After she logged off, I played, but I couldn’t concentrate and my character kept getting killed. I logged off and checked my blog, responding to comments. There were complaints about the fact that I hadn’t done my weekly DE update for two weeks now.
A little while later, my phone chimed with a new text message. It was Adam.
Good morning. How are you feeling?
Not bad. You?
Did you find the key and address?
I keyed back, Yes. What is it for?
Meet me at that address at noon? We can grab a quick lunch afterward.
I still have to go get my car.
Look out your window.
So I did. And there, parked at the curb in its usual spot was my little beat-up 1993 light green Honda Civic. He’d walked back to Jon’s house the night before and driven my car back here?
OMG, I can’t believe you did that.
Would rather you didn’t have to deal with that d-bag again.
Thank you.
Meet me at noon, k?
Ok.
The address, when I checked it out, was actually within walking distance of my little studio—and right smack dab in the middle of the historic Old Towne district, which served as an attraction for just about the entire county. Movies had been filmed there and the entire place was like a time capsule—a glimpse into the early twentieth century, complete with Watson’s, a 1950s-style drugstore and café, which hadn’t changed in over sixty years.
The town centered around the Plaza, one of the last traffic circles in California, with a circular park at the center replete with fountains and centuries-old trees.
Above all the curio shops and trendy eateries, the old red brick buildings housed vintage apartments. And I was standing in a narrow alley at the base of the stairs that would lead me up to one of them.
I was confused. Obviously the key was to the apartment, but what on earth did he mean by giving it to me and telling me to meet him there? Maybe it was his other residence? But I could hardly imagine him having another one, especially one only twelve miles from his home in Newport, where he hardly spent any time.
I climbed the steps and unlocked the door. Since I was a tiny bit late, of course he was already inside, standing by the window with his cell phone to his ear. By the sound of the conversation, it was his administrative assistant. He turned and smiled.
As always, that smile snatched my breath away. He had on suit trousers, a crisp white dress shirt and a thin dark blue tie. Clearly he’d pulled himself away from meetings or something important at work to be here. I exhaled sharply and returned his smile. I wanted nothing more than to launch myself into his arms and press that exquisite mouth to mine. It was like I was addicted to the taste and smell of him.
But I restrained myself—barely.
Adam rattled off a few more orders and clicked the phone off. “How do you feel this morning?” he asked.
“Good. Okay. No hangover, thank God.”
“I’m glad.”
“Thank you. I really didn’t mean to call you last night.”
His expression grew serious. “I’m glad you did anyway.”
“Thanks, too, for getting the car.” He only smiled in reply.
I stepped into the room, glancing around. The outer shell of the building might have been vintage, from the 1920s, but the inside was all modern—stainless steel kitchen appliances with dark granite counters and recessed lighting. Gorgeous crown molding. Beyond the main kitchen and sitting room, a doorway opened into what looked like a sizeable bedroom. It was, however, completely vacant.
His phone chimed. He checked it but tucked it back into his pocket. I quirked a brow at him. “Shouldn’t you be ensconced in your office behind your desk, muttering the twelve steps for workaholics anonymous, right now?”
He grinned. “Even workaholics take a lunch break once every blue moon.”
I moved up beside him and shared his view out the window. “Nice place,” I said. “Yours?”
“Yeah.” Because of course it was. “Recent acquisition. Investment property.”
“And the apartment is vacant because…?”
“It’s between renters.” He tossed a glance at me and then out the window with a casual shrug. “I have a management company handle my properties for me. But I have someone in mind for this location.”
He turned back to me, shooting me a meaningful look, implying that I was the “someone in mind.” His implication hit me like a balled fist. I took a shaky breath and turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the look on my face.
But I couldn’t hide my reaction for long because Adam was as sharp as a razor.
“What’s wrong, Emilia?”
My jaw set but I didn’t turn back to him. “I hope you don’t mean me.”
He paused. “And if I did?”
I turned around and faced him. “I can’t afford the rent you must be asking.”
“You can now.”
I breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly. A tiny voice in the back of my head—the voice of calm rationality—told me that he was doing a kind deed. He was helping me out. He was—
No. Just no.
My spine stiffened and sudden tension arced between us. “Is this the part where you hand me a roll of hundreds and tell me to go out and buy something pretty?”
His features tightened, almost imperceptibly. “I was going to offer it to you at the rent you’re currently paying for your studio. This place is safer than your neighborhood. It would put my mind at ease.”
“That’s impossible. You’d take a huge loss on it.”
He looked away. “I don’t care about the profit right now.” His phone chimed again. He reached for his pocket and froze when he saw the look on my face. His expression was grim when he snatched the damned thing and looked at it. This time, he took the time to reply by text.
I folded my arms over my chest and started to pace.
“Emilia—just consider—”
I turned on him, my shoulders and back so stiff I almost wrenched them with the motion. “I can’t live here. You know it as well as I do.”
“I do?”
“I can’t live in your apartment because of what happens after we…” and my voice died out as our gazes clashed. His features chilled. He jammed a fist into his pocket and his eyes flew to the window again.
