Threads Of Desire (Creative Hearts Book 3)

by K. M. Jackson

  Nick felt his jaw clench and everything in him go tight. He swallowed and blinked back tears. His father had drunk himself into a stupor, his liver giving out not long after mom’s heart did. At least, there was some justice if you could call it that. Nick didn’t know anymore. He didn’t even know if he cared. What was the use, anyway? It was too dangerous to care.

  But being around Gabby made him forget that momentarily. Nick let out a sigh and was pissed at himself for it. He wasn’t the sighing type. With her, there was too much potential for loss and he wasn’t about to do that to either of them. Better to have a life of passing acquaintances than a lifetime of hurting the one you love. He only wanted to see light in her eyes—never that type of pain that he knew with him was inevitable.

  She, more than anyone, made him think of comfort and home and family—all that he fought so hard to distance himself from. Nick closed his eyes as the pain of the past came crashing to the present. He still felt it. Felt how real it was when his father would drink and be mad at the world when yet another job didn’t come through or another bill was past due, and he’d look at Nick and see himself—only twenty years younger and still full of hope. Yeah, he’d never once let the opportunity go by to not throw in his son’s face how he was just like him, top to bottom, and his legacy would live on. Well, Nick was going to prove him wrong. He just had to stay on his game—and that meant securing his partnership, making it in this business, in this city, and yes, having the right woman at his side. Preferably one where there was a mutual admiration and respect, but a love where he could lose his heart and, worse yet, she could? No, that he couldn’t handle.

  With someone like that, someone like her, he’d be off his game and off his hustle.

  “Don’t you think you should be packing it in?”

  Nick looked up, startled to hear the voice at his door. It was Chuck Barker, another associate at the firm.

  “You make us regular twelve-hour-a-day working stiffs look bad,” Chuck said.

  Nick chuckled, fighting to come out of his dark mood and into the here and now. “Yeah, I’m going home soon. Just shutting down.”

  Home. Home to Gabby. The thought gave him a lump in his throat.

  “Well, you’d better get a move on.” Chuck said. “They’re talking the possibility of power outages. I’d get to wherever you need to get to and make sure you have the necessary supplies, if you know what I mean.” He raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I heard about you and Claire. That’s tough, but I know some girls that could get your mind right, right quick.”

  Nick shook his head. “Nah, man, you have at it.”

  Chuck shrugged and soon departed. He made a few final notes, powered down his computer, and grabbed some files to peruse once he got home since he’d be meeting with the Suttons next week. Picking up his bag, Nick headed out the door.

  On the street, the heat hit him hard. Maybe Chuck was right about the possibility of a power outage. Nick checked the battery life on his phone. It still had a quarter charge and his mind immediately went to Gabby. He hoped she was already home and safe.

  Nick’s brows drew together. It wasn’t his place to worry about her. There was no emergency, and it wasn’t like she was sitting home pining for him. More than likely she was hoping he wouldn’t make it back tonight after the way he’d come onto her before. He’d been keeping scarce and it was probably best to keep doing so.

  But still the image of her was there. Looking up at him as she did from the couch. Eyes glistening, lips full and kissable, her throat and collarbone a long column that led to the swell of those perfect breasts. He fisted his hands; they ached for the feel of her breasts. Gorgeous, lush, round. Just like everything about her.

  Nick swore to himself and a woman passing by shot him a look. Just great. Now he was cursing in the middle of the street. Shit. He couldn’t go home feeling like this. He was too wired up. And he couldn’t trust himself to stop and have a drink. Nick looked to the left and let reasoning take over as he stepped off the curb and into the crosswalk. Instead of going uptown to Gabby’s place, he made a beeline toward his old apartment and his nearby gym where hopefully he could work out some of his pent-up frustration.

  Chapter 9

  “Seriously, can you believe it?” Gabby said from where she was perched on her knees in the middle of Samara’s living room pinning the hem of her dress. She didn’t stop to give Sam a chance to answer. “I mean, come on, he practically just uncoiled from little Ms. Yoganista, and already he was coming onto me.” She let out a huff and looked up and Sam with her brows going up to the sky. “Well?”

