Unbroken

by Aria Ford

  “I can't believe you remembered,” I said gently.

  “Of course I did.”

  I grinned at her. I was really touched. She smiled back. Under the table, our knees touched. I drew in a surprised breath.

  Oh my. I tried not to think about the feel of her knee on mine. But it was hard. My body was receiving a thousand complex messages, all of which were making me want to leap across the table and kiss those pink, moist lips.

  “I thought I remembered a lot about you,” she added, frowning.

  “Sorry?” I asked. I wasn't sure if I'd heard her properly.

  “I thought I remembered you. But it seems like I was wrong about you all along.”

  I put down the remains of the wrap I was eating and frowned at her. “Why do you think that?”

  She snorted. “Look at you.”

  I did. My eyes traveled briefly from my Pierre Cardin lace-ups to my Levis, to my shirt – the only thing I was wearing that wasn't branded – and then down to my Rolex.

  “I'm wearing a lot of branded clothing,” I said hesitantly. “I couldn't afford that at college. I'm not that different.”

  She sighed. “It's not that. You're a lawyer. You can afford it. I understand that.”

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “It's...” she sighed. “Never mind. If I have to tell you, I guess you won't understand.”

  I tried to smile. “I'm not that different inside the clothes.”

  She caught my eye and blushed. “Oh.”

  I felt a wash of heat through my body. I let my knee press against hers. She looked into my eyes, leaning a little forward on the table. I could just see her cleavage over the low-cut sweater neckline and my loins started to throb painfully.

  “Will I see you for coffee tomorrow?” I asked. “We had a bet.”

  She chuckled. “Maybe,” she said.

  “You don't have my number,” I remembered suddenly.

  “No,” she replied. I felt a moment's panic – what if she said she didn't want my number? Then, to my immense relief, she pulled out her phone. “What is it?”

  I gave her my number. She gave me hers.

  “See you tomorrow, then?” I asked as she reached for her bag.

  “We'll see.”

  We paid for the lunch after that and as we walked out together, her standing close to me, I had the feeling that maybe things were going to go well for me after all.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ainsley

  I went back home feeling strangely disconnected. I had loved seeing Drake and spending time with him. And discovering he was still vegetarian, at least, had been a funny kind of relief.

  It's been eight years and we still do exactly what we always did.

  That was the weirdest part. How quickly the past eight years had gone ceased to be important, replaced by the joy we took from being together again.

  “I wonder if we should go for coffee?”

  I asked it of my reflection on the way past the mirror. I shrugged. Why not? But did I really want to go opening all this up again? All this hurt?

  I sat down on the sofa with my feet up and considered the problem. As I sat there, I heard my phone make a message noise.

  Could it be..? I checked. Sure enough, it was Drake.

  Hi Ainsley. I hope you're not mad at me. See you for coffee at Roast and Ready tomorrow?

  I felt my heart start to beat faster. I was excited, despite my misgivings about Drake. I messaged back. Great. Eleven am? It's my treat. You won the bet.

  I sent it and then wondered if I was being too candid too soon. After all, this new Drake wasn't the guy I remembered. Or was he? I was actually too curious to miss the opportunity of seeing him again.

  In a few seconds a reply flashed back.

  Awesome. See you then.

  I felt my cheeks lift in a big smile.

  At ten-forty the next day I was driving down the road, worrying yet again if my hair looked right. I'd tried something a bit different – a kind of plaited bun that I was hoping was sophisticated and un-frumpy. Come on, A. You look fine. Let go of that rubbish Keith said. I was doing my best to do that. I had dressed in a new cream blouse, smart slacks and a tan leather jacket. With all that and the hairstyle, I was aiming for a sophisticated but simple elegance. I glanced in the rear-view mirror, hoping I'd managed that.

  “Roast and Ready...here we go,” I glanced at my GPS as it directed me down Flagler Street and to the place in question. “Right. Now where to park?”

  Fifteen minutes later, my heart in my stomach, I was standing on the doorstep of the stylish modern cafe, looking to see if I could spot Drake.

