Start Again Series: A Billionaire Romance Box Set

by J. Saman

  “Yeah. He’s got your eyes. The color is still all blue-gray and shit, but the shape is yours. And he definitely has your mouth and that cleft in his chin. In fact, I’m going to try and find some baby pictures of us and I’ll show you.”

  “Who are you right now?” I laugh again because I don’t even recognize this man. My brother was never this sentimental before.

  “I know,” he says in a quiet awed voice. “But man, it’s good shit. Leah is finally asleep in her crib, and Will is now sacked out in my arms. I’m fucking exhausted. I smell like baby vomit, because my clothes are covered in spit-up. But I’ve never been happier. Is it weird that I sort of want to eat them?”

  “Not if it’s in a sweet, loving way. Yes, if it’s in a cannibalistic way.”

  Ryan sighs heavily into the phone. “I spoke to Luke because, well . . . I’m awake.”

  “So, you’re taking care of some stuff?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been doing one-handed typing for the last twenty and let me tell you, that shit slows you down. Anyway, I got the email that you sent and so did Luke, and we’re coordinating.”

  “Will I be bailing you out of prison?” I ask with a smile, my arm resting behind my head against my pillow.

  “Nah, I’m straight. Why didn’t I wake you, and why do you sound like I just killed your cat?”

  “I hate cats,” I say instead of anything real. I don’t even know why he’s asking me that question. And yet, I do. He wants to know how deep this is going for me.

  “I know that, asshole. It’s a fucking figure of speech. Talk to me.”

  “She’s hurt,” is all I can manage, because Ryan never wanted me to get as close to Claire as I was getting. And this is the exact reason why. I’m tortured over this. He knew it all along, and even though I hid it from him these last couple of months, I know he knew anyway. He’s just that sort of asshole.

  “Yeah. She is. But you don’t have to be a part of it. Luke and I can handle it—”

  “Fuck you,” I snap, interrupting him before he can say anything further.

  “Just checking,” he says casually with a smile to his voice.

  “If you keep being an asshole, I’m going to tell Kate about the time I broke your nose when you stole my Xbox and you cried like a pussy.”

  “She already knows that one.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll tell her about the time you threw up in school all over Marissa Shooster and everyone laughed.”

  “Yeah, that sucked. I doubt Katie will do anything other than laugh at me, but I get your point. I won’t say anything else. But just so you know, I’m sort of dying to.”

  Now it’s my turn to sigh.

  “I’m glad she has you. I know your shit with her is all kinds of fucked up. But I’m still glad she has you.”

  I blow out a long deep breath, my eyes still covered with my hands. “I know you are. And thanks for not giving me shit over her.”

  “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. To you. And Claire. She is just a messed-up creature when it comes to men. She’s got this thing, I don’t know. She doesn’t talk about it, but she wasn’t always like this,” Ryan pauses and silence ensues because I have no words to fill it after what he just said. “Do you want me to come over now?”

  “No. I’m going to sleep. Plus, you’re busy. I’ll see you in the morning, or in a few hours, I guess. Kiss the babies for me.”

  “I’ll bring breakfast. And those cookies from that bakery by your house.”

  “Rugelach?”

  “Yeah. Those are really freaking good. Claire likes them, too.”

  “She does.” I sigh again, feeling even more deflated over all sorts of things I have zero control over. “Later.”

  Then I hear baby Will cry and Ryan hisses, “Shit. See you later.” The phone disconnects, and even though Ryan isn’t sleeping and is covered in baby vomit, I’m so fucking jealous.

  Because he has it all, and I just have memories.

  And like my memories conjured her out of thin air, I hear Claire walking into my room.

  30

  Claire

  * * *

  “Was that Luke or Ryan?” I ask, pulling back the covers and slipping in next to Kyle. I don’t want to sleep alone tonight. I can’t. I tried. But the moment I close my eyes, I see that asshole’s dark looming ones. The ones that said he was going to kill me and hack me into a million tiny pieces, and stuff me into a box where no one would ever find me.

