by CORY CYR
“How’d you know he was even here? I didn’t hear you come in last night,” I ask her as I pour the coffee.
“No surprise there,” Weezie mumbles.
Latch hands a cup of coffee to Weezie. As I go to give Latch a cup, he takes it out of my hand and sets it on the counter. He puts his arms around me and fits me between his legs.
“Good morning, leannán,” he whispers, brushing his lips across mine.
Weezie turns and stalks back down the hall to her room.
“Gag,” I hear her say.
“Your roommate isn’t very friendly, is she?” Latch asks, taking a sip of coffee.
“Oh, she’s very friendly,” I chuckle. “I just don’t think she expected a half-naked Latch McKay in our kitchen at nine in the morning.”
Latch just shrugs and moves to sit on the sofa. We sit there and make small talk for an hour as we drink our coffee.
“Dinner with me tonight?” he asks hopefully, squeezing my hand.
“Okay, sure. What time?”
“I’ll pick you up at six. I called Marlon when I got up to pick me up at ten thirty.”
Latch stands up, walking to the kitchen and rinses out his cup in the sink.
“You’re leaving?” I ask, disappointed now, and very confused since we had just made up but now he is leaving.
He slips his arms around my waist and presses his body to mine. I love when he surrounds me like this, like a protective shield.
“I’m massively hungover. I need my miracle cure and a shower.”
“Cure . . . you have a cure for a hangover?” I ask curiously, wishing I had known about this when I was slamming tequila shots the first night we met.
Latch chuckles and squeezes me tighter. “It’s called ocean relief. I need to surf.”
I groan. “So let me get this straight, you’re leaving the woman you professed your love to a few hours ago to go surfing?” I pretend to be upset.
“Baby, that freak rainstorm that just passed us left some really big waves. You wouldn’t deny your man this pleasure, would you?” he pleads.
“Maybe not this pleasure, but probably a different kind of pleasure,” I say in a clipped voice.
Latch nuzzles my neck and licks his way to my mouth. His tongue slips between my eager lips at the same time I feel him palm my sensitive mound.
“You’ll never refuse me, leannán—I was made to fuck you. I get off just watching you come. It makes me insane knowing what I do to you. You can’t deny me—you love it too much.” There is no doubt in his voice. He’s right; I will always want him.
“Aw, shit, get a fucking room, will you?” Weezie says loudly as she marches into the kitchen. Latch and I burst out laughing at her apparent distress.
Weezie pours more coffee and then walks back to her room, slamming the door behind her.
“My mother is having her annual charity gala,” Latch says. He grabs his shirt from the back of one of the kitchen chairs and pulls it over his head. I sigh inwardly as his gorgeous chest disappears from view. “It’s something she does every year. I want you to go with me—be my date?” he asks casually.
“You’re asking me to meet your mother?” My voice is filled with trepidation.
“She won’t bite . . . much.” He smirks. “She’ll be stunned by me bringing a date. I’ve only ever shown up with Keenan. Trust me . . . she’ll love you because I do.”
“You’ve never taken a girlfriend before?” I sound astonished and somewhat shocked.
“I’ve never had a girlfriend,” he replies nonchalantly.
I cock my head toward him. “Come on, Latch McKay, you’ve had women forever, and I’m fairly sure at some point you’ve had a girlfriend,” I say suspiciously.
He takes my hand in his. “No woman ever meant enough to me to call her a girlfriend, let alone meet my mother. She can be trying,” he adds, combing his fingers through his hair. “This gala is formal, a black tie event.” His voice sounds annoyed.
“You mean evening gowns and fancy jewelry?” I ask. I’m sure my tone sounds agitated.
“Let’s just say, I’m positive my mother demands it to be a black tie event because she knows how pissed I get at the entire ordeal. I can’t stand all that brownnosing bullshit, but if I don’t show up, she’ll go ballistic, and you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen my mother lose it. It’s not pretty,” he says, frowning.
I hear a knock on the door and I know it’s Marlon.