  Stay cool, Ainsley.

  My hands were sweating and my heart was thumping and I felt as if all the butterflies in Florida had taken residence inside my tummy. All the same, I would have to look cool, calm and collected. I took a deep breath and headed over the threshold. Looking for Drake.

  There!

  I spotted a head of curly black hair in the back, bent over an iPad. I licked dry lips, stilled my beating heart and headed across the floor toward the table.

  “Hello?”

  Drake looked up absently. Then he saw me and smiled. He was wearing a semi-formal suit, jeans and a cardigan. He looked amazing.

  “Hi,” he said. He stood and shook my hand and we sat down.

  I looked around at the other stylish-looking patrons, composing my thoughts. Journalists swapping leads, businesspeople taking a break and a magazine-issue family. The place was quiet and genuine. A nice choice.

  “It's a nice day,” I commented, inclining my head toward the windows on my right.

  “Yeah.” Drake smiled at me in that special way he had – eyes crinkled at the corners, brown depths glowing softly. “Glad you could make it.”

  “I'm glad too,” I said. Dammit, my throat was getting tight again and my tummy all fluttery.

  “Ready to order?” The waiter said, rescuing me temporarily from my awkwardness. Why did the infernal man across me have to be so stunning? It was distracting.

  “Um, yeah.” Drake looked at me and I nodded. “Two cappuccinos, please.”

  It was only after the waiter had gone that I glanced sideways at Drake. “You remembered,” I said.

  He laughed. “Of course I remembered,” he said softly. “How could I forget the sight of you with cappuccino foam on the end of your nose?”

  I felt my heart melt. “You remember that?”

  “Of course,” he nodded. “You were so mad at me.”

  “Only because you left it there!” I was laughing now, the memory as clear as if it had been yesterday. “I walked around town like that for a couple hours before I saw it in the mirror.”

  “I couldn't tell you – it was too cute.”

  We both laughed at the memory. I had blown up at him and refused to talk to him for about fifteen minutes, and then we had looked at each other and both burst out laughing. It had been a lovely day. And then that night we had...

  I stopped. I very much didn't want to think about that now. Didn't want to remember lying under him on the bed with him thrusting slowly into me, seeking out all my special spots with his slow, careful penetration. It had been the most amazing night. My body still shivered at the thought of it.

  “Ainsley?”

  “Uh...what?” I asked. My voice was hoarse and I cleared my throat, frustrated with myself.

  “I just wanted to ask if you were working this week?”

  “Um, no,” I said. The waiter appeared and left the cappuccinos in front of us, bringing two nice-looking cookies as well. He seemed to sense our closeness for he disappeared without a word.

  “Oh.” Drake smiled. “Well, then. If you're not busy, could I tempt you to a dinner?”

  I stared at him. Swallowed on a throat gone dry with sudden excitement. “I don't see why not,” I said, with an attempt at coyness. He laughed.

  “Well, then. That's settled. Tonight at seven-thirty. At The Drover?” />
  “Sure,” I nodded. “I've heard good things about that place.”

  “It's very good,” he said, taking his coffee and taking a big sip, sighing appreciatively. “Ah. That's really great.”

  He took his teaspoon and ate a little of the foam and I tried hard not to watch the spoon disappear between those well-shaped, mobile lips. I tried even harder not to imagine them clamped on my nipple, as they had been in the past, but I failed. My whole body shivered at the thought.

  “It's a work-related thing?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming sexiness of the man.

  “Um, no,” he said, setting the spoon aside with a click on the saucer. “I just wanted to see you.”

  “Oh.”

  I felt my body glow with pleasure. I wanted to see him too, I realized. So much. I wanted to bring him back into my life. But I also wanted to understand what he'd done with his life.

  Just then, his phone rang. He looked at it, then frowned. “Sorry, Ainsley,” he said. “I got to take this.”

  “Sure,” I said, shrugging. He headed outside with the phone. I couldn't hear anything he said, but as I watched him through the long window onto the sidewalk I could see his posture was hunched and worried.

