by Nora Flite
When I turned away, I exaggerated my hips as I walked around the hallway corner. It was a ridiculous strut, over the top and straight out of some strip club dance routine. I wanted her to maybe get the sense that she was being horrible.
She hadn't yet, but hey, there was still time.
Why is she never satisfied with me! This feeling wasn't new, but it still stung.
As a kid, my mother used to make me weigh myself every morning and night. If the number deviated greatly, she'd deny me dinner. I'd often go to bed hungry.
Yeah. She was a real piece of work.
“Nice walk,” a deep voice said.
Turning, I gawked at Abell. He was lounging by the water cooler, crumpling a paper cup. His stare said he appreciated the way I'd been swaying around like an animal in heat.
Stuttering, I said, “I—that—you don't understand.”
“No need to defend yourself. I wasn't complaining.”
Red from head to toe, I choked the strap of my purse. “Why are you here?”
Abell rocked forward, coming my way. Suddenly he pulled up short, standing back further than usual. His smile wavered, eyes taking me in again.
What the hell is wrong with him? Do I smell bad?
He gathered himself, teeth glinting brightly. “I'm here to run into you.”
“I actually was hoping to see you, too,” I said.
He gave me a look that implied he was more than happy to hear that. “You were angry with me last time we spoke, or was that just your way of flirting?”
Instead of fighting with him, I motioned for Abell to follow me. Ducking into an empty hall, I made sure we were alone before rounding on him. “We need to talk about this marriage situation.”
His chuckle slid over my heart, caressing it. “You already know where I stand, Sugar.”
A tiny tremble took hold in my knees. Stay on target. “I've moved past the denial stage of this. Your father has my company by the throat, and I've worked too hard to lose everything. Marrying you is the last thing I want to do, but I'm open to making it work.”
Abell had turned to stone, doubt contorting in his face. “You are?”
Nodding, I held up a hand. “You want your money, I want my company. I just have one condition.”
“Go on.”
Lowering my voice, I bit off the words. “No. Sex. Ever.”
His forehead crinkled dramatically. “In general?”
“Between us!” I hissed, clenching my fists. “It'll be a sham marriage, get it? We'll do it on paper, but nothing else. It's the only way I'll agree to it.”
“Didn't my father also demand I knock you up? Do you have a sham baby in your pocket, too?”
My throat went dry as old toast. “We'll tell him we're trying, when we aren't.”
Scratching at his cheek, he asked, “What if I say no to your one condition?”
“Jeez,” I laughed, “Do you want to sleep with me again that badly?”
He smiled, saying plenty with just his eyes.
Blushing furiously, I mumbled, “This is the only way I'll go along. I'm not going to subject myself to becoming someone's whore. I'd give the company up before that.”
“Ouch.” Touching his hand over his heart, he sighed. “You make it sound like sleeping with me is a punishment.”
“Just tell me you agree to my terms.”
Abell looked down his nose at me. He was quiet, making me wonder what was going on behind his stoniness. Finally, he gave a tiny shrug. “When you beg me to fuck you, do I still have to resist?”
My mouth fell open. “I'd never beg you to fuck me.”
“You will.” His smirk could cut diamonds. “You definitely will. And when you do, my stipulation is that... I won't hold back.”
A flutter crept through my body, building a home between my thighs. I squeezed them, ignoring how good the pressure felt. “You've got me all wrong. I'm not that desperate.”
He gave me a long, intense look.
Breaking away, I said, “I already told my mother I was going along with the marriage.”
Abell tilted his head, as if viewing me in a new light. “She'll let my father know, I imagine. Guess I don't have to spill the good news to him.”
“Then we're done here.” Yanking out the list my mother made, I confirmed the time slots. That eager, cautious woman... she'd actually set up a meeting with a florist today. “I have an appointment to get to, see you later.”
He pushed off the wall. “I'll come along.”
Stumbling, I shot him a confused stare. “Why? It's just looking at flowers.”
He hunched closer to me, I could hear him inhale. “Who knows, you might need a second pair of hands.”