  “Oh, was it my turn to answer here?” Sam said with a grin.

  Gabby narrowed her eyes. “Don’t play with me. I have pins, lots of them, and they are all aimed at your ass right now.”

  She was still fuming over her amorous encounter with Nick. Since then, he’d made himself practically invisible, coming in late enough for her to have already gone to bed for the night, and then by the time she got up the next morning, he’d be gone again. She only knew Nick was there at all because she’d heard him shower. The early morning coffee chats were a thing of the past. Still, it was fine by her. He was kind enough to stay quiet and still kept her well stocked in creamer for her coffee. What more could a woman want? She was happy with the arrangement. For the most part.

  “Ouch, hey there. Don’t take your sexual frustrations out on me, missy. I’ll fight you. Wedding dress or not, you know I’ll do it.” Samara jumped back as Gabby jabbed a pin through her under slip.

  “I’m sorry, did I get you? Well keep still. You’d better not bleed on this fabric. It’s way too expensive. And I don’t have time to re-cut it.”

  “Yes, boss,” Sam said stiffly.

  Gabby looked up at her friend. “I am really sorry. Here you are the one getting married, and I’m being the bridezilla. Some friend I am.”

  Sam gave her a smile and tugged at an errant curl. “It’s okay. I love you anyway. I know you have a lot on your plate.”

  Gabby looked around, thinking the statement was pretty ironic. The normally serene downtown apartment where Samara lived had turned into Wedding Central thanks to Mrs. Leighton. There were boxes of gifts starting to pile in corners though normally Samara kept the place clutter free. Her kitchen counter, usually bare except for her prized coffee maker, was now full of guest lists and sample place cards. The only space that still looked like as orderly as usual was Sam’s back room art studio; she’d told her mother she’d call off the ceremony if she dared cross that threshold.

  Gabby couldn’t help but laugh at seeing Sam fall in line with tradition. It’s something she thought her hot-tempered friend would never do. But, Gabby, mused wistfully, that’s what the right man would do to you. Have you going completely off-character and stepping out of your comfort zone.

  She shook the thought off. At least Sam and Mark knew what they were getting into since, technically, they were already married. They’d eloped in Vegas months before and this was a not-so-small ceremony and huge party to satisfy Sam’s parents and the Who’s Who of New York society.

  “I’m so glad you’re doing this for me with your new line happening,” Sam continued.

  “Let’s not talk about it. I feel like, finally, for the first time in a long while, I can breathe. Not deep breaths mind you, but at least, short shallow ones. I got the rest of the line sketched out and the samples should all be ready within the next two weeks.” Gabby sighed. She couldn’t believe it was finally happening.

  It felt good to be respected at work and to finally see her visions come to fruition. This could be her chance to once and for all break out of the poly-pop trap she had gotten herself in. If she could make something of this line, who knew where it could lead?

  Sam continued. “So things are going well?”

  Gabby thought the question over a moment before answering, the same old nervousness bubbling up. “As well as they can be. They’re not blowing the marketing budget on
this line, but I’m excited for the opportunity to at least do something updated—and the chance to get my name on it is a real thrill. I’m just hoping like crazy the buyers go for it at our sales presentation.”

  Sam gave her a hard look. “I know you and you don’t need to worry. They will go for it. This is just the first step. From there, it’s the stars. You just wait and see.” Her friend eyed her calculatingly. “You know, I wish you would just let me pull a few strings. Find you some backers. You are so much better than those Zenia zanies.” Sam smoothed down the dress, admiring herself in the large mirror propped up against the hall wall.

  “Stop it. You know how I feel about taking handouts from friends. I’m not a user like that.”

  Samara let out a long breath and shook her head. “You’re ridiculous. That pride of yours will be your downfall one day. All the times you’ve checked me, been there and picked me up when I’ve fallen, and you still won’t accept a favor? I’m your best friend, but you’ve got this nutty hangup about thinking its some sort of act of charity.”

