by Naima Simone
“Then what?” she pressed. “Okay, you intend to return here after New York. Then what? You leave a few days later, and we end up pen pals? Best friends? Do we just pretend these past two weeks didn’t happen?” She lowered her arms, shifted forward until she stood with barely a breath separating them. Tilting her head back, she snared him with the intensity burning in her green eyes. “Do I go on dating? Do I…” her voice dropped to a pained whisper. “Do I take Bennett up on his offer for dinner and see where it leads?”
Fury snapped through his body. Like a damn dragon, he could’ve exhaled fire. “I assume that’s what you two were talking about earlier.”
She nodded. “And I told him no. Because I couldn’t lead him on, make him think there’s a possibility for us when I’m making love to someone else.”
Making love. His mind rebelled at the phrase while his cock hardened. His heart pounded. No, damn it. Sex. They had to keep it just sex between them. He couldn’t afford to think of it as anything more. “What do you want from me, Khloe?” he snapped. “I didn’t ask you to—”
“You didn’t ask me for anything.” The half-smile bloomed into a full-fledged one, but lost none of its sorrow. “And I’m not asking you for anything either.”
Pain stabbed him in the chest. Ask me! The roar ricocheted off the walls of his skull, gaining volume and speed with each rebound. Part of him longed to be obligated to her—longed for her to be beholden to him. But the other section—the section seeped in doubt, fear, and insecurity—lunged at the out she offered. A get-out-of-jail-free card that would convict him to a life sentence of loneliness and regret.
“Damn it,” he swore, thrusting his fingers through his hair and fisting them at the nape of his neck. He stalked several feet away from her. From her heat, her scent, those beautiful, too-knowing eyes. He just needed away. “I wasn’t expecting you,” he snarled. “Wasn’t…prepared for you. First that damn letter, then this—”
“Letter?” Khloe asked, jumping on his slip. “What letter?
Fuck.
Wheeling around, he stared at her. Debated how much to reveal. He couldn’t lie to her. Not about this. Even if it meant his balls would be in a Dixie cup by the time he finished.
“From Michael.”
Color leeched from her face, and a trembling hand encircled her throat. “H-how? That’s not possible.”
Niall reached for her, cupped the nape of her neck to steady her as well as offer comfort. “It was an old letter he wrote right after your twenty-first birthday. I found it three years ago.” He paused. “After the night we spent together.”
He related the contents. As he spoke, she stiffened beneath his hand, her former pale complexion darkening. Red tinted her cheekbones, and her eyes became shuttered. But not before he glimpsed the wounded shadows in their depths. Khloe shrugged out of his grip, wrapping her arms around herself once more as she crossed the room. Staring out the dark window, she remained silent through his admission, the quiet stretching long moments afterward.
“If something should happen to him,” she murmured. “Do you think he…?”
“I hope like hell he didn’t,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “But not long before he died, he gave me his account passwords and made sure I knew where all his insurance documents and will were located. My grandmother would often say he had ‘the Sight.’” He shrugged. “Just a way of saying he was probably more sensitive than others.”
“He was sensitive…and overprotective.” She shook her head. “So, you agreed to help me out of obligation to my brother. Because of a strangely prescient death wish.”
“I helped you because you needed me,” he corrected. “But yes, Michael’s letter did factor into it.”
“And I guess you’ve already determined that the happiness Michael mentioned is a future with Bennett or another man,” she continued. “No matter what my opinion is on the matter.”
“He was right. Just like he had a—a feeling he might not be here for you, he also knew you and I wouldn’t work,” Niall insisted. “You deserve the best. A husband to love you, commit to you. Sacrifice to give you anything your desire.”
I’m not that man. He didn’t voice the words, but they hung there in the room, as if suspended from spindly puppet wires. The lonely part of him that always longed for something that belonged solely to him—the part that yearned to be accepted and loved as his parents and ex-wife never had—ached to be that man. To be able to stand beside her, claim her. Have her claim him as hers… But he couldn’t. Wanting something didn’t make it so. Didn’t make it real or attainable.