It took all of my strength to stop staring at his mouth. Grabbing my phone, I called for a private car. “I don't have the time to argue with you.” I need air, I need it now!
Marching out the front of the building, I shielded my eyes from the sun. In mere minutes, a shiny black car pulled up against the curb. In my rush to escape Abell and all he represented, I opened the door, practically jumping inside. Phew, I thought in relief.
I'd just buckled myself in when Abell slid into the backseat across from me. I stared at him in disbelief. Grinning, he clicked his seat belt. “Are you going to shove me out of the car?”
My driver twisted around, offering me a look that said he didn't know what to do, but would listen to my instructions.
I shut my eyes tight. “I'll wait until we're in the middle of moving traffic before I kick you out.”
Abell's laugh was low, scratchy—real. It was the first hint of something genuine beneath his surface, and it threw me for a loop. “You're staring at me,” he said.
“Sorry.” I focused on anything else but the man sitting beside me. Don't get fooled by him. He's a player, that's all.
The driver turned us onto Main street, taking us quickly towards the flower shop. It was a tiny building shoved onto a corner across from the mall, the front of it covered in painted vines and actual flowers.
I slid from the car so fast that I banged my forehead on the edge of the roof. “Ow!” Cupping the tender spot, I winced.
“You alright?” Abell asked, hurrying to my side.
“Yeah. I just banged it, nothing major.” Lifting my eyes, I stood still as an ancient tree. Abell was leaning over me, his fingers pressing against my skin next to my injury.
The concern in his stare left me baffled. His magnetic pull demanded I not look away. Brushing my hair back, he said, “Looks like you'll have a small bump. Does it hurt?”
The thumping of my heart was so loud, it blocked the rush of passing traffic. I struggled to make sense of what was happening. Abell was being so sweet, I was spiraling into a confused bubble.
Just answer him!
I said, “Um. No, it's okay. Just a little sore.”
His arm fell, leaving me tingling where he'd touched. “It looks kind of red. Well, all of you looks red right now, actually.”
Coughing, I spun around and walked stiffly into the shop. “L—let's get going!” Fuck, I fell apart just then! But his caring vibes had been too much for me. Was he playing with me, pretending to be concerned?
The air was humid inside the store. Water spritzed from hanging pipes, plants glowing in bright greens, reds, and so much more. “Hello,” I said, spotting a woman behind a tiny counter. “I need to pick out flowers for... a wedding.”
Saying it out loud had me fidgeting.
“Ah,” she said, rounding the counter and approaching me. “Are you the lucky bride?”
Pursing my lips, I peeked at Abell. “Lucky isn't the right word.”
The clerk was oblivious to my sarcasm. “Well, look around and help yourself. You'll find we have flowers perfect for any event.”
I wondered what kind of flowers you picked for an arranged marriage.
Something morbid, I thought with a smile. Did they have black roses? I'd have to look.
Abell, wh
o'd been rather quiet, reached out to cradle a hanging vine. “I didn't realize we were picking flowers for our wedding.”
“My mother insisted I get it done quickly,” I mumbled. “Apparently, a month to get ready isn't much. Who would have thought.”
He grinned, fingering the long vine so it coiled around his hand. “Cheer up, how can picking out flowers be depressing?”
I gave him a flat look. “Flowers aren't my thing. Do you have some tricks to make it fun?”
“Oh, I have tricks.” He tugged the leaves, then stroked them obscenely. “I don't think the florist would appreciate me using them on you.”
I turned away before he could get a reaction out of me. “I'm ignoring that comment.” Unzipping my coat because of the humidity, I moved down an aisle. “Help me find something... weddingy, I guess. I could just pick white.”
Abell followed me, his hands spreading his jacket wide, flapping it. “White would be boring. You want something more vibrant, ideally to match the dresses of your bridesmaids.”
I stumbled, staring back at him. “First, I won't have any bridesmaids. Second, I didn't peg you for a guy who knew about complimentary colors.”
