by Ace Gray
I stretched, feeling my muscles protest and shoulders crack. My legs ached when I finally threw them over the side of the bed. It took me a moment to trudge down the stairs and into the kitchen. Sure enough, Laura was cooking exactly what I expected: takeout Chinese.
“What’s up?” I cocked my head as I slid onto a barstool.
“I cleared my afternoon to hang with my best. I was worried you wouldn’t take care of yourself. You can wallow with the best of them, and the fact that you’re still in bed at three in the afternoon proves I’m right.”
“I didn’t get much sleep last night. I was up before five because of the throbbing.”
“Oh,” Laura said, taken aback. “Five in the morning?” She let out a low whistle. “Are you sure you don’t need to go back to the doctor? Not an early riser is usually an understatement. Could this be a sign of a concussion?”
“You tell me. You’re the one dating a doctor.”
We both laughed.
“What on earth did you do with yourself at that hour?”
She was scooping garlic chicken and fried rice into two bowls. Thank God or she would have seen me freeze and damn near choke on my tongue. I was at war with myself. She was my best friend so I should spill. But could I hold it together if I talked about him? I didn’t think so. I couldn’t convince myself that he was a good way to spend the afternoon, either. Sex and the City had still been showing new episodes the last time we’d spent a lazy afternoon together.
“Nothing really.” I shrugged. “Walked around.” I popped a piece of broccoli in my mouth and smiled as best as my chipmunk cheek would allow.
She smiled back and carried both bowls to the living room. Without asking she turned on the new “it” TV show. It wasn’t until we’d watched the first five episodes that work crept back in. Bryant hadn’t really left.
Is this what it’s like to be 28?
God knows I had no idea. I’d been success obsessed for far too long.
Around episode nine we went up to my bedroom, snuggled against the massive throw pillows and wrapped ourselves in fluffy down. I made it a few more episodes before my eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. Laura’s soft breathing beside me said she’d lost the battle a while ago.
I didn’t know which I wanted more, coffee or ice, when I rolled and stretched in the bright morning light. I accidentally smacked Laura as I cracked my outstretched wrists.
“I don’t care if you’re hurt. If you hit me, I’ll hit you back.”
Her voice was bright and I turned to find her reading a magazine from two years ago that had been shoved behind my nightstand.
“You wouldn’t dare with my aching, bruised, horrific face.” I playfully whined. “If only I had ice to take away the pain.”
“Are you trying to guilt me into waiting on you?”
I sucked in a deep breath and paired it with a dramatic, “Never!” She tossed the comforter, stomped over to the bar, and launched an ice pack from the small ice chest.
“There you go, Your Highness.” She curtsied, barely able to contain her giggles. “Everything else to your liking this morning?”
“Coffee,” I commanded, playing along.
“You’re ridiculous.” She turned, laughing, and headed down to the kitchen to make it anyway.
She eventually trudged back upstairs with two mugs in hand and the newspaper. She only stopped a second to turn back on the TV before jumping into bed. She rumpled the paper as she opened to her favorite section.
“Ugh, Page Six? Laura,” I scolded. “Hand me Business.”
“I don’t think so,” she snapped viciously. “Was there something you forgot to tell me?” Her entire demeanor changed as she shoved the paper in my face.
I set the ice aside to trombone the paper and focus on the page.
Oh holy fuck.
There I was. Only it wasn’t just me. Nicholas Bryant was right there next to me in a series of snapshots from yesterday morning.
The sepia tone shots had me remembering the heat of Nicholas’ gaze. And the sharp tingles that sprang from his touch. His rumbling voice filled my head. I could almost convince myself he cared looking at the set of his jaw.
“I asked you what you did yesterday morning and you said nothing. This doesn’t look like nothing.” Laura sat back and crossed her arms; her eyes had gone all squinty.
“It was an accident. I didn’t mean to run into him.”