“And,” she finally turned around, for once her expression features impassive, unreadable. “Having sex with me. Was that because of him?”
The denial surged to his throat, propelled by the lust and anger roiling in his stomach.
“No,” he growled, rushing over to her, need and a faint, bitter hint of desperation swirling in his chest. “I had you in spite of him. In spite of knowing Michael didn’t want me with you. That he knew I was unworthy of you. That you deserved—deserve—better.”
“Wait—what the hell are you talking about, not worthy?” she frowned, shaking her head. “Michael loved you. To him, there wasn’t a better man. How could you possibly believe anything different?”
“Because he also knew me better than anyone. Understood that I was good for a one-night stand, for temporary. But for commitment, family, the happily ever after with two kids and a dog? Michael knew I wouldn’t—couldn’t—give that to a woman. Yes, he loved me like a brother, but he didn’t allow it to blind him to my faults. And one of my faults was—is—not being good enough for his sister.”
“That’s bullshit,” she snapped, anger glittering in her eyes, slashing color over her cheekbones. “You—you’re…” she stuttered, balling the lapels of his suit jacket in her fist. “You’re everything,” she rasped.
Shock reverberated through him, her words vibrating over his skin. Then, with a dark, harsh groan, his paralysis broke.
Grabbing her shoulders, he dragged her forward, crushing her chest against his. He slammed his mouth to hers, plunging his tongue between her lips, and tasted her. She didn’t respond, but didn’t halt him either. Clutching on to that small but important detail, he tilted his head, thrust deeper. And after a few seconds, she melted, submitted with a tiny, helpless moan.
She sparred with him, danced with him lick for lick. Stroke for stroke. Her fingers tunneled through his hair, fingernails nipping his scalp. Relishing the slight bite of pain, he bent his knees, cupped the backs of her thighs, and hiked her into the air. Her legs wound around his waist, and with her elevated position, she switched the position and angle of their kiss. Taking him now. Sucking at him now. Devouring him now.
With a few long strides, he had her back pressed to the living room wall. He rolled his hips, grinding himself against the soft pad of her sex. Gasping, she ripped her mouth from his, released a long, low groan.
“I love the sound of that,” he growled, repeating the motion. “Like pure sex.”
“Niall,” she whispered, bucking against him, working herself over his cock. “Please.”
“I like the sound of that, too.” Dropping her feet to the floor, he shifted far enough to drag her pants and underwear down her legs and rip open the closure of his slacks. In seconds, her thighs rode his hips, and her wet, hot pussy kissed the head of his erection. On the tail of a snarl, he buried himself in her to the hilt. “God.” He groaned. “So fucking good.” He withdrew, plunged in again. Shuddered. “So fucking tight. So—goddammit,” he barked.
He pulled out of her, her tight flesh resisting, and urging him to remain inside her rippling core.
“Condom,” he gritted. “I don’t have—”
“No,” she breathed, rubbing her drenched folds over him. “I’m on the pill. Please,” she breathed. “Come back in.”
A struggle warred within him—desire pitted against reason. He never had se
x without a condom. Never. But… He cursed, low and harsh as she writhed in his arms, bathing him in her wet heat. “Are you sure, baby?”
“Yes,” she cried out. “Just please.”
He couldn’t resist the hunger roughening her voice. Or the lure of her sex. He wanted in. Needed in. And he gave in. Notching at the mouth of her pussy, he drove deep. And nearly came with that one stroke. “I’m clean,” he assured her, setting a fast, hard pace. He doubted she heard him as keening whimpers spilled from her lips with every plunge. Still, he’d had to tell her. Let her know she was special to him. Unique.
Tucking his face into the crook between her shoulder and neck, he rode her. With her body pinned between him and the wall, he exerted all the control. That is, he would’ve exerted it if he had any. He stroked into her with no finesse, only greed. But if her cries were any indication, she didn’t mind the taking that bordered on rough.
And from the way her flesh clamped down and rippled over her, she enjoyed it.