He placed his palm to his chest, making a face. “Art runs in my blood, give me some credit.”
“I met your father, I wouldn't call him 'artsy.'”
Abell's fingers clenched just slightly, but I caught it. “It's on my mother's side.”
The edges of his usual smile had cracked. Had I touched something sensitive? Eager to push this awkward tension away, I clapped my hands. “Alright, Art-Master, what flowers would look best?”
“For the wedding? Not a clue. But this...” Abell leaned close to a blue tulip, tapping it. “This would look gorgeous in your red hair. You have a fire in you, a cool color like this would enhance it.”
His comment lacked the crassness he'd been indulging in since we'd first met. Seeing him like that, bending close to a fragile flower, eyes warm and welcoming...
Why is my heart beating so fast?
He pulled on one of the most wolfish grins ever. Like an animal, he stalked forward, his hand dropping away from the tulip. He whispered, “There it is, in your eyes, the fire I was talking about.”
On reflex I stepped backwards, bumping the nearby table. The sound of water sloshing made us both stop in our tracks. In slow motion, I watched a bucket topple over the edge, right towards Abell.
He tried to jump back, but he wasn't ready; the water spilled across the front of his shirt. “Shit!” he shouted.
“Oh no!” Cringing, I let my hands bob in the air, too unsure what to do with them. “I'm so sorry! I didn't even see that bucket!”
He stretched his arms, pulling the soaked cloth across his chest. The water had turned his shirt transparent, dark ink and hard muscles peeking through. The perfection of his body among all the beautiful flowers was like some high-fashion modeling ad.
Catching my breath, I stared straight at his stomach, following the dip of his abdominals into the top of his jeans. The edge of his briefs were visible, tattoos vanishing beneath the elastic band.
I knew exactly what it looked like under there.
Why the hell did I want to see it again?
“Hey,” he chuckled. “My eyes are up here.”
Flushing, I looked around frantically for a towel. “Uh, let me find something to dry you off with.”
“It's fine. You didn't get my jacket, just the shirt.” He shrugged out of the jacket, then tugged the soaked shirt over his head, exposing his bare skin. Ever so casually, he nodded towards the front of the store. “I'll just zip it over me so I can walk out of here. Unless you prefer this look?”
I was gawking again, but I didn't need him to point it out. Stumbling on my tongue, I said, “Sure. I mean, um, your jacket. Right. It should be fine!” Get it together! But how could I? Abell was impossibly sexy, and he was within touching distance.
If I reached out, I could run my palm right down his chest. Would it be warm, or cool from the water?
He stepped close to me, and the floral cloud was broken by the pine and maple scent that came off of him. “Did you want something, Nix? Something from me?”
My heart floated up, filling my throat. “No,” I managed to croak. “Nothing.”
The corner of his mouth moved upwards. “The future owner of Halloway Inc shouldn't be such a liar. It's bad for business.” Abell's hand cupped my cheek, and where he touched, heat bloomed.
In my ears, the drums pounded. My cells were buzzing, my body eager to climb onto his. I wanted to rub against him, I knew he'd be hard and soft all at once.
Kiss him, my body demanded. It'd be so easy; he was right there, inches away, he...
“Excuse me!” The florist shouted, rounding the corner. “Why is he stripping?”
Retreating so fast I bumped the table again, I stared at the woman with my eyes bugging out. I knew I looked guilty—I felt guilty! What was I doing? What had I almost done?
My mouth fell open. “He isn't stripping!”
Abell grinned, reaching down to brush the button of his jeans. “I could, if you two want.”
I wished I could find a big crack in the ground and crawl into it. Maybe I'd grow back as a weed! Weeds couldn't be humiliated!
The florist crossed her arms, her face a puckered knot. “I think you should tell me what flowers you want. Then you should leave.”
“I'm so sorry,” I stammered, shooting a fierce glare at Abell. “I'll keep him on a leash next time.”
His smile went ear to ear, boyish and amused.
