by Colet Abedi
But she wants more.
More.
What I can give her now is not enough.
Maybe I had read it all wrong?
She was a virgin when I met her.
Never experiencing any other man but me.
Maybe she’s scared and wants to have the freedom to go out and do her thing.
Fuck that.
“Clayton?” her sweet voice breaks through my torturous thoughts.
“Let me take you back to your place,” I all but bark out.
My temper is volatile, I know, and I just need some space before I unleash hell.
I hear her walking up to me. My muscles tense when she places her hand on my arm. God. Here I am, getting hard from just a small touch from her.
Again.
Christ.
“We can talk about it there,” she rushes out in a worried voice.
Talk?
Oh baby, I’m so done talking about it.
“The conversation is over,” I say with finality.
I glance over and see the hurt come over her green eyes.
Fuck.
I shield myself from that look. She was the one who just rejected what I was offering. I have no desire to discuss why she doesn’t want to live with me.
“What does that mean?” She asks in a quiet voice.
I look over at her.
“Exactly what you think it does,” my voice is brutal, I know. Sophie acts like I’ve struck her. She steps away from me and nods curtly.
I want to reach out and pull her into my arms and take the hurt away. It takes all my willpower to ignore the urge. I’m tired of this woman turning me into someone I don’t even recognize.
“Alright, then,” she says.
“Alright.” I return, mimicking her tone.
I turn and start to walk out of the penthouse I thought would make her happy. But no, this twenty million dollar home is not enough for Sophie Walker.
She wants more.
And that more isn’t something I don’t even know if I’m even capable of giving a woman.
Even one I’m addicted to.
“You’re reading this all wrong,” she goes on.
I stop, suddenly more furious than before.
“Am I?” I ask as I stop in the foyer and look down at her upturned face. “And how the hell do you think I should read into your reaction?”
She shrugs.
“Not like this.”
I almost laugh.
Except it’s not funny.
It’s pathetic.
All of it.
My irrational, emotional connection to this woman. The fact that I left my family, my job even, and have been sitting out here with my thumb up my ass for months, and for what?
Rejection.
It’s a hard pill to swallow.
Especially when I’ve never tasted something so bitter before in my life.
“I just want to get out of here,” I command. “I’ll drop you off at your place.”
“Drop me off?” her voice says it all.
“Yes, Sophie.” I tell her coldly.
“You’re not staying with me?” She asks.
“Not tonight.”
I’m not one to drown my sorrows in alcohol, scotch, to be exact, but I find myself doing just that in the bar of the Peninsula Hotel in Beverly Hills. I dropped Sophie off without a word and she had quietly exited the car.
I knew she was on the verge of tears. I could see it in her eyes but fuck that, I’m the one who should be hurt. Not her. That’s what is most galling. And humiliating. Suddenly I feel like the woman in the relationship. Staying away from her is the best thing I can do.
“This is a sad state of affairs,” I look up in surprise as my brother Michael takes a seat right next to me at the bar.
“What the bloody hell are you doing here?” I ask.
“Is that any way to greet your baby brother?” Michael sounds amused.
“How did you even find me?” I ask.
“I have my ways,” he says then nods at my drink.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“What makes you say that?” I reply drolly.
“I don’t know,” Michael says with a smile. “Drinking alone at a bar in the afternoon.”
I’m silent.
“Or the way you’re staring at your glass of scotch like you want to murder it,” my brother continues.
I motion to the bartender.
“He needs a double,” I tell him. “And I’ll take another.”
“Or perhaps the fact that you didn’t even get up off that stool to give your brother a proper hello after he took a twelve-hour flight to come and see you.”
Michael is clearly amused. Lucky for him the bartender brings our drinks before I can smash his face in.
I hand him his.
“Nice to see you,” I say with a grim smile.
“Cheers,” Michael replies and throws it back. “It looks like I have some catching up to do.”
I shrug.
“Why are you here?”
“Nice to see you too,” I don’t miss the sarcastic tone in his voice.
“Get over it,” I’m in no mood.
“Maybe I missed you?” I can hear the amusement in his tone.
“Try again,” I retort.
Michael leans in on the bar and faces me.
“How about I wanted to see you in this new element of yours. All tamed and so unlike the brother I’ve grown up with and come to know,” his voice is teasing. “And just to be completely transparent, I was bloody curious to see the domestication of the wolf.”
To receive a ribbing from my brother is just rich. And more than I can handle. My mood darkens considerably.
“Be careful, Michael.” I warn. “I’m in no frame of mind to be trifled with.”
“Are you going to tell me?” I can see it’s costing him everything not to laugh in my face.
Hell.
I don’t blame him.
I want to laugh at me.
My brothers and I have always been very private about our lives. We never talked about our relationships as siblings did in most families. Perhaps it was because no woman was ever worth mentioning, coupled with our upbringing, we just always kept to ourselves.