  It’s amazing the clarity that comes with nearly being murdered.

  I feel like I have a new image of life, and for the first time in the last three years, I fear death. I don’t want it to happen. At least not until I’m old with cosmetically dyed red hair and tits that sag around my knees. So yeah, I have some shit to figure out.

  “Ryan,” Kyle says, rolling over and taking me in. I wish he wouldn’t.

  I was hoping the darkness of his room would hide me, but I don’t think there is enough darkness in the world to hide what the fucker did to me. My face is a mess. I spent way too long in front of the mirror after my shower while Kyle was getting me clothes, just examining the aftermath. They had taken pictures of me at the police station. Evidence, they called it. Funny how that is not the word that comes to mind when I see them.

  I nod, settling my head on his pillow and staring at him. “What time are they coming over?”

  He just stares at me, almost like he’s surprised I know that they will. I’m not. I can only imagine the dark world those two boys are crawling themselves into. I bet they didn’t even think twice about it, either. That makes me swallow hard.

  “For breakfast.”

  “Good. That means we can get some sleep before they come.” I snuggle in closer, unbelievably comforted by his warmth and size despite the way my body aches. But just being next to Kyle is the best thing ever.

  “I take it you’re doing that in here?”

  I shrug a shoulder, my eyes still locked on him. I can’t seem to stop that. “Yeah.” I give him a wry smile. “I’m too pissed off to sleep alone. I keep replaying it in my mind, and instead of getting all scared the way I feel like I should, I’m becoming enraged. I almost wish I could go back and finish the job. Make sure that dickface can never hurt anyone else again.”

  “I’m working on that, cupcake,” he says, and I smile at the name because he hasn’t used it on me in a while. “Just get some sleep.”

  I close my eyes on command, snuggling down and wiggling under the covers. My body aches. My bones hurt. My muscles scream with every single movement I make. But I find a comfort I’ve never known, and refuse to question, in this bed with this man. “Stop watching me,” I grin, my eyes still closed.

  He lets out a small husky laugh that gives me chills, and oddly enough makes me want to grab onto him and kiss him senseless. I don’t, because, well, I was attacked tonight. Not exactly the hottest or most romantic of things.

  “Good night, sweetheart,” he says, and I can’t stop my smile because he called me that earlier, and it’s not his normal pet name for me. But I think I secretly love it.

  I wake up to the sun shining bright in my face and my body tucked under Kyle’s arm, my head on his warm, hard chest. In the immortal words of Yogi Berra, it’s like déjà vu all over again.

  The urge to snuggle into him and kiss his soft, musky skin is real. Pulling even. But I won’t take him on this ride again. I hurt him. Twice. I need to know my reality before I can have a life with him. Now, I just have to pull up my big girl panties and grow some balls and stop being a pussy or whatever other expression there is and do it.

  Amazing how differently I feel about that idea now. Getting knocked in the head makes you think. And gain perspective.

  I get up slowly, noting just how sore my body really is. My arms and thighs feel like I tortured them by lifting thousand-pound weights. My ribs burn every time I take a step or a deep breath, and I don’t even want to acknowledge the way my face feels because I know it will tran
slate into something superficially horrifying.

  But this pain is not all superficial, is it?

  I step into one of the guest bathrooms on the opposite side of the apartment from Kyle’s master and lock the door behind me. I shower again, taking my time to wash my hair and body and allow the heat of the water to penetrate my stiff and overworked muscles.

  Once that’s done, I cry.

  Crying isn’t something I do all that often, or all that well.

  I’m not one of those people who feels better after a “good” cry. In fact, I usually feel like shit after and look ten times worse. It’s really the red hair and pale skin thing. But I already look like shit, so I figure it can’t get much worse. Plus, I’m overwhelmed by so many things I don’t even know how to begin to catalogue them in order of importance. And none of them want to be tucked back into their tightly lidded boxes.