I couldn’t pry my eyes away from the photos. There was one of us through the building window with his fingers on my glasses. There was another of him pulling me through the throng to the car, and one of him in that perfect, precious moment when he stopped to whisper in my ear. Last but not least there was one of a downright deadly face I hadn’t noticed as he turned to follow me into the backseat of the car.
“Accident my ass.” She got up and yanked on her sweater.
I was too caught up reading the headline to stop her. Bryant and Elliott Have Massive, Morning-After Blowout.
“They’re blaming Bryant for my face.” I started chewing on my lip.
“It was his fault.” Laura shoved her hand on her hip.
“Not in the way Page Six is spinning it,” I said quietly.
“Well, apparently Page Six still gets more details than I do.”
Laura didn’t let me reply. She marched to the top of the stairs and stopped. “Call me when you feel like letting me back in.” She continued her tantrum down the steps and slammed my apartment door behind her.
Shit.
The only person who tolerated me just stormed out because of the walls I insisted on keeping up.
I wanted to go after her. I got up and paced. I even pulled on leggings and shoes before admitting she’d stormed out with good reason. Resigned, I decided to burry myself the way I always did: work. I grabbed my laptop bag and checked for my after-hours office key card.
Sunglasses were still essential. My steps, even to the elevator, were still jarring. I found closing my eyes made everything a little less painful, and helped relieve a little of the guilt over Laura, too. That’s how I missed the swarm of photographers on the sidewalk until it was too late. The moment I stepped outside, my feet stuttered; I was disoriented by the wall of shimmering flashbulbs.
Page Six had only ruthlessly waited at my door once before—it involved an alcohol filled evening that led to some bad decisions involving a New York Yankee. The familiar tension that accompanied press wove into my shoulders, causing them to rise. I couldn’t find the curb or the building door behind me for retreat. Panic coursed through me, settled in my shoulders, and squeezed. Instinctively, my hands flew to my neck and dug in, trying to ease the pressure.
Are you and Bryant together? Did he beat you? Are you pressing charges? How long have you kept this secret?
“Move it.” My doorman’s voice boomed from somewhere. “You heard me. Make room.” The Brooklyn accent rang thick and strong above the endless yammering. “Ms. Elliott, I’ve gotta cab.”
I couldn’t see him but my arm shot from my shoulders and pushed. I jostled my way through the cameras to the car. I was all but shoved through an open yellow door and sighed when I sagged into the seat and the door slammed behind me.
After a few deep breaths my shoulders melted and pulse settled. I dug in my purse for my phone. Someone was going to pay for this media circus. I punched the buttons, bending and turning my fingers white with each press, before letting the call ring. The third tone was cut short by my PR rep, Callista.
“Oh my God, Kate,” she squealed. “Have you seen the paper? You got a photo spread in the weekend pages!”
“Yes, I saw, Callista. I saw that, and the hundreds of damn paparazzi jackals angling for a follow-up,” I growled.
“Honey, you’re going to have to let your temper go on this. You just got two full pages of free press in one of the most widely read publications in America. You can’t buy that kind of coverage!”
“It’s all fucking horseshit, though
. They’re dragging Bryant’s name through the mud because I ran into him. The bruises are from boxing for fuck’s sake. You need proof? I was admitted to the hospital Thursday night.”
“Oh honey, you know medical records are sealed. No paper could’ve known unless you released a statement.”
“So they just print whatever shit comes to mind instead? You need to fix this.” I took a deep breath. “It’s not fair to print slander because of my fucking bad luck.”
I bit my lip when my heart constricted at the thought of Bryant reading those headlines.
“Callista, please.” I was desperate. “Just call me when it’s done.”
Once safe inside my office I sat staring at the phone, sure I should call him. He deserved an apology and I had to let him know my people were working to secure a correction in The Post. I picked up my BlackBerry and flipped through the numbers he’d given me. I checked for an email address, hoping he’d added that as well. He hadn’t. I flipped back and forth between the numbers he programmed, deciding which to call. I even started drafting a few texts before scraping them all together and dialing his cell before spiraling further. When it rang, I still considered hanging up.