With a low roar, he followed her into orgasm, welcoming its dark embrace.
Its oblivion.
Chapter Thirteen
“I really wish you were coming with me,” Khloe said, pausing on the sidewalk outside Bailey’s with her cell phone pressed to her ear. Friday, six in the evening, and the neighborhood bar and restaurant was already more than half filled with patrons. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she exhaled a gust of breath. She should’ve begged off, gone home, and watched reruns of Sleepy Hollow on On Demand.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I wish I could be there, too,” Morgan grumbled. “I’m headed to another blah fundraiser where I’ll have my tits ogled and ass pinched in the name of adding money to mother’s charity coffers. Believe me, you’re going to have more fun than me tonight. Even if it’s with the Nerd Herd.”
Khloe snorted at Morgan’s nickname for the programmers on the third floor—Khloe included. “Maybe I should just go home…,” she hedged.
“And do what? Watch sexy Ichabod Crane and moon over Niall?”
“I’m not mooning over Niall,” she objected. Loud silence met her protest. She sighed.
Mooning? No. Worrying. A resounding yes. How they’d parted…she shook her head. The argument, the letter, the sex. Though he’d taken her against her living room wall with such breath-stealing passion, he’d been on the verge of running. She’d pushed, and he’d resisted.
And Michael’s letter.
Good God.
That had been such a shock, and she could only imagine Niall’s as the letter tumbled out of his book. The concern and love in the message had been classic Michael. Still…if her brother had been standing in front of her, she would’ve gladly strangled him.
First, because he’d determined—without her input—what constituted her happiness.
Second, because for all Michael’s astuteness and knowledge of his best friend, how could he not have noticed Niall doubted Michael’s esteem and unconditional loyalty for him. It drove him to be the best, the strongest, the most successful.
She could admit to herself she loved him. But Niall would always use the betrayal of his wife and now the promise of Michael’s letter to maintain an emotional distance.
Especially with her. While Niall wanted her, leaving her also represented his last chance to prove himself worthy of Michael’s friendship and love.
“Okay,” Morgan drawled. “Anyway, Niall is in New York and not returning until tomorrow. Have fun tonight. He wouldn’t want you cooped up in the house withering on the vine.”
“I’m not—”
“Oops, gotta go,” her friend chirped with wicked glee. “Just remember, don’t leave your drink unattended. Somebody might slip you a mickey. Except this group would probably be after your computer password instead of your cooch.”
Khloe choked out a laugh. “I can’t believe—” But she was talking to dead air. “Wench,” she muttered, chuckling, as she tucked the cell into her coat pocket. “An hour. Two tops,” she murmured, yanking open the bar door and entering the after-five din.
Scanning the crowded room, she soon spotted Bennett seated near the window. Winding a path through the maze of tables and chairs, she apologized at least twice for knocking someone in the shoulders or head with her purse before she finally reached him.
“Wow,” she said, breathless and chuckling. “That was like running the gauntlet…” Her humor faded along with her voice as she inspected the scene before her. Bennett. A high, round, intimate table. Place settings—two coasters, two napkins, a pair of silverware—prepared for a couple. A sensation that rivaled the sinking of the Titanic hollowed out her stomach.
She’d been set up. And didn’t that just suck?
“I take it everyone who’s coming is already here,” she murmured.
Bennett rose, and a tiny frown wrinkled his forehead as he waved toward the empty seat. At least he had the grace to appear a little chagrined.
“Please,” he urged. “I’ve ordered a white wine for you. I remember you enjoyed the Pinot Grigio I served at the dinner party.”
“Bennett, I—thank you.”
She studied his handsome face and waited for the flutter. The one, as of a week ago, that had tormented her belly when he so much as glanced in her direction. But the sensation remained MIA. Because he wasn’t tall, dark, broody, and Irish. But that wasn’t his fault. And though, he’d invited her here under false pretenses, she couldn’t be unkind to him. Because even when he didn’t see her as anything more than the nerd in the second floor office, he’d never been mean to her. Distant, maybe, but not mean.