  No, it’s like the stupid dam burst, and every single emotion I’ve never allowed myself to feel is breaching all at once, vying for the top of the heap. My childhood. My mother’s suicide. My father’s lack of love for me. The uncertainty of my future life. Being attacked. My loving friends. Kyle. They’re equally desperate to be the one to finally cut me to my knees. Everything seems to be intermingling and connecting into one ferocious circle of self-abhorrence.

  I sit on the warm tile floor, my ravaged body no longer able to stand. Drawing my knees up to my chest, I let it all go.

  I sob and wail and rock, and even bang my fists against the wall a time or two. I’ve never felt so many things all at once, and trying to manage them all is crippling. I’m sure I’m anything but quiet, but thankfully, Kyle never tries to come in to witness my disintegration.

  After an eternity, the water becomes tepid, and it’s just enough of a shift in the atmosphere to bring me back to the present. I allow the water to cool the heat from my face for a moment before I step out onto the warm floor and wrap myself in a large, fluffy towel.

  I realize I have no clean clothes. No hairbrush or deodorant—or even a toothbrush.

  I’ll have to go home.

  That thought brings me up short.

  In the meantime, I’ll use Kyle’s. I swap out the towel for a bathrobe I find hanging on the back of the door. Wrapping the towel around my hair Carmen Miranda style, I pad barefoot down the hall, but stop once I reach the traveling sound of voices. I sigh inwardly. God, they’re not going to make this easy.

  I plaster on my brightest smile, knowing full well it won’t fool them, and walk past the great room into the kitchen area to find Luke, Ryan, and Kyle talking in serious hushed tones while sipping coffee from plain black ceramic mugs. I really need to up the color factor around here.

  “Shhhh,” I hiss exaggeratedly, cupping my hands around my mouth. “Careful, or she’ll hear you talking about her.”

  All three heads simultaneously fly in my direction. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you that sneaking up on people is rude,” Luke chastises while his eyes glue themselves to the bruised right side of my face.

  “Obviously not,” I shrug, “which is why I’m constantly rude and have absolutely no manners to speak of.”

  “Are we going to pretend to ignore the swollen, purple half of your face, or am I allowed to growl out my anger?” Luke continues, turning to fully face me as he sets his coffee down on the hard stone countertop with a clink.

  I roll my eyes and instantly regret it. That freaking hurts.

  “Stop being a fuckstick,” Ryan says, setting his own coffee down and walking toward me. He pauses, maybe a couple of feet from me, and just stares at me. God, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. I expected yelling and a lot of swearing, maybe even having to make a few key promises, but this staring thing is killing me. It’s taking everything inside of me not to shift or look away.

  “How bad?” he asks after a quiet beat.

  “Could be worse.” I swallow hard.

  “You and I are going to talk later.” His voice is like ice and nails. Cold and sharp. But it’s the look in his green eyes that has my breath, and any potential snarky comeback, lodged in my throat. They’re unbelievably raw and vulnerable. I can practically taste his consternation.

  The idea of Ryan feeling this way over me guts me.

  I nod and tell him that I’m okay as best I can with my eyes. But he’s not satisfied, probably because I doubt I’m all that convincing. The way I look isn’t doing me any favors.

  “I brought you a bag of stuff,” Ryan says, and I can feel my eyes narrowing.

  “Why would you do that? I’m not a fucking child. I don’t need to be babied.” I blow past him, aiming for Kyle now, because I know he’s the reason there’s a bag of my things here. “I’m not a prisoner, and I’m not staying here indefinitely.”

  Yeah, he’s not impressed with me, and really, I should shut up instead of getting defensive. But it’s all I have right now. He’s got this cocky, you’re leaving over my dead body, stance going on. It would be oddly appealing if it wasn’t so condescending.

  “I don’t think you’re a child,” Kyle says calmly, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you’re not moving back into that apartment.”

  “The hell I’m not,” I roar.

  “It’s not safe,” he yells back, slamming his palms onto the marble of the counter with a slap. “You were fucking attacked in your own apartment. There isn’t even a motherfucking lock on the front of your building. Any psycho can walk in,” he pauses, “obviously.” The accusatory sneer in his voice is so unbelievably unwelcome, my hand actually twitches with the urge to slap his face.