  I wonder what that's all about. Probably some issues with his clients.

  I let my mind wander as I sat there with my cappuccino held loosely between my hands. I allowed myself to contemplate, just a little, those wonderful memories of being with Drake. The sweet naughty things he did to me with his hands and tongue and mouth. The way he had held me as if I was precious and valuable. The way he kissed me with such passion and pushed inside me with all the longing I could imagine.

  I sighed aloud. One of the customers looked at me oddly and I flushed with delicious shame.

  I was still sipping my coffee – trying to make it last – when he came back. He smiled in my direction but I could see he was worried about something. His eyes had that hooded look and his jaw was set.

  “Sorry about that,” he repeated, drawing back his chair and sitting down opposite me. “Something came up at work. Something urgent.”

  “Is it bad?” I asked, feeling a sudden sadness. “I mean – should you go deal with it now, or something?”

  “No,” he said with a big sigh. “It's not that bad. I don't think it's something that deserves my Sunday. Especially not this one.”

  I felt a glow of warmth, like a candle was burning in my chest, melting my insides. “Oh.” I smiled.

  He nodded as if he'd read my mind. “Indeed.”

  Lifting his cappuccino, he took a big drink and then set it down. He smiled at me. I could see he was trying not to laugh.

  “What?” I said indignantly, though my cheeks were also lifting in a grin.

  “Should I tell you?” he asked, his lopsided smile warming my heart. “Or should I just fix it?”

  He fished into his pocket for a tissue and, reaching across, dabbed my nose. I felt my heart soften and then I was laughing too, though it was a laughter tinged with nostalgia.

  “Oh, Drake,” I sighed when he had finished. “It's been too long.”

  “Yes,” he said with a smile. “It has.”

  We sat looking at each other for about a minute and the whole cafe could have caught on fire just then – I don't think either of us would have noticed. There was so much to say and no words to say it – just the look was enough.

  “So,” he said raggedly. “I'll see you tonight, will I?”

  I swallowed. “Yes.”

  We finished our coffee and ate the cookies. Crumbly and buttery, they were remarkably good. I felt relieved as it took the edge off my hunger. Not that my hunger for something else wasn't suddenly growing and building inside me. I wondered idly if I'd ever have the chance to satisfy that one.

  “Ainsley?” he said softly.

  I flushed, worrying that perhaps he had read my mind and seen all the naughty things I was imagining right then. “What?”

  “Shall we get the bill?”

  I laughed. “Don't you dare, Mr. Leblanc. I'm paying. It was my bet, remember?”

  He smiled at me with peculiar sweetness. “Okay,” he said. “If you insist.”

  “I do.”

  We hailed the waiter and he came over and I paid. Drake laughed. Then, with my soul soaring, we headed out together onto the sidewalk.

  Outside, Drake turned toward me.

  “See you tonight?” he asked.

  I gulped. This was the closest he'd stood to me in eight years. He took his hand in mine and I didn't resist.

  “Yeah,” I said softly. “See you then.”

  He nodded and leaned closer and for a heart-stopping moment I thought he was going to kiss me. Then he turned quickly away, heading up the sidewalk.

  I watched those broad shoulders disappear into the crowd and felt a tingle building up deep inside my belly, lifting and growing and spreading right through me. I was going on a date with Drake after all.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Drake

  I left the apartment at seven, my nerves frayed and my heart thudding. As I walked down the stairs and to the underground parking area I found my mind running down several trains of thought at once, something it hadn't done since my bar exam.

  Is Ainsley going to think I look okay? Will she like the restaurant? What the hell am I going to do about Liam? Does anyone suspect me?

  I sighed. Took a deep breath. Then I looked for my car. I found it eventually – I was feeling so scattered and nervous I could barely remember where I'd left it – then I slid into the driver's seat and pulled away.

