by Krista Holt
“Hello,” I answer distractedly, trying to find my earrings.
“Reagan. It’s Simmons.”
Damn it. I bite my lip. “How are you?”
“Just checking in,” he says, ignoring my question, “making sure you’re doing all right.”
“I’m fine. But I have to run. Now is not a good time.”
“Okay, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Is there anything new?”
“Sorry, Simmons. I don’t know what to tell you. I really do have to go.” I hang up before he can get another word in, squeezing the phone in my hand. He’s getting more insistent.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold him off. I don’t know what I’m going to do—
A knock on the door silences my thoughts, and I glance at the clock on Becca’s desk. Of course he’s right on time.
I slip on my heels and mentally shove Simmons and all the problems he poses to the side, to think about at a later date. Like never. I grab my purse and then swing the door open.
He doesn’t whistle, or sputter some needless exclamation, but as his eyes travel down my little black dress and four-inch heels, his lips pull into a smirk. I’ve got his attention.
“You look stunning.”
“Thank you.”
My eyes wander over his frame. His dark gray suit and white collared shirt fit him perfectly. The jacket covers his broad shoulders but hangs open as he leans against the doorframe, hands in his pockets.
His lips twitch. “Reagan, knock it off, or we’re never getting out of here.”
I grab my keys off the dresser and purposely brush against him as I slide out the door. “Fine, have it your way.”
With a chuckle, he catches me by the waist. A warm hand nudges my chin up, and his thumb brushes over my bottom lip. “Nice try, sweetheart.” He lowers his head to kiss me. “We can hang out in your dorm room anytime. Tonight, we’re going out.”
“Are you sure? We could stay here, I just got a new thing of microwave popcorn—”
He shocks the next words out of me by picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder.
“Are you insane?” I laugh. “Put me down!”
“Nope.” He pulls my door shut, and carries me down the hall. “You’re being difficult, and I don’t have time for it.” He swats the back of my legs playfully.
“Seriously? Put me down. I’m probably flashing my underwear.”
His hand lands on the back of my upper thighs, holding my dress down. “Problem solved.”
“Problem not solved,” I shout. “You are being ridiculous. I am completely capable of walking on my own.”
“Thanks,” he says to an accomplice who holds the door open for him, ushering us out of the building. “Sweetheart,” he pats the back of my legs again, “you were stalling, and we only have twenty minutes to get there.”
He walks across the front lawn toward the parking lot. Laughter comes from every student we pass, and my face turns a violent shade of red. “Nic! Put me down!”
“Almost there. Hold tight.”
I slap him on the butt, hard.
He chuckles, his shoulders jostling me, before he returns the favor.
“Did you just spank me?”
“Hey, you started it.” He pulls me off his shoulder, dropping me to my feet by the car.
I grab his arm, steadying myself as the blood rushes from my head. “You realize you can’t just haul me around, right?” I glare at him. “You could have explained that you were in a hurry. I would have understood, and been able to walk to the car by myself.”
“I know.” He bends down to steal a kiss. “But that was much more fun.” Reaching around me, he opens the car door and gestures toward the leather seat.
“You’re . . . I,” I stammer.
“Do you need assistance getting in the car, as well? I could help with that.” His lips pull into a smirk.
I shoot him another glare and slide in, slamming the door behind me. He gets in on the other side, and then proceeds to break almost every traffic law to get us wherever it is we’re going.
Fifteen minutes later, he stops the car in front of one of the most exclusive restaurants in the area.
“What are we doing here?” I ask. “This place is ridiculously expensive. We can go somewhere else.”
His phone rings, pulling his attention from me as he glances at the screen. He silences it quickly. “I wanted to take you somewhere special, but it’s nice to know you aren’t with me for my money.”
When I asked early in our relationship, he told me his family was involved in the import and export business, and that they were very successful. Looking at him, it’s easy to tell that he comes from money, like a majority of students at Stanford, but he rarely acts like it. We still go to dollar-beer nights and on the occasional fast food run. The high end Mercedes, though, that’s a dead giveaway.
He opens my door and holds out his hand. I take it, linking my fingers with his as we walk through the front door. The interior is moodily dim as the last bit of sunlight filters through half-drawn curtains. Lit candles flicker atop burgundy tablecloths set with sparkling glasses and gleaming silverware.
The hostess shows us to a table in a secluded alcove where Nic waits for me to sit down before dropping into his seat. Opening the leather bound menu, I notice quickly that it’s printed entirely in Italian. He didn’t.
“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”
The corner of his mouth twitches, giving him away. “Have something against Italians, Reagan?”
“No, just the language and Professor Martin. Which I recall telling you about a few months ago.” He knows Italian 101 wasn’t my best subject. After all, he’d been the one helping me study. Or he’d tried to. I still hadn’t found a use for all those curse words. “Your memory is obviously slipping.”
“I’m not that old,” he says, unable to hide the tightening of his jaw.