“Fuck off,” I reply but then to my surprise I proceed to tell my brother about the argument I just had with Sophie.
We order another round of drinks, and I’m suddenly grateful for the company and to have someone who knows me so well as a sounding board.
When I’m done explaining, I wait for Michael to rip into me. I’m surprised when it doesn’t happen.
Instead, he looks contemplative.
Thoughtful, even.
My brother is just as bad as I am when it comes to the female sex and I can’t believe he hasn’t laughed his face off.
If the tables were turned, I sure as hell would.
“I see her point,” Michael finally says after much deliberation.
Bloody hell.
“You do realize what you’re saying to me?” I state the obvious.
“She’s a woman,” Michael shrugs. “They all want to get married. It’s in their DNA. I can appreciate the fact that she doesn’t want to move in with her boyfriend and wants to save that intimacy for her future husband.”
Future husband.
Christ.
Just the thought of Sophie sharing her life with another man, makes me see red.
No fucking way.
“So you’re telling me to propose?” I ask in utter disbelief.
“Hell no!” Michael almost spurts out his drink. “I’m just saying that I understand her dilemma.”
“You understand it?” I all but shout. “I’m offering her more than I’ve ever offered any woman in my life! And she still wants more. Goddamn, woman. I just need to stay the hell away from her. She’s driving me mad.”
Michael pins me with his gaze.
“She didn’t really ask you for it, did
she?”
“No,” I retort. “But it was implied.”
My brother is silent then sighs.
“You’re fucked,” Michael lets out a whistle. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“She’s making me crazy,” I admit quietly. “The woman has turned me into a goddamn Hallmark card.”
“What the hell is that?” Michael asks.
“Never mind.” I say then change the topic looking for a distraction. “How is our mother?”
“As well as can be expected,” Michael returns. “And in case you care, father is a mess.”
I don’t pity him. I still blame him for William’s accident. Had my brother not stayed the extra hours to finish up a contract for our father he would still be here today.
“I’m not interested in how that man is feeling,” I reply coldly.
“At some point, you’re going to have to let it go,” Michael tells me. “It was an accident, Clayton. An accident. And for better or worse he’s the only father you have.”
I choose not to respond.
“How’s Abigail?” I change the topic again, looking for one that will not annoy me.
“I’m sure you know she finally regained brain function and called it off with the Russian.”
“I heard,” I admit. “She’s become email pen pals with Sophie and told her the news. I can’t say that I’m disappointed.”
“I offered her a job,” Michael says to my surprise.
“What?”
My brother shrugs aloofly.
“She’s taken a job as a barista at a coffee shop in Piccadilly Square of all places,” Michael says. “She’s a mess at it. I thought working for me might be good for her.”
I take another sip of my drink.
“I gather she rejected your generous offer?”
“Her exact words were, no fucking way,” Michael sounds annoyed.
I find my first smile.
“Abby cussed you out?”
“She has no sense,” Michael says angrily. “Some of the things she does— sometimes I think she must have fallen and hit her head as a child.”
I roar with laughter.
Michael doesn’t think it’s as funny as I do. I wonder why my brother is so pissed about it.
“It’s her life,” I remind him.
“She has no business running it herself,” Michael returns.
“Why are you so riled up?” I question. “What’s it to you?”
“It’s nothing to me,” Michael says defensively. “I’m just concerned.”
“It’s not your problem,” I state the obvious.
My brother doesn’t seem too thrilled by my comment. I wonder if there’s more to it then he’s telling me.
We both stare at our drinks and sulk. I finally break the silence.
“Do you want to talk about any of this?” I ask him.
“Not a bit,” he responds.
“Perfect. Are you hungry?”
“Always,” Michael returns.
“Let’s grab dinner.”
After a late night of complete overindulgence, I checked Michael into The Beverly Wilshire Hotel and called my secretary and made the arrangements to have furniture brought to my new home the next day. She knew what I liked and offered to send an interior decorator out to me, but I only wanted the bare minimum. I chose to further torture myself and stay at the penthouse I thought I’d be sharing with Sophie.
I check my phone for the millionth time and see there is still no message or voicemail waiting for me from Sophie. There’s a part of me that half expects her to text or call me and apologize.
Wishful fucking thinking, Sinclair.
I’ll be damned if I’m the first to reach out.
No way in hell.
One minute later I reach for my phone and text her.
Chapter 4
Sophie
I hear a ding on my phone.
I lift my head from my pillow and stare at the clock. It’s two am. I’ve been half-asleep for only thirty-five minutes. I’m surprised I can even see anything from the pounding going on in my head from all the alcohol I consumed tonight. And pizza. My very own large pepperoni and mushroom pizza.
For once I didn’t call Erik or Orie to burden them with my problem. Instead, I chose alcohol and food as company. I came home, opened another bottle of wine, which now I know was not such a good idea, turned on Bridget Jones Diary and proceeded to drink and eat my way through the movie.