He's trying to be charming. Flicking my eyes up and down his exposed tattoos, I shivered as if I was the one covered in icy water. Fuck. He IS charming. Abell was inching his way past the barrier I'd set up in my heart.
And I hated it. All of it.
You should know better. Don't be so naive! I had to be strong, cold, disconnected.
Why did he have to make it so hard?
“Miss,” the florist snapped.
“Oh.” Startling, I scanned the rows of flowers all around us. “Right, sorry. The ones I want are...” Different petals flew through my vision; every shape, every color, for any occasion. I knew nothing about weddings, how did I narrow down my choices?
Something bright caught my eye.
That's it. That's the one.
Abell's words had influenced me. Last time that had happened, we'd nearly kissed in my kitchen. He's dangerous, I reminded myself. He's using you!
Even knowing all of that, my heart still went fuzzy when I heard Abell inhale sharply.
He'd realized which flower I was picking.
Reaching out, I brushed the shiny green stem. “Here,” I whispered. “This one.”
The blue tulip was cool to the touch.
- Chapter Seven -
Abell
Nix was silent as we left the florist.
Was she feeling the same distorting bundle of emotions that I was?
Looking down on her, how the winter sun turned her hair into copper, I tried to see into her head. I failed, fucking obviously, but I still tried. Willing myself to become psychic was as likely as her spilling her guts to me.
The incident in that greenhouse had left me stunned. Not the water, not how she'd eaten up the view of me as my shirt soaked through. Nix had listened to my wistful murmur about a damn flower.
She'd listened.
To me.
Only one other person had ever done that.
My jacket was chilly against my bare skin. I'd zipped it up, carrying my damp shirt in a tight ball in the crook of my elbow. Across the street, the mall looked like someone had vomited tinsel and ribbon all over it. Christmas is in the air, I mused.
She was looking at her feet, at the clouds, at anything except me. The car was gone; she noticed, digging out her phone to call the driver back.
“Wait,” I said, waving my hand. Nix froze in mid-dial. “Don't call yet.”
“Why
not? We're done out here.”
Flipping my wet shirt at her, she caught it just before it hit the ground. “Not quite, Sugar. You owe me a new, preferably dry, shirt.”
Gripping the soggy fabric, her eyebrows crawled as high as they could. I was waiting for her to argue, I had a whole spiel ready to counter her.
Nix tucked her hair behind her ear, marching over the crosswalk towards the mall. “Nothing too expensive, okay?”
She didn't even try and disagree with me. My sneakers skidded over the pavement behind her. “Are you feeling alright?”
Dodging the seasonal crowd, she held the mall door open for me. “Of course. Why?”
“Well. You're not being difficult, for a change.”
Her lashes fluttered rapidly. “Are you trying to politely call me a bitch?”
Laughing in my throat, I walked ahead of her through the busy mall. “Never say I don't have tact.”
Her heels clicked violently across the hard marble. Under her breath, she muttered, “It's not me being weird, it's you.”
“What was that?” I asked.
“Nothing.” Pulling up short, she grabbed my elbow and tugged me into a store. The sensation of her fingers gripping me lifted a wave of heat through my center. “In here, they have good clothing.”
It was a brightly lit shop, the tall front windows painted with giant gold and black crowns. Cabo Street, I thought, recognizing the store. Nix had good taste, though that didn't shock me.
From the start, she'd made a point of dressing in fine clothing. She was almost obsessed with how she looked, to the neurotic point of fussing over her hair when we'd been fucking.
Even her underwear is classy, I thought, remembering the shiny lavender lingerie.
“Abell, look at this one.” She was fingering the hem of a dark red shirt. As I got closer, she spread it out, showing me the golden design along the arms. “Nice, right?”
Brushing my hand over the material, I nodded. “Soft. I like soft things against my skin.”
She bit the edge of her mouth, her laugh nervous. “Of course you do. Want to try it on?”
“You're the boss.” Unzipping my jacket, I let it fall to the floor. The shop was full of people, and all of them—man and woman alike—stopped to stare at me and my naked chest. I wasn't watching them, though.