  “Who the hell do you think you are to dictate what I do with my life?” Now it’s my turn to slam my hands down because if I don’t hit something, I’m going to hit him, and it’s probably not a wise decision to hit your lawyer. The man you love, sure, but not your lawyer.

  Kyle’s eyes narrow, I notice Ryan and Luke move toward their chosen position on Team Kyle. I’m not exactly in a situation to storm out either. I’m wearing a goddamn bathrobe. It’s not even mine.

  Could I be any more pathetic?

  “Me?” Kyle asks, pointing to his own chest; his voice is anger tempered with restraint. “I’m no one. Just the guy you call in the middle of the night when you need to be bailed out.”

  Fuck. That hurts so bad there really isn’t a way to express it. He may have just sucker punched me in the gut. But he’s right. I used him. I treated him so unfairly, and I used him last night.

  So, I play the last card I have.

  I spin around on my heels and snatch that goddamn bag of my clothes off the floor and storm off, ignoring my protesting body as I go. I hear both Luke and Ryan calling after me. But not Kyle. And for some reason, that’s the final nail in the coffin.

  But what did I expect from him, anyway? Even if I did put myself on the line, had the test done and found out the results, what then? If it were negative, which I doubt it is, could we have a real shot at things? Or has irreparable damage already been done?

  And why was I being a bitch to them just now? They were just trying to protect me, and I threw it back in their faces. I don’t think I’ve ever been such a mess in my life, and I hate it. I hate feeling and being this way.

  I toss the red bag onto the bed and dig through it quickly, dropping the bathrobe onto the floor. I don’t even look at what I pick out. I just throw some black leggings and a tee onto the bed, slip on some panties, and just as I’m securing the clasp of my bra between my boobs, the door flies open.

  Probably should have locked that.

  Kyle bursts in, slamming the door behind him with such force that I hear the wood crack. For a brief moment, he’s too worked up to notice my attire, or lack thereof. That moment quickly fades, and then all that anger morphs into barely concealed heat. I just stand there in my bra and panties, staring at him, daring him to continue his tirade.

  His eyes scan my body slowly, languidly, taking their time and their pleasure with each pas
s of my skin. I feel those eyes everywhere. Savor the sensation. Breathe in his lust and exhale it along with my own. In this moment, I realize just how close anger and desire are connected to each other. How easily they can do battle with one another.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” he says softly, as he swallows, blinks, and finally meets my eyes. “I can’t stomach the idea of you sleeping in that apartment. So, you’re staying here,” he commands, his voice gaining back some of the strength it lost.

  I can see his love for me and fuck all if that’s not heady as hell. Empowering. I want to walk up to him and own him. Possess him.

  But I’m still firmly rooted in place because there are too many things unknown.

  “I can’t move in here, Kyle.”

  The moment I say his name, I know it’s a mistake. Something about it does things to him, and he takes a big step toward me. His breaths are ragged, still breathing heavily from his storming down the hall and into this room. His eyes feast on me. Again. He licks his lips, wetting them, and that small sheen of moisture has me licking mine.

  “You can,” he declares, and then he runs his hand through his hair and over his face, letting out a slew of curses that would make me smile if this moment wasn’t so intense. “I need you to.”

  God, the way he says that. It’s a desperate plea, and yet so domineering. I think my mind just went blank. Any argument I had dissipates into the thick sexual tension pulsating between us. The simple truth is, I don’t want to go home. I just don’t want to be told I can’t. I need some modicum of control.

  It’s really all I have left.

  And honestly, I’m far too stubborn for my own good sometimes.

  “Okay,” I say, trying for resolute, but coming up way short. “I’ll stay. For now,” I add, as if it’s all my decision and not his.

  “Good,” he states, taking an unconscious step in my direction before he realizes what he’s doing and stops. “I’ll, uh . . .” he looks at me again. My lace-covered breasts. The tiny, sheer piece of material that I’m calling panties. A small groan passes his lips, and I instantly feel moisture pooling into that scrap of fabric.