s why you keep coming back here. That’s why you were never really able to turn me down when we first met. That’s why we kept running into each other all over town. I think this was meant to be, Izzy.”
“Meant to be,” she whispered, looking intently into my eyes. She didn’t say it as a question or a certainty. It’s more like she was rolling it around on her tongue just to see how it tasted.
I nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Tell me you don’t feel it too. But if you didn’t, I don’t think you’d be here right now.”
She looked like a scared child, staring up at me with her big round green eyes. She swallowed down a hard lump and parted her lips, leaving me waiting with bated breath.
16
Isabella
For the first time in my life, I felt utterly speechless. Anything I could have said to Dawson in that moment would surely ruin everything for me in one way or another. With men in the past, I wouldn’t have thought twice about making promises I had no intention of keeping. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do that with him.
There was too much I was unsure of and confused about. Not knowing what else to do, I slowly closed my eyes and let his lips cover mine. I had to hope that talking with our bodies would be enough for him.
I was deathly curious to know just what he meant by giving me what I wanted, but not in the way I wanted. What could he possibly show me with sex that I hadn’t done before? Did he know who he was dealing with? I was no virgin, that was for sure. I decided to dip my toes in the water and call his bluff. He had surprised me once in bed. I wanted to see if he could do it again.
It started out tender, but our hands soon turned to frantically pulling at each other’s clothes.
“Don’t underestimate me, Izzy,” he exhaled, grazing my neck with his hot breath.
“I could say the same for you to me,” I replied.
I tightened the grip I had on the bulge in his pants, feeling him grow harder in my hand. I let go just long enough to undo his belt and unzip his pants, letting them fall to the floor around his feet. His glorious erection sprang out in front of me at full attention. I wrapped my hand around the base and started to massage back and forth—a promise of what was to come.
But just as he had warned me before, he was the one who liked to be in control in the bedroom. He grabbed both of my wrists and lifted my arms above my head before sliding my dress up and letting it slip from his fingers down to the floor.
“Stay just like that,”
he ordered, dropping down to his knees in front of me.
He kissed my stomach and the curves of my hips while slowly sliding my panties down and then around my feet, one at a time. His hands trailed around my thighs, massaging into the most sensitive places between them. His mouth hovered over my folds, teasing me with his breath.
One dart of his tongue made me dripping wet and so ready for more. My legs started to shake as he sucked me into his mouth, licking me in between the push and pull of his lips. He stopped only long enough to pull off his t-shirt, messing up his hair in a way that was adorable and sexy. I felt so tender towards him suddenly. Like he was a precious thing I wanted to protect.
I spread my legs wider for him, relishing in each and every sensation he sent washing over me. I gasped and shaked even harder as his fingers slid inside of me, building up a dam of pleasure that was sure to burst at any moment.
But just before I could let go, he pulled back and stood to his feet. He pressed his forehead to mine and interlaced our fingers together, drawing my hands back down to my sides.
“I know you were close,” he admitted. “I promise I’m going to let you cum. But I want to be inside of you when you do.”
He leaned in to kiss me, and I could taste myself on his lips. When he pulled back again, our eyes met with an intensity that made it hard to breathe or think about anything beyond what was right in front of me in that moment. The feelings weighing on my heart, reflected in his eyes, were terrifying to me. But that wasn’t enough to make me want to stop.
He led me over to the ladder leading up to his bed. Only then did I realize I was wearing nothing but my bra and heels. He seemed to be admiring the view, but I had to take my stilettos off to make it up the ladder. He followed behind me, and we both went crashing down to his bed the second we reached the top.