  Gabby looked down. She didn’t want to go there with Sam. Not again. Sam couldn’t understand because she’d been the poor little rich girl, while Gabby was just the poor little girl. Period. Besides, there was always someone out to see what they could get from a Leighton. She was never one of those people, and she wouldn’t start being one now.

  “Okay, Miss Independent, I’ll let it lay,” Sam said. “Will you be able to stop by the shop on Saturday to see the girls in your dresses? I think the seamstresses will have them ready. They’re going to look so great.”

  Gabby grinned, the butterflies in her stomach picking up speed. “Sure, I can’t wait. Will your mother be there?”

  Sam rolled her eyes. “Oh, you know she will. The woman is driving me crazy with her micromanaging.” She tilted her head and let out a wistful sigh. “But I figure I owe her. It’s the least I can do for her getting Mark and me together.”

  Gabby finished her pinning at the fluted hem and gave her friend a pat on the backside to indicate she was done. The dress would be lovely on Samara when she finished it. At least it would, if she could do it justice and pull off the look in her head. The design was fairly simple one. It would skim Samara’s beautiful, tall, sample model-like figure well. Silk organza with a fairly modest front and a low back ringed with breathtaking embroidery. “You are so gone, and I love it. Steve was right last week. You light up when you talk about Mark. Who knew the little tiger could be tamed?”

  Samara pulled a face. “Oh god, don’t go and have me domesticated just yet. How dull that sounds. Mark might turn me in if I was declawed.”

  Gabby covered her ears. “I’m too young for this.”

  “Oh, shut it. And speaking of. When exactly was it that Nick got all over the line and made his move?”

  Gabby frowned as she got up from the floor and started to carefully help her friend out of the dress. She didn’t want to think about Nick and going over the line. It was best that he stayed firmly on his side of the line, of the apartment, the city, the state even. It was clear that with the right look from him she could easily lose control.

  “What does it matter?” Gabby asked.

  Samara shrugged and slipped on her easy black maxi dress. “No, really. What night was it?”

  “What does that matter?” Gabby blinked, confused, as she carefully packed the dress into a garment bag and gathered all the materials to take back to her place.

  Samara laughed as she flopped on the oversized couch. “Because I had a little bet going on how long you’d take to get together. I’ve got to tell Mark I lost. I didn’t think you’d make it through that night on the dance floor.”

  Gabby picked up a pillow and threw it at her friend. “Well, you did lose. I did make it through the dance. What part of “he’s a jerk, and I can’t stand him” don’t you get?”

  “Oh, the part where you end up pinned under him on the couch, maybe?” Sam rolled her eyes. “You’d best be telling that story to someone who has time to have smoke blown up their ass.”

  “You are just fishing. Besides, Nick is into Claire or at least he was, and I’m sure he will be again as soon as the smoke clears and he sees things for what they really are.”

  “Bullshit,” Samara countered. “He’s just dating her because she’s his boss’s daughter. I’m telling you, there were no real sparks at your last party. That relationship is all business. So there was the perk of a little ass on the side, but still, business is business whether there is sex involved or not.”

  Gabby felt her jaw tighten. “Well, ‘little ass’ is the operative phrase. It’s her little ass that he’s into. Her little ass and the little ass of each girl before her. He is not into women with behinds like mine or hips or thighs or whatever else for that matter,” she muttered.

  Samara shook her head with exasperation. “Yeah? Well, tell that to his eyes that were practically falling out of his head as you two were dancing.”

  Gabby shook her head. “You are so wrong. That was just biology—a man going for what was in front of him at the time.”

  Sam let out a sigh, not bothering to hold back her frustration. “You know what? I’m going to stop ‘cause you’re starting to piss me off now. But I’m telling you you’re wrong.” She looked over at her kitchen counter. “And speaking of little asses, I might as well let you know. I’m sorry, but the Elliots have RSVP’d to the wedding. My parents had the nerve to invite Mr. and Mrs. Elliot and Claire with a plus one. You think Nick will be the one?”

  Gabby shrugged, and hoped her voice didn’t show any of her true emotion. “I really don’t care. Like I told you, he is nothing to me. Just Steve’s brother and a general nuisance.”