“Time for me to go, baby, see you tonight. You can invite your roommate to go to the gala if you want.” He pauses a moment in his walk towards the door.
“Really, will Keenan Stone be there?” I ask anxiously.
Latch cracks the front door open and says something to Marlon. Then he shuts the door and turns to me.
“Why are you asking about Keenan? Is he someone I should be worried about?” He has a scowl on his face and jealousy in the tone of his voice.
I move close to him and touch his face. “Oh God, no, you’re more than enough for me, Mr. McKay,” I say with humor. “Weezie has this major crush on him.” I roll my eyes as I yawn, trying to show Latch that I personally have no interest in Keenan.
He stands there with his arms crossed. “I see. Well, Keenan has always gone with me to these events. He’s like family, so my mother expects him to make an appearance. I’m sure he’ll be attending. Bring her along and I’ll introduce them.”
“Great! She will lose her mind when she hears this.” I can’t wait to tell Weezie.
Latch opens the door, turning his head back to kiss me. “I love you,” he murmurs.
“I know,” I reply in a hushed voice. I wish I could say it back, but I can’t. I’m afraid it’s too much responsibility if I love him. Once I have those feelings for him, I will allow him to have full control over me, it’s the only way I know and I can’t give my life over to someone again.
“See you tonight then,” Latch says as he closes the door behind him.
Weezie must have heard him leave because she saunters into the living room.
“Grouchy much?” I ask.
“I didn’t get much sleep last night,” she replies, crossing her arms.
“That’s what happens when you stay out all night, drinking. We aren’t in college anymore. You’re forty, not twenty-four. Personally, I don’t know how you do it. They would have to cart me off to the cemetery if I tried to keep up with your lifestyle.” I throw her a snide glance.
Weezie plops down on the recliner.
“Actually, I came home early to check on you. I had no idea that you and Mr. Boy Toy had made up.” She leans toward me. “Fuck me, after hearing you scream ‘Oh God’ about ten times last night, I almost felt like getting out of bed and going to church this morning.” Weezie rolls her eyes at me and feigns a prayer by pressing her palms together in front of her chest.
I’m mortified and positive that I’m turning at least five shades of red.
“Oh God,” I say quietly.
“Not exactly . . . you were screaming it.” Weezie laughs, leaning back into the chair.
“If you do your impression from When Harry Met Sally, I’m going to kick you in your nether region,” I say menacingly, pinning her with a glare. Weezie starts laughing hysterically, clutching her belly. I patiently wait for her to calm down, and when she does, she wipes her eyes and then looks at me with disbelief.
“Nether region? Really?”
“Weezie . . .” I growl.
“Okay, okay . . . damn, I just mean that I knew this guy would fuck as hot as he looks, but I had no idea it would be so spiritual.”
“Ha ha, very funny, can we not dissect my sex life, please?” I plead.
“I’m just glad to hear that you have a sex life. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you before. Now, personally, I think you’re a screamer. But Latch, he’s more a groaner, the grunter type.”
Weezie appears to have a very pleased look on her face as she watches me getting red faced wit
h embarrassment.
“Stop it, please. You’re killing me.”
I get up and take my cup to the kitchen. “By the way, you want to be really nice to me,” I say with a piercing glare.
“I’m always nice to you.” Weezie says with a grumble.
“We’ve been invited to Latch’s mother’s charity gala.”
“Really? No shit! He wants you to meet his mom?” I can tell Weezie is holding back a snort.
“Yes, unfortunately,” I reply with a sullen look on my face.
“Come on, no worries. It’s going to be huge. You’ll be introduced, you’ll curtsey, and then you’ll hang with me and Latch, no big deal. It’s fancy and high profile, right?” she asks excitedly.
“Very funny, Latch’s mother is Scottish, not royalty, so no courtesies are necessary. But it is high profile, and that would be the other problem. It’s ‘black tie’ fancy,” I announce, completely flustered and annoyed.
“Fabulous. I can finally drag out some of that designer bullshit I got on sale last year. Don’t ask. They were on sale, too good of a bargain. And you’ll never know when you’ll be invited to a ball, Cinderella.” Weezie winks.