You have to get this over with.
“Kate,” he breathed.
“Hi,” I said shakily. I hadn’t expected him to sound so relieved. “Look, I just found out about the photos and I have my people working to get a correction. I’m really sorry. Very, truly, sincerely sorry. I hope it hasn’t done any damage. If you need a statement or whatever we’ll happily oblige. I know the paparazzi were probably as merciless to you as they were to me. I can’t say sorry enough.”
“Don’t forget to breathe.” The smile was evident in his voice. “I’m sorry the paparazzi came after you and that you’re in the paper.”
There was a tinge of anger when he said paparazzi and paper.
“Oh.” I stopped short hearing his apology. “I really don’t care, Bryant. It’s your name they’re attacking.”
“Please, stop calling me Bryant. You’re one of the very few people I’ve asked to call me Nicholas.”
His voice was a deep rasp. It was sharp but also incredibly sexy. I took a breath before I responded.
“I’m sorry, Nicholas.”
I fell silent and only our breathing intermingled over the phone. I imagined his warm breath against my ear. The blush rose in my cheeks and my chest turned red, forcing out my words like vomit.
“Look, I don’t know why you give a damn what I call you. Or the fact that my face is screwed up. Or that the paparazzi were at my place, or anything else for that matter.”
“How can you say that?”
Leather squeaked and protested in the background, but I could imagine him pacing.
“Look, what happened Monday was great, but…”
He interrupted. “Kate, there are no buts. Where are you right now? I don’t want to talk about this over the phone, and it’s important to me that you understand.”
“Nicholas, that’s really not necessary.”
My voice broke mid-sentence. My traitorous body wanted to see him and wouldn’t let me get forceful. His responding snarl was an angry, hungry sound and I relented.
“I’m at the office.”
“I’ll be there shortly. Please let me up.” I got goosebumps at the prospect of seeing him. “Please.”
Is he begging?
“Fine.” The word was barely out before the line went dead.
I couldn’t help but stare at the phone. My BlackBerry seemed so innocent without Nicholas on the other end.
Should I let him up? Did I want to bicker in person? Would I ever have peace of mind again if we didn’t resolve this?
Before I could wander much further down that rabbit hole, I pressed my finger to the intercom.
“This is Kate Elliott at Vesper Fitness and Apparel. I’m expecting a guest, Nicholas Bryant. Please send him up to my personal floor as soon as he arrives.”
If building security had seen the photos they would certainly have some scandalous opinions. I regained my composure long enough to realize I didn’t care. I settled into my chair and fired up my computer. I pulled up email but found myself reading the same subject line over and over. I squinted at the screen trying to shut out my racing thoughts. It didn’t help.
My head started throbbing and I couldn’t tell if it was the squinting, bruises, or Nicholas. I laid my good cheek on my desk and covered my head with my hands. I was losing control. Control I’d crafted very, very carefully.
Nicholas filled my thoughts as I stayed huddled on my desk, unconcerned with the papers scattered about. My pulse rose and my breathing went shallow. Too late I realized I was getting wet with arousal and my nipples had beaded beneath my shirt. My intercom buzzed and the sound echoed through my bones rather than my office.
“Ms. Elliott, Mr. Bryant is on his way up.”
7.
Bryant knocked on the door, and before I could pull my head from my hands he let himself in.
“Kate, are you OK?” He rushed over to my desk; concern plain in his voice.
I nodded and lifted my head, only to be blinded by the sight of him. He was wearing fitted dark jeans cuffed artfully over Prada loafers. His white V-neck tee was covered by a thin hoodie and leather jacket; he almost stopped my heart.
His stormy eyes seemed more earnest than other times I’d seen him. His hair wasn’t slicked back but the slight waves were still pushed off his face, except for one stray strand that had fallen forward into his eyes. If I had to guess, he’d just rolled out of bed.
He looks perfect.