I bite my lip, hiding my grin behind the expansive list of appetizers. Our five-year age difference bothers him a little. It isn’t much, but it’s exaggerated by his post-grad status, and of course, by my need to tease him. I’ll never admit that the only reason I rankle his temper is because it usually ends with him growling something about needing to teach me a lesson before shutting me up with a kiss.
“You should probably order for me.” I hand him my menu. “I’d hate to offend them, and I’d rather they didn’t spit in my food. Did you bring your glasses, old man?”
He glares at me, but he can’t hold back his smirk. He signals for the waiter, ordering what I think is a bottle of wine and two of something that includes the word chicken in flawless Italian.
The waiter returns, pouring wine into both of our glasses with practiced precision. He doesn’t spill a drop or ask for my ID. My brow arches in surprise, but Nic just shrugs. “You look older than twenty.”
“That’s a mean thing to say.”
He grins as his fingers nudge the glass into my hand. “I prefer it actually. It makes me feel like less of a cradle robber.”
“You’re hardly robbing the cradle.”
“You’re still young. When you get to be my age, you see things differently.”
“You’re right.” I playfully tilt my head to the side. “Remind me, are you turning twenty-six next year or was it sixty-two?”
He shakes his head. “I worry you’re too quick for me. That you’re too everything for me.”
I slowly set my glass down. “What does that mean?”
“That I don’t deserve you.”
“And here I was thinking you’re too good for me.”
“That’s not the case, trust me.” Dark eyes search my face. “I’ve never met a woman like you. Someone capable of loving me and also putting me in my place when needed is a tall order. Not to mention being smart and beautiful. You’re too good for me. Don’t doubt that.”
His compliment unsettles me, so I say nothing, distracting myself with a sip of wine. He keeps watching me, though.
“You’re staring,” I scold him.
His lips press into a firm line. Leaning across the table, he takes my hand in his. “I want to talk about us—” His phone rings, cutting him off.
He grabs it from his inner-jacket pocket, his forehead wrinkling as he stares at it. “I have to get this. I’ll be back.”
He leaves, weaving around tables and walking down a dark hallway before disappearing from view. I let my back hit the upholstered chair with a sigh.
This has been happening for weeks. He gets a phone call, disappears to answer it, and then sinks into a foul mood. I still can’t figure out who is calling him or what they talk about. Whenever I ask him about the calls, he skillfully dodges my questions. Knowing he’s so obviously hiding things from me makes my insides churn, but I tell myself it’s just the wine hitting my empty stomach. At least, I hope that’s all it is.
The waiter stops by to refill our glasses before leaving me alone. I drain mine and our first course is on the table before Nic returns.
“Sorry about that,” he mutters, picking his drink up and finishing it in one swallow. A scowl etches his face as he stares at the empty glass.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” He motions for our waiter and orders a scotch. Two fingers. Neat.
“Are you sure? I know I haven’t seen you in a few days—”
“A week,” he interrupts me. “You haven’t seen me in a week.”
“Fine.” My gaze narrows. “A week, but if there’s something wrong, you can tell me.”
He levels his gaze at me, keeping me in suspense for a full minute. “We’ve been together for almost a year now. Are you happy?”
“Of . . . of course I am,” I stammer. “Why would you ask that?”
He shrugs. “I can’t always tell what you’re thinking. You’re not that easy to read.”
“What’s going on?” I slide to the edge of my chair, trying to keep my voice down. “You’re worrying me.”
“Nothing,” he replies, leaning back as the waiter sets his drink down. “Everything is fine.”
I wish I could believe him, but the way he swallows the entire contents of the glass tells me he’s lying. “I don’t understand you.”
His eyes close and a heavy sigh slides from his lips. “Don’t do this right now. Not tonight.”
“First, it’s the phone calls. Now, you’re asking me whether I’m happy or not. It’s almost like—” I’m such an idiot. “Are you breaking up with me?” The words tumble out of my mouth like an accusation.
“No. Damn it.” Surprise washes over his face for a split second. “Why would you think that?”
“What am I supposed to think? You’re asking me all these vague questions. You’re getting phone calls at odd hours. You always leave the room to answer them, and you won’t tell me who you’re talking to.” I swallow nervously, searching for the nerve to ask the question that’s been lurking in the back of my mind for weeks. “Is there someone else?”
His head snaps up like I’ve struck him. Dark brown eyes study me, trying to peer inside, trying to figure me out, but he says nothing. Each second that passes sends my heart racing.
“There is no one else.”
“Then what is it?” I wad the napkin from my lap up and slap it on the table. “Because I’ve been wracking my brain for weeks, and I can’t come up with an explanation. All I know is you’re hiding something and I’m done waiting for you to fill me in.” My chair skids back as I stand.
“I came at this wrong. Sit down,” he says, motioning to my seat. “Please.”
“No. I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m going home.” I grab my purse, and head toward the door.
“Reagan. Stop.”
Heads at nearby tables swivel toward us, but I don’t care. I don’t listen to him either. Putting one foot in front of the other, I walk away.
The restaurant door closes behind me and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself.
“Can I help you, miss?” a valet asks.
“I need a cab, please.”