“Yeah, because we get invited to so many formal events,” I say, laughing. “By the way, you might want to check your foul language at the door. Keenan Stone will be there.” I grin.
This is the second time in the same day that Weezie goes mute. She has a dazed look on her face. Without a word, she gets up and goes to her room. Moments later, I hear hangers clattering against the wall mixed in with periodic swearwords. I laugh as I shake my head.
I go back to my bedroom and pull my closet door open. I stand there, taking stock of my wardrobe. I honestly don’t own any formalwear. I do have some fancy dresses but they’re not gala appropriate. I could always borrow something from Weezie now that she has confessed to buying some formal wear. We had never been invited to a formal event in the last twenty years. I roll my eyes with the acknowledgement that I’m grateful Weezie is a clothes whore.
I decide to google Latch’s mother and her charity gala, and discover that she’s only eight years older than I am. I’m horrified. How is she going to react to me? Has Latch mentioned our age difference? Does she even know about me? I click on the tab that says “pictures” and my heart falls into my stomach as I look at the photographs from the prior year. The event is a who’s who of celebrities, politicians, famous artists and philanthropists from around the world. Latch’s mother is stunning. Latch’s looks were bred from his DNA. I’m so grateful that Weezie is going because I have a feeling I will need her support. The thought of even going to this hoity-toity shindig has me terrified, but I’ll do it. Latch and I are together; he wants me with him. I will embrace the event and everything that goes with it. The good and the bad.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I spend the night with Latch and most of the day with him on Sunday. He has another business trip scheduled for the following week, which means I won’t see him for the next five days.
Latch leaves for his trip on Monday. While he’s away, he calls me every morning and every night. I receive at least four to five text messages daily. If this were anyone other than Latch, I would consider it obsessive. It’s nice to have someone who not only says he loves me, but acts as if he does.
At times, our relationship feels like it’s under a microscope, especially now that the paparazzi have taken an interest in us. The first time I saw our picture in a magazine, I felt violated. They were speculating about me—my age, where I came from, and our sex life. Latch is used to the publicity and the scrutiny, but it feels intrusive, as if they are invading my life and space. I’m lucky I own my bookstore and that it sits on private property. By law, Denise and I can kick them out whenever we want.
On Thursday, I arrive home to find three boxes waiting for me on my bed. I know they’re from Latch. I shake my head in quiet disbelief. Latch lives for surprising me. This is who Latch is—the man who loves me, the man who makes me smile. There’s a note. I sit on my bed and read it:
I miss you, leannán. Please do not get all bent out of shape because of these gifts. Since I am in New York, I wanted to send you something special. When I saw this dress, I instantly thought of you— beautiful and alluring. Please wear it next weekend to the gala. I love you, baby. Latch
Oh hell, he bought me clothes. I pull the top off the first box to find a sexy strapless bra and a thong made of silk. I am so smitten with this man. I know how much Latch loves panties, plus, he owes me a few pairs. The ensemble is emerald green and has a floral design with crystals.
I grab the second box and pull off the lid. I squeal, finding it hard to contain myself. The box holds a pair of Nincha heels. I carefully take them out. I almost can’t breathe. They are the most unusual shade of green I’ve ever seen with beading along the top and down the side of the heel. Green satin straps wrap around the ankle. Nincha shoes are so high-end, they have to be ordered from France, and the cost is astronomical. Weezie and I have drooled over this shoe line for years, but I never dreamed I’d ever own a pair. I trail my fingertips over them, carefully feeling every line of the shoe. I can’t even imagine what these cost—most likely more than my car and Weezie’s combined.
My hands shake as I set the shoes down and open the last and largest box. I pull off the lid and I want to cry. It is the most stunning dress I’ve ever seen. I remove it from the box, draping it over me. I turn toward my full-length mirror. It’s to die for. The material is a mix of silk and chiffon and it falls like gossamer to the floor. It’s strapless, long and flowing with a thigh-high split up the front. The color is several shades of green blended together and it reminds me of Latch’s eyes. It is Oscar De La Renta at his best. All of this must have cost a small fortune. Weezie is right . . . I am Cinderella. As if she can read my thoughts, Weezie taps on my door. I quickly put the boxes in my closet so I can surprise her on the night of the gala.