Nicholas calmly rounded the desk, holding my gaze the entire time. He shrugged out of his jacket and set it on the corner. I pushed my chair back to regain some personal space. And space was the only way for me to keep a clear head. He sat on the edge of my desk, directly in front of me, and ran his hand through his hair. I noticed every single muscle in his body ripple as he did.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you this past week. If that comes between us I’ll never forgive myself.”
Us?
Was there an us? My pulse quickened. Why did that word make me breathless? Why did I care so much?
“I told you before, I couldn’t think of anything but you after Monday night. Of golden feathers and ruby red lips. I’ve never felt so rattled.” His voice dropped to his signature rumble.
He paused, let out a deep exhale and continued, still gravelly. “I kept trying to call, but could only get halfway through Vesper’s number. Nothing scares me the way you do.” He looked out on the city rather than down at me.
I turned my chair and followed his gaze.
I know how you feel Nicholas.
“That’s a lie. When I saw you yesterday, with your face the way it is, I was terrified. I thought someone intentionally hurt you. That was more than I’ve had to bear in quite some time.” He sighed.
“I’m going to be OK, you know.” My voice was soft. “And I understand how you’ve felt. I’ve felt…off balance since Monday night. That’s new for me. I’m not sure I totally enjoy it.” Honesty was definitely the best policy with Bryant.
“Agreed.” He pressed on the leather back of my chair, coaxing me to turn. “But answer me this. Would you be OK if I walked out of your office right now and never looked back?”
He focused so intently on me that I got lost in his eyes. My brain lurched to a halt and I held my breath.
He smirked. “Breathe, Kate.”
Air rushed in but I continued to sit in silence. My stomach churned and my pulse raced. Every fiber of my being tingled like the moment we first met. The ache was palpable between my legs, but the gnawing in my heart was what made me speak.
“No, no, I don’t think so.”
My words were hesitant. Was I playing with fire? Absolutely. Could I help it? Not in the least.
“Thank God.”
Nicholas pushed away from my desk and came to me. He gently lifted m
e from my chair then folded in my place and pulled me down to his lap. My good cheek was against his rock hard chest. He kissed my hair and my neck while he stroked my arm then down to my thigh.
“By the way, I am a big fan of these leather leggings and the devilish red peep toes. I can’t decide whether you look best in formal or casual attire.”
I smiled against his skin. I’d been thinking the same thing, although now I was having a hard time focusing on anything besides his touch. I couldn’t help it when my head rolled back, opening my neck to him. He tenderly traced my collarbone and along my shoulder. He was gentler the closer he got to my face.
But his hand didn’t hesitate to explore lower, wandering down my arm then tucking up under my shirt.
“When I retraced my steps Monday evening, my only regret was that I didn’t get to touch your breasts.”
His fingers skated over my bra, tracing the lace design. My breath caught as he wove around my back and expertly unhooked the clasp. First one strap, then the other, fell through my short sleeves. I pulled my arms out on each side, and once I did he slid my bra from under my shirt and tossed it. My tight, erect nipples showed through my shirt and a lusty, primal sound rumbled in Nicholas’ chest. My skin was so sensitive that the cotton rubbing across my skin made me ache further.
I squirmed in his lap, desperate to press my thighs together and ease my damn near painful want. He let out a deep breath then started to play; his fingers every bit the torture my shirt had been.
MMMmmm.
“I love that sound, knowing you’re pleased,” he whispered against my throat.
Nicholas caressed my body and skimmed the shape of my breasts. Every once in awhile he’d add a kiss or nip to my neck. He continued his assault, changing his gentle rubbing to slight pulls and pinches.
Nothing, save Monday night on the balcony, was as hot, as delicious, as amazing as this. My skin goosebumped, as I moaned my lips grazed his jawline. I writhed against his chest at the mercy of his skilled hands.
Slickness spread between my thighs as he twisted and turned. When I sagged against his shoulder, my lips rested against his neck and he started to get rough. Gripping. Squeezing. Pulling. The man knew how to work it.