“I’m sorry for deceiving you, but I…” A waitress appeared carrying two glasses of wine, one white, the other red. Once she placed the drinks on the table and disappeared, Bennett gestured toward the second empty chair once more. “Please. One drink.”
One drink. What could it hurt?
She wavered, glancing at the seat, the glass, and then Bennett. Besides, rejecting her employer could possibly be an unwise career move. Bennett hadn’t seemed angry after she’d turned down dinner with him Monday, but then again, that could be because he’d already placed this plan in motion. He hadn’t waved the white flag yet. Even more reason to just suck it up, sit, and share a glass of wine.
But…
She didn’t want to stay. It just felt…wrong. No, Niall hadn’t asked her to give up dating or even hinted he desired a commitment—quite the opposite, actually. But no matter how ill-fated or foolish, her heart belonged to him. And she wasn’t ready to betray that. Or him.
“Thank you, but I can’t stay, Bennett. I’m sorry. I hope you understand.” Giving him a small smile, she headed for the exit.
In the few minutes since she’d arrived, even more people had packed into the bar, and threading her way through the room ate up more time than her original trek. By the time she shoved out the front door and into the cold December night, she gratefully sucked in a lungful of air that didn’t contain the loamy taste of beer, various colognes, and fried food.
“Khloe,” Bennett called from behind her. “Wait. Please.”
Grasping her elbow, he eased her closer to the curb and out of the path of customers flowing in and out of Bailey’s.
“Please, hear me out. I’m sorry for lying to you about this evening. But I wanted to spend time with you—just the two of us without outside,” he paused, “interference.” His lids lowered, the lines of his firm mouth softening. He brushed his fingertips over her jaw, and her belly rebelled at the caress and the heat in his hooded gaze. “Khloe, all I’m asking for is a chance to know you. Beneath the beauty and the intelligence. What makes you laugh? How do you like to spend your evenings? Do you like old movies? What are your dreams?” He moved closer, bent his knees so he could peer into her face. “I know you claim to have feelings for Niall, but how much can he offer you when he lives in Dublin, and Morgan says he’s just an occasional fling? But I’m right here, Khloe. And I’m willing to give you what h
e can’t.”
Pain throbbed within her chest as if he slashed open every doubt and desire and exposed them to the world. Every word he uttered had emerged straight from her fantasies. Only now, the wrong man professed them.
Apparently taking her silence as permission, he murmured her name and grasped her chin between his finger and thumb.
Shaking her head, she stepped back, away from his touch that did nothing for her and his words that tore at her heart.
“Bennett, please, I—”
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” a cold voice stated behind her. “Well, that’s a lie. I really hope I am.”
Niall.
She whipped around. Something soared inside her, heady and strong. It’d only been three days, but God, she’d missed him. Missed tangling her fingers in the thick dark strands that rustled around his cheekbones and jaw in the night breeze. The pressure of his full, beautiful mouth against hers. The weight of his tall, lean body moving over her, inside her.
Missed the lilt of his musical accent in her ear as he held her close.
She’d just missed him.
“Niall,” she breathed, a smile that emanated from deep inside her curving her lips. “I wasn’t expecting you back until tomorrow.”
“I figured that out,” he stated flatly, flicking a glance over her shoulder. “Thankfully, Morgan told me where I could find you so I could surprise you. Nice to see you again, Bennett.”
She didn’t need to look behind her to see the unease and alarm on Bennett’s face; she detected it in his voice.
“You, too, Niall. Khloe, I’ll, uh, see you on Monday.” Bennett stammered, giving her elbow a small squeeze before edging around her and Niall. “Have a great weekend.”
As he scurried down the sidewalk, her initial elation at Niall’s appearance slowly evaporated. Fear slithered in on insidious, oil-slicked feet, leaving inky tracks on her soul. Not fear of him—never that. But rather of the fury that transformed his eyes into arctic chips. Of the contempt that hardened the planes of his face into sharp, unforgiving angles.