I couldn’t help but hear Heath’s words spoken to me a few days before. What is he buying with all of these expensive gifts? He wants more than one night…
“Adam, what are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“I’d say I suspect you’re trying to set me up in a fuck pad but we aren’t fucking. So that’s out.”
“And if I said I wanted to help you out, would you believe me or would you twist it into something it isn’t?”
I shook my head, my fists clenched. “I don’t need to be saved. I can save myself.”
“Oh, that’s right,” he said quietly, walking toward me, watching me with stony eyes. “That’s what this whole auction was about. You ‘saving’ yourself.”
I stared into his face as he came to a stop inches from me. I could smell him. That warm, male body of his that smelled of ocean breezes. I swallowed, wishing I could clamp my own nostrils shut. Even when I was annoyed with him, he still affected me like no one else ever had.
“If indeed you ever intend to take the auction seriously—”
He shook his head. “And that three hundred and seventy-five thousand in your bank account means, what? I’ve been paying for the pleasure of your company these past three weeks?”
I shrugged. “I have no idea. Only you know the answer to that. And you don’t seem to be sharing.”
Now he looked supremely annoyed. “So should we just drop on the floor and fuck right now?”‘
I brought my chin up and looked him straight in the eyes. “Sure, let’s have at it. Get this over with.”
“Is that what you want? For
it to be over with?”
My mouth opened to shoot the sharp retort on my tongue but nothing came out. I clamped my lips shut. My shoulders shook so I grabbed my arms, crossing them over my chest. My hesitation confused me. Why not just say “yes?” I blinked. Because I didn’t want it to be over. Not yet.
“Why are you drawing this out?” I finally asked, my voice hardly more than a whisper. I was aware that I wanted a certain answer from him. I didn’t know precisely what that answer was. But would he tell me what was going on inside that ultra intelligent brain of his? Or would he pull back into his cold façade again?
“I don’t have to share my reasons with you. I’m the wallet in this deal, remember?”
Yeah. That wasn’t the response I was looking for. Definitely not. Heat crawled up my neck to infuse my cheeks.
“I’m not a call girl. I’m not your mistress. So stop trying to treat me like one.”
“See, you’re doing it again. You’re twisting it into something it isn’t.”
I clenched my teeth. “I’m not moving into your fucking apartment.”
His expression did not change and he didn’t even move. “Tell me why not.”
“I don’t have to share my reasons with you,” I mimicked his words back to him.
“Because you think it means I’m treating you like a mistress?”
I tensed, thinking of my mother’s story. One with a sad ending for someone I loved most in the world. She was young, fresh and naïve. She thought she’d found the man of her dreams. Turned out he’d only used her and then discarded her, leaving her to fend for herself and a baby besides. My hands squeezed my upper arms and I blinked.
“The Biological Sperm Donor did the exact same thing. And that’s exactly what it meant when he did. To make sure my mother was always under his thumb until he was done with her.”
His expression changed, just slightly, as if understanding dawned. Then he shook his head. “I’m not him.”
“I know.”
“No, I really don’t think you do.” Then he lifted his hand to my face, touching my cheek, then back to my ear, until he trailed a finger down my neck to my collarbone. His touch was ice and flame. Thrilling. I trembled under his hand.
He felt it, his eyes darkening. He bent his head until our faces were inches from each other. “I’m never going to give up, you know.”
I tilted my head toward his, our lips less than an inch apart. I peered into his eyes. “Neither am I.” Then I grabbed his tie and pulled his mouth to mine.
When our lips met, it was explosive, a clash of wills, of unrealized anticipation. His hands moved to my shoulders and he pushed me toward the nearest wall, pinning me between it and his hard body, never removing his mouth from mine.
His lips, his tongue devoured me. His body, every delicious, solid contour of it, imprisoned me. His hands slipped from my shoulders, moved down my arms to encircle my wrists. With this hold he pinned my hands against the wall to either side of my head.
I pressed against the resistance—not struggling to break free, but to test the strength of his hold. His hands pushed against mine, then he laced his fingers through mine, fusing our palms flat against each other and holding my hands, like he held my body, against the wall. His tongue explored my mouth, his head moving against mine.
When our lips finally parted, our breath came in short, needy gulps. He pulled back just far enough to pin me down with his stare. “I’m in control, Emilia. Don’t forget it,” he said in a voice like steel.
I was about to reply when he cut me off, sealing his mouth on mine again. I halfheartedly tried to free my hands and he held them fast, his fingers tightening around mine. Like a wildfire catching on dry grass after a hot California summer, scorching heat raced through me.
He pulled away again. “I say when this is through. And I don’t have to tell you my reasons.”
“You asked for one more night. I’ll give it to you. But after that—” He cut me off again, kissing me forcefully. Arousal glowed red-hot deep inside me and his stirred to life against my abdomen.
With an abrupt jerk, he retreated, loosening his hold on my hands. I could free them easily if I wanted to, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to think. I wanted to surrender to the feelings inside me—the ones screaming for control. But like he’d insisted—he was in control, if only for this moment, by pulling himself away. By depriving me of more of his succulent mouth.