  The company car – a magnificent BMW 2-series coupe – was one of my favorite perks from my job. Yes, I was here to expose corruption, and I was steadily doing it. But I couldn't help the fact that I had to dress the part. At least, that was my excuse and I was sticking to it. I did feel a bit guilty – I was, after all, profiting from the thing I was trying to fight. I had made a mental promise to myself to sell the Rolex, the expensive shoes, the swag – if I came out of this job a free man. But for the moment, I had to admit I enjoyed it.

  And now I get to share it with Ainsley.

  My heart beat with a mixture of excitement and anxiety as I pulled away smoothly up the street, looking for her apartment.

  When I found the place – a multistory block in a surprisingly quiet neighborhood – I leaned against the steering-wheel a moment or two to collect my thoughts.

  If I play my cards right, I might be lucky tonight. The thought made my heart thump with excitement. I drew in another breath to control it. Whoa, big boy, I told myself crossly. She's not gonna go there. She doesn't trust me that much yet. I don't blame her.

  I sighed and got out of the car, giving the seats a cursory look-round as I did so, to check everything was clean and presentable in there. Then I headed up the stairs to find the bell. She was number forty-two, or so she'd said in her message earlier. I held my breath and pushed.

  “Hello?”

  Her sweet voice drifting down the intercom was reassuring. “It's me,” I called.

  “Okay. Come in,” said a sultry voice.

  I felt a surprising stab of arousal as she said that. Dammit, was she torturing me on purpose? I sighed. If she was, I likely deserved that too. I had been bad to her. I should have at least let her know I was back in the country.

  The buzzer let me in and I headed up to the lift. “Forty-two,” I said aloud, stabbing the number into the keypad. Then I closed my eyes and tried to relax. I scratched around the white collar of my shirt, feeling sweaty and nervous. Dammit – do I smell? I hope not. I breathed in experimentally, but all I could smell was Brut cologne. Good.

  She opened the door to me. I stared at her. “Uh, hi,” I said.

  In a knee-length dress of lace or crochet – how would I know – with that lovely blonde hair loose about her shoulders and a pair of subtle gold earrings, she looked stunning. I found my eye drawn to the square of cleava
ge at her neck and took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “Hi,” she said shyly. “Shall we go?”

  “If you're ready,” I shrugged. Dammit – I felt like I was breathing through treacle and, as she turned, dainty on those little high-heels, I felt my cock start to swell.

  I cleared my throat and waited for her to appear, a brief cardigan slung over one arm, small handbag hung stylishly off the other shoulder.

  “Let's go,” I said.

  She giggled and smiled up at me, her lips pale pink and wet with some sort of gloss that made my poor dick ache just looking at her little pink tongue lapping out against them.

  “Let's,” she said.

  We headed into the lift.

  When the door closed I leaned back on the wall. I was aching to touch her, to pull that sweetly-rounded body into my arms and push those lips apart with my tongue. But I couldn't. She didn't want me to. Not yet.

  I coughed and focused on the wall of the lift opposite. It seemed to take far too long to go down but eventually we reached the bottom and the doors opened. Ping. We went out.

  “Wow,” she said, looking at my car. She looked at me and raised a brow. “Great wheels.”

  I blushed, feeling at once proud and vaguely embarrassed. “Company car,” I managed in a strangled voice. “Not mine.”

  “Well, it's nice, anyway,” she said. She let me open the door for her and slid in. I fought not to stare at her long, smooth leg as she showed all the way to her thigh climbing in, then swiveled, arranging her skirts carefully over her knees.

  “Thanks,” I managed.

  I slid in beside her. In close confines, I could smell the herbal scent of her shampoo and the sweet smell of her perfume, something light and floral that I associated with her. I clenched the wheel with my fists, resisting the urge to reach across and slide my hand along that pale thigh.

  We reached the restaurant in silence, more or less. Besides pleasantries about the weather, I couldn't really think of anything to say. My mind was a wasteland, all thoughts driven out of it by my immense desire and rapidly erecting cock.

  In the restaurant, we were led to the table I'd booked. The Drover was the restaurant on the second floor of a particularly posh hotel, and I'd chosen it to be impressive, let's face it. All the same I felt a mix of pride and nervousness as Ainsley walked in beside me. Would she like it?