“Come on in.”
I sit back on my bed, pretending to read a book. Weezie enters with a frown fixed across her face.
“Well, what’s in the boxes? I’m assuming there from the millionaire boy toy?” She asks looking around.
“You’ll just have to wait until the gala. So Latch has a new title now?” I laugh.
“Well, he is a boy, and your toy. And he’s rich, so yeah.” Weezie’s expression appears pinched and her stance is uneasy. I touch her arm.
“What’s up?” I ask. Weezie hesitates, her eyes staring at the floor. “What’s going on?” I question her a little more firmly this time.
“Haven, I don’t want to rain on your parade, but it’s Latch.”
My heart drops. Just like that, I’m worried, concerned and agitated all at once.
“Is he okay? Is he hurt? Tell me for God’s sake,” I plead as I jump up, filled with sudden panic.
“He’s been arrested,” Weezie spits out. She looks perturbed.
For a moment, I have to let the information sink in. Arrested, why would Latch be arrested? I know he has gotten into some altercations with the police before, but I thought that happened years ago.
“What? How do you know?” I fire back at her.
“Hell, it’s all over Twitter and Facebook. I thought maybe you’d heard,” Weezie speaks uncomfortably.
“Yeah, because I have so much time these days to go on those sites,” I reply, my tone sullen.
Weezie frowns as she leaves, then returns moments later with her laptop. She opens it, turning the display towards me.
“We don’t really know any specific details except what the internet is reporting, so don’t go all postal.” Weezie cocks her head at me, obviously concerned about my reaction.
I look on the screen. And because it’s grainy, I have to put on my glasses to actually see the video. Evidently, there had been a bar fight and it was caught on someone’s cell phone. I guess going to New York for meetings included drunken brawls. I watch the video and then survey th
e still shots that were obviously taken by the media. My eyes go wide and I begin to seethe. The photographs show patrons from the bar standing around Latch as he’s being led away by the police in handcuffs. At his side is Krystella. The report reads that Latch McKay CEO of McKay Enterprises and his girlfriend were arrested early Wednesday morning for battery and resisting arrest—
I close the laptop. I’ve read enough. I feel like I could vomit.
“That’s the skank you were telling me about, the one from the restaurant?” Weezie asks, taking the laptop.
“Yup, that’s the one.” I try not to sound too distressed but my heart feels devastated.
“Not that I’m trying to defend his sorry ass, but there could be a logical explanation.” Her voice sounds hopeful as she sits on my bed.
“Really, and what would that be?” I ask, almost shrieking. “Explain to me how that fucking bitch is in New York at the same goddamn time as him.”
I am so enraged—I’m shaking. I flop down on my bed, hugging my arms around myself. Weezie starts chuckling.
“What the hell? You think this is amusing?” I hiss between my teeth.
“In almost twenty years I think I’ve heard you swear twice. The other time was when you clipped your toe on the coffee table and broke it,” Weezie replies, grinning.
“Whatever . . . I’m furious. He’s cheating on me. I’m not going through this again, no way. Why do they have to lie? I should have known. I am so stupid,” I mutter, more to myself then for the benefit of Weezie.
How dare he send clothing for the gala while he’s screwing around on me—apparently I’m naive, because his so called love for me must mean very little to him.
“He’ll be home tomorrow, so let him explain. Normally I wouldn’t say this—you know me, I’m not the sentimental type, but I truly think this guy cares about you. I believe it. I’ve seen him around you. And frankly, no one’s that good of an actor.” Weezie stands and hugs her laptop.
“You know she’s a stripper, a porn star, I googled her after that night at the restaurant. They’re friends with benefits. He’s been sleeping with her off and on for years.” Saying the words fills me with such anguish.