Why couldn’t Clayton be like Mr. Darcy, I thought to myself? Why did he have to be so-so--
What? Perfect?
Ugh!
He is Mr. Fucking Darcy, Sophie! In all of his incredible freaking glory. The man asked you to move in with him. To share a freaking crazy penthouse that is too unbelievable for words, and you basically just crapped on his parade.
I hate my inner voice.
With a passion.
I decide to fight back.
Really? Is it normal to leave like a brat after you have a fight with your girlfriend and don’t get your way? Only spoiled little children behave that way!
For once my inner voice is quiet.
I pick up my phone and my heart pounds when I see the text message is from Clayton. I’m shocked he reached out. It’s really the last thing I thought he would do tonight. I pick up my phone and read it quickly.
CLAYTON: I’m cooling above.
Huh?
What does that even mean?
Maybe he’s cooling down which means we’ll be able to talk about it in the morning? The thought gives me hope.
I respond in seconds.
SOPHIE: You know how to reach me.
I watch the message bubble come up on the iPhone, which indicates he’s typing back to me, but then it shows he’s deleting it. Then writing again.
And then nothing.
What the hell?
I stare at the phone, silently willing words to conjure up on the screen.
Anything.
But no.
Clearly, this isn’t my lucky day. I stare for a few minutes longer and when nothing appears I put the phone down and roll over to sleep on the side of the bed that Clayton’s been occupying since he arrived with me in Los Angeles.
Don’t cry.
Don’t you dare cry.
Jesus.
Here come the tears.
Ugly ones too.
Goddamnit! Why can’t I stay strong? And just angry? I should be furious with him for behaving this way.
Instead, I’m scared. If he leaves me…what will I do?
Then it’s his freaking loss! My inner voice suddenly grows a pair.
I think back to the events of the day. I should have been so happy. So flattered. Why did I react the way I did? It should be everything I want, right? Since I set eyes on this man, I’ve been addicted. Obsessed. Wanting him in every which way. He broke my heart. Put it back together. And made my dreams come true.
Why did I have to go and ruin everything?
A dark thought hits me.
Had I self-sabotaged my own happiness?
Was I my own dream killer?
If the shoe fits-
Shut up! I wasn’t talking to you!
Clearly.
I’m so immersed in my own misery that I don’t hear the door to my bedroom open. My body tenses when the mattress sinks down next to me.
The smell of alcohol hits me hard.
I know it’s Clayton.
He’s the only one who has a key to my place besides Erik.
“Baby,” his voice is the best thing I’ve ever heard. Granted, he sounds drunk, but still. I’ll take it.
I rub my eyes with my hands and am more than grateful the lights aren’t on.
A second later my heart sinks when I hear him fumble with the night light on my bedside table.
Crap.
I keep my face buried in the pillow.
“I know you’re awake,” he tells me.
I remain silent. I’m
afraid to face him. I know what I must look like, while he on the other hand, even if he’s obliterated, will undoubtedly look perfect.
“Sophie,” he presses on.
“I’m awake,” I mumble into the pillow. “I thought you were cooling down?”
I reference his earlier text to me.
“What?” he says sounding surprised. “I told you I was coming over.”
Damn auto-correct!
I would have showered and scrubbed my face!
Argh!
“Look at me,” he commands.
Since I’d rather just face the music and have him see me in all of my hideous glory, I just roll over and look at him.
He’s quiet as he takes in the sad state of affairs.
“Why are you crying?”
Really? Can he be that clueless?
“Ummm,” I begin dryly. “Why do you think?”
He begins to unbutton his shirt and I pray for willpower. I keep my eyes on his and avoid staring at his glorious, drool-worthy chest.
He doesn’t answer me.
Instead, he proceeds to take off all of his clothes.
I try to invoke Jedi-Master mind powers and pretend like his naked body does nothing to my libido or sanity.
His pants fall to the floor.
My mouth goes dry.
Shit.
It’s not working!
“I’m smashed,” he tells me as he runs his hand through his hair. “I just need to sleep.”
Just sleep?
I’m devastated.
“I thought you weren’t coming here tonight?” I challenge.
“I changed my mind,” his voice sounds aloof. He flicks the light off and crawls into bed with me.
Turns his back to be exact, and proceeds to go to sleep. What the hell? I sit up in outrage.
“You can’t just do that,” I mutter in anger.
“I’m doing it,” he replies.
“We need to talk-”
“Tomorrow.”
And with that his breathing becomes steady and I realize he is actually about to fall asleep! I stare at his chiseled back and fight the urge to trace my hands down the lines of his muscles.
Get a grip, Sophie.
He’s drunk.
Way more than you.
You can’t take advantage of a drunk man.
Who says?
Finally, my inner voice gives me something I can work with. I suck up what little courage I have left and begin to lightly move my fingertips along his back. I can feel his muscles tense up in response.