  Samara raised a brow as if she didn’t buy a spoonful of the shit Gabby was dishing. She shook her head. “You know, after that trip to visit his college senior year you changed. You were more guarded. Jaded somehow. Open with guys, yes, but free and trusting, no. What did he do to you?”

  Gabby flopped back on the couch and put her head back against the soft cushions. She was exhausted. Exhausted and wound tight to her limit. It was as if with one touch the wrong way, her inner spring would break. She turned and looked at her friend. “He didn’t do anything to me really. Nothing I didn’t let him do. It’s just what I learned. What he confirmed.”

  Samara’s voice was soft. “And what was that?”

  Gabby thought for a while, trying to find the words so that her friend would understand. But actually they were easy. Samara had lived with cameras in her face all her life, her deepest secrets always on the verge of being exposed.

  Avoiding the topic, she picked up a piece of the intricate lace that would adorn the back of Samara’s dress, the pattern going from the top of her shoulders, sweeping down the curve of her spine, and then to the top of her buttocks. The lace was hand-beaded with little seed pearls and Swarovski crystals in an intricate motif that was both beautiful and so complicated that the eye was fooled into thinking the dragonfly design was actually flowers.

  The delicate interwoven threads reminded her suddenly of false eyelashes waiting to be applied, jumbled together like lace on the white wood vanity in her mother’s bedroom. Suddenly she saw her mother’s face, tired and worn, anticipating another long night, another passing dream in the form of some faceless man that wouldn’t last longer than that eyelash glue she was applying. “Girl, in this life you’ve gotta work with what God gave you and make the best of it.” Her mother would look her up and down with a pained look of both love and regret as he clearly saw herself and the past mirrored back at her from her daughter’s face and form. “Some of us are only meant for the dark. Nice tits and a good ass—it’s not a lot but it’s a start. We can build from there.” She’d snort and then smile at Gabby remorsefully. “Thankfully he gave you a bit more in the brain department. Don’t give too much away, girl, and don’t hope too much, don’t aim too high. That’s where the disappointment is. You can give
away the outside, but”—then she’d point to her head and her heart—”you keep what’s in here and in here to yourself. Lock it up tight! You do that and you’ll be all right. You’ll be light years ahead of your old ma.”

  “So what was it that he confirmed? Are you going to just leave me here hanging?” Samara asked, pulling her out of her dark reflection.

  Gabby looked up from the lace. Her friend would have a beautiful day and a wonderful life with Mark. She’d be a gorgeous bride. “He just let me know something that I already knew. That some things—and some people—are only meant for the dark.”

  • • •

  The train jerked to a halt and Nick got off, the warm heat of the station hitting him in the face like an unwanted sauna.

  He made his way up Broadway and over to their apartment. Though it was dark and the sun had long since gone down, the temperature had continued to rise and the streets were crowded with folks who couldn’t bear to be confined to their sweltering apartments. On the way he edged around a few dudes on the corner and popped into the bodega to pick up a power drink. As an afterthought he grabbed some bread, a bag of coffee, and more creamer for Gabby. He’d noticed she was running low that morning.

  Nick told himself it was just a friendly courtesy, to keep the peace, but something in his gut insisted it was more. He liked looking out for her. Even when he was avoiding her, something in him still wanted to care for her. And not because he’d made that promise to Steve. Though it was a small gesture, something in him wanted her to notice the olive branch he was extending and maybe forgive him.

  As he paid for his things he realized how ridiculous a thought that was. As if some creamer could make up for years of hurt. Nick looked to the side and noticed cheap bouquets of roses, two for ten dollars. They were beautiful. Every color was there for his choosing; they were wrapped tightly, buds still closed and just begging to be watered properly so they could unfurl. He considered getting a couple of bunches, bringing them back to the apartment, and seeing her reaction. But Nick knew what that reaction would be. She would close down to him like she’d done that night. She’d rightly guard her heart and push him away. Nick turned away from the roses and picked up a pound cake instead.