“Of course,” he replies, stepping away.
I’m fumbling for my wallet when someone grabs my arm, spinning me around.
“What are you doing?” Nic glares at me.
I try to jerk my arm free, but he doesn’t budge. “I told you. I’m leaving.”
“Excuse me, miss,” the valet interrupts us, almost withering under Nic’s glare, “it’ll be about thirty minutes for a cab to arrive.”
“You can cancel it,” Nic snaps. “She has a ride.” Piercing me with his gaze, he silently challenges me to defy him. I don’t, and the man shuffles away from us, taking his reply as the final say.
I can’t say that I blame him. Nic’s intimidating when he’s angry. But I’m not afraid of him. He’s never given me a reason to be. In fact, I know he likes it when I push back, when I fight with him. I’m just too raw to do it now.
His dark eyes scour over my face. “I’m going to pay the bill. I expect you to be here when I get back.” His hand drops from my arm. “Don’t make me chase you, Reagan. I will if I need to.”
CHAPTER 3
Silence sits between us like an awkward third passenger.
He hasn’t said a word since he came back out of the restaurant. Neither have I. I want to, but it doesn’t seem right, so I keep my mouth shut until he passes the off-ramp for Stanford. “You passed the exit.”
He glances over at me. “I know.”
“Then where are we going?” I’m in no mood for any more surprises. I just want to forget tonight ever happened.
“My place. We obviously have things to discuss.”
He parks in front of his loft apartment, and keeps a hand on my lower back until we’re safely inside. “I need a drink,” he says before heading to the kitchen. “You want one?”
“No.” I set my purse on the entry table.
“Have a seat.”
“A please would be nice,” I mutter under my breath, toeing off my heels before I wander around his place.
Normally his apartment is where we can be alone, no roommates and no other distractions, but tonight I would welcome one. Everything is too fragile. Like one wrong word might bring it all down around us.
A sharp laugh turns me around just as he shakes his head. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re worth all the trouble you give me.”
“And?” I cross my arms over my chest, tilting my chin up.
He stalks toward me, drink in one hand and the other rubbing his chin. “Every time I ask myself that, the answer is always, overwhelmingly, yes.”
I breathe a sigh of relief as his arm wraps around my waist. He pulls me against him, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“Now,” he sighs, “can we talk about what a shitshow dinner was?”
He steps away, dropping onto the couch with another heavy sigh. “Reagan?” His hand impatiently taps the spot next to him.
He waits for me to comply before he continues. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said at dinner. I am happy, very happy with you. I want to make sure you’re happy though. Things are going to change moving forward. It’s not going to be as easy as it has been.”
“I know.”
“If you want out, if this is too hard for you,” he pauses, “I would understand. I would let you go.”
“I don’t want that,” I say hurriedly. “Do you?”
“No.” He takes a deep breath, looking at me. “But you should remember that I gave you the chance to be free of me.”
“You’re being cryptic. Even for you, that was vague.”
“I know.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders, tugging me gently to him.
“What’s this about? What happened to you at dinner? Who was on that call?”
There’s a second of silence before he replies. “Family.”
Oh. “Is everything okay?”
“It will be.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No
,” he says firmly. “I’d rather keep you away from them.”
“Why is that?”
“I didn’t—”
“I mean,” I interrupt him, “what is so bad about your family?”
He tilts my chin up with his finger until his eyes meet mine. “Why are you so interested in this?”
“No reason. I guess I want to know you better.”
“You know me better than anyone else.” His thumb traces my jaw. “Let that be enough for now. Drop this, please.”
“Fine. I will. For now, but—”
“I know, I know.” His head falls back, and his eyes close as he grimaces. “Eventually, you’re going to want an explanation.”
“I think you owe me that.”
“I do. Someday.”
I rest my head on his chest, taking his words for what they are. A concession. One I need. I can’t be alone in this.
“I need to know you trust me implicitly, Reagan,” he breaks into my thoughts. “We’re not going to be seeing each other and as much as it kills me to have you out of my sight, I need to know that you trust me. You know I will always put your interests above mine, right?”
“I know.”
“I’m yours, for as long as you want me. No matter what comes.”
My eyes close as I soak in his words. I need to hear them. I need to have that reassurance. Nic falls silent, running his fingers through my hair. His hands move over my head, my neck and down my arms. Like he needs to touch me, to feel me.
I catch one of his hands in mine and interlace my fingers with his. “I love you, you know.”
“I love you too.” He lightly kisses my temple.
We have plenty more we need to discuss. There are things I need to tell him, but we have time. He’s not supposed to leave for another three weeks. We can talk later. Right now, I just want to sit quietly with him.
“I think I’m going to fall asleep.” I shift a little in his arms, trying to get comfortable.
“That’s fine. I got nowhere else to be.” His chin rests on the top of my head. “For now.”
The sound of a ringing phone pulls my eyes open some time later. Nic shifts me gently off of him and reaches for his phone.
“Yeah.”
Grabbing his arm, I check the time on his watch. 2:23 a.m. I need to get back to the dorm.