He swallowed. “Next week I’m going to the Caribbean on business. I want you to come with me.”
I finally remembered to breathe again. “For some chaste sightseeing, amusing dinner conversation and coitus interruptus?”
The dark eyes glittered, but whether with annoyance or suppressed amusement, I couldn’t tell. “You’ve promised me one more night.”
I knew he had something up his sleeve. He was maneuvering something. My heartbeat buffeted every pulse point in my body.
“That’s more than one night,” I whispered.
His eyes darted a challenge into mine. “Yes.”
“And what happens afterward?” I barely managed to get out.
A long pause while he looked at me. He released my hands but did not move. I slowly lowered them. “I guess we’ll see.” And then he waited, running a hand through his hair, taking a step back.
As usual, he had completely flipped the dynamic between us. I’d walked into that confrontation thinking I had the all the power. And I did. Until he had decided it was enough and wrested it from me as if I was a toddler with a toy she shouldn’t have been holding.
We watched each other for long moments. “You can’t keep doing this,” I said.
“Actually, I can. Say you’ll come, Emilia.”
Oh, I knew Heath would freak when he heard this—if I agreed to go, be gone practically a week. My mom…what would I tell her? She’d call and want to know why I wasn’t getting back to her. And the blog. And my hospital job.
But this would be our last time together. He couldn’t drag it out any longer. And the feelings he was stirring inside me, quite frankly, terrified me. The sooner we were through with this and I was back to my safe, normal life, the better.
My answer came out in a breathy sigh. “I’ll go.”
“Now tell me you are going to move in here,” he said in a deadpan voice.
“No fucking way,” I breathed.
The right corner of his mouth tugged up in a smile. “I figured I’d give it a shot.”
I stuck out my tongue and he laughed.
He checked his watch and backed away suddenly. “We gotta go grab some lunch downstairs. You like Cuban?”
“Floriano’s? Sure.” Heath treated me to Floriano Café when he had the urge for Cuban. I didn’t know whether it had anything to do with his ongoing crush on one of the waiters or his constant craving for a plate of Pork al Habañera.
I followed Adam down the narrow antique stairway, through the glass door and into the alley. He held the door for me and, walking beside me, placed a hand at the small of my back. Every muscle there pulled taut in response to his touch.
We shuffled down the narrow alleyway and past the cigar shop, where old men sat outside blowing sickly sweet smoke into the Plaza, and settled in to one of the metal tables on the sidewalk.
“So tell me, whose idea was it to dress the female characters in Dragon Epoch in armored lingerie?” I said, finally broaching a subject I’d avoided until now—my teasing commentary of his game on my blog.
He glanced at me sidelong from his study of the menu. “I came up with the story concept and the game architecture. I didn’t design the women’s clothes.”
“But you had final approval. Why not throw the poor things in something that will cover up their bare midriffs? How would that armor even help them, anyway?”
“I bow to the overwhelming research provided by my marketing people and the game devs who push the issue constantly. Were it up to me, those poor elf maidens would be covered
from head to toe.”
I smirked. “And would they be as busty as they are now? Who makes bras in Yondareth, anyway?” I said, referring to the fictional world in which Dragon Epoch was situated.
He suppressed a laugh. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
Suddenly the flash of a memory popped up in my mind. All those figurines that William had been painting—most of them had been women! “Shut up—not your cousin!” My mouth dropped in shock.
“Yep. Blame Liam. I’m totally innocent.”
I peered at him. “I could call you many things but ‘innocent’ is not one of them.”
As we talked, a group of people came out of the nearby Starbucks on the corner and one of them stopped when she saw us at our small table.
“Adam?” she said. We looked up. It was Lindsay, of all people, and when her eyes landed on me, they widened.
“Linds,” he said mildly. “How’s the coffee break?”
Without being invited to do so, she grabbed a chair from another table and plunked down in front of us. I glanced at Adam, who looked uncomfortable—probably because I knew their history now. Oh, I could turn this into a thing of beauty. Make Adam suffer a little bit and stick it to this lady with her sneers at my faded jeans and T-shirt.
I scooted my chair closer to Adam’s until they were flush up against each other. Adam cleared his throat. “Lindsay, you remember my friend Emilia?”
“Everyone calls me Mia, actually,” I said, leaning forward to shake her hand with the fakest damn smile I’d ever faked. “Adam was just talking to me about you!” I said sweetly.
Lindsay turned to Adam with a small smile. “All good, I hope.”
He shifted in his seat and I laid my hand on his upper thigh, curling around the inside—like I’d seen couples who were obvious lovers do so many times. I rubbed him there, affectionately, and leaned into his shoulder.
“Oh, of course good! He thinks the world of you,” I said, shooting a worshipful smile at Adam. My hand crept northward.
Adam clamped his hand on top of mine under the guise of holding it, prying it off his leg and lacing his fingers around mine. He brought my hand to his lips and kissed it. The shock of it raced down my arm. “You’re so patient with me, sweetie.”
At Any Price (Gaming The System) Page 19