by Sybil Bartel
Deep brown eyes locked on mine and he nodded. “You’re right. I should have.”
The sincerity in his tone, his eyes, it made the anger that’d been building morph into guilt and I just couldn’t take on any more blame. “I can’t apologize for last night.”
“I can.” He leaned toward me.
“Jesse,” I warned, but he didn’t listen.
He grasped my chin and came closer. “You’re the prettiest girl I know, Liv. Always have been. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He released me then pulled back into traffic.
My head spinning, I didn’t say a word. He drove in silence to one of the new high-rise condo buildings on Collins Avenue and pulled into the garage. He parked near the freight elevator and we wordlessly worked as a team, pulling all the paintings out of the truck and loading them into the elevator. I held the door while he parked his truck then we rode up to the penthouse level.
I hadn’t bothered looking at my phone this whole time. I didn’t want to know how much the paintings had sold for or to whom. I wanted to get this over with then I’d do what I’d been doing for two years. I’d throw myself into the work.
Jesse broke the silence. “You looked surprised when I said the paintings all sold to the same person.”
“I was. You left before the drama last night.”
He frowned. “What happened?”
“My boss got in a catfight with another donor over the date she’d showed up with. Then she fired me, left and took all the buyers with her.” I held back the part about that date being Alex and how I’d gotten shitty drunk then fucked him. “Last I checked, all the bids had been canceled. When I walked home last night, I thought I hadn’t sold a single painting.”
Jesse turned completely to face me, his features twisted in shock. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
I shrugged. “By then I was drunk.”
The doors slid open and he pulled me in for a quick hug. Soap and familiarity wrapped around me and in the corner of my heart that craved stability, I wanted everything in the past twenty-four hours to be different.
“I’m so sorry, Liv.”
His quiet voice touched my heart but unlike every other time he’d ever hugged me, it wasn’t aching for more. “Not your fault. Let’s get this over with.” I pulled away and pressed the hold button on the elevator to keep the doors open.
He immediately picked up on my wording. “Over with?”
I shrugged again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do. There are plenty of charities that train service dogs for vets. I could donate the money to them.”
“You love animals,” he reminded me.
“I’m tired, Jess.” The confession hurt my heart almost as much as the thought of giving up.
“Come to Ocala with me.”
Five words. Five words I would have died to hear a day ago. But today they felt uncomfortable and my smile was forced. “Let’s get these unloaded then I’ll buy you breakfast.”
For a split second, something crossed his features but then he hid it and nodded. “Deal.”
We worked in silence for a few minutes and when all the paintings were stacked against the wall by the door of the penthouse, I released the hold button and Jesse rang the bell.
A few beats and the door opened.
Shock didn’t come close to what happened to my body. Because there wasn’t a person on this earth I expected to see less than him. All six feet four inches of him. Muscles and a bulge in his jeans I knew all too well and the cockiest of grins that came from having a ten-inch dick you knew what to do with, Alex opened the door.
“Really?” I snapped. I should’ve seen this coming.
“Surprised, sweetness?” He didn’t even bother acknowledging Jesse. He just raked his eyes over my body and lingered at my tits like he had a right to look all he wanted.
“Fuck you.” I spun and grabbed two of the paintings, intent on the elevator.
“Liv.” Jesse grasped my arm. “What’s going on?”
Alex smirked. “Yeah, Liv. What’s going on?”
I jerked out of Jesse’s grasp and jabbed the elevator call button. “I’m not selling these paintings to him.” He was not bankrolling my charity, no fucking way.
“It’s a little late for that, sweetness. I already bought them. You wouldn’t want my lawyer having a conversation with you about contractual obligations, would you?”
Of course the pretentious jerk had a lawyer. “I’m not obligated to you for anything.”
Alex pulled his phone out and casually leaned on the doorframe as his thumb swept across the screen. “I’m paraphrasing here, but all payments are final, no refunds, local delivery upon request, seems pretty clear to me.” He shoved his phone back into the pocket of his perfectly worn-in jeans. “Maybe we should ask your boyfriend.” He glanced at Jesse. “Am I wrong?”
The elevator doors pinged open.
“Liv,” Jesse’s quiet voice reasoned, “wait for me downstairs. I’ll carry the paintings in.”
Fuck, shit, damn. I knew what the wording in the bids said. I’d written it. I’d stolen the whole damn thing from some stupid template off the Internet. I knew it would come back to bite me in the ass but I never expected it to be because some jerk wanted to keep a painting. And hell no was I going to leave Jesse alone with Alex. Who knew what Alex would say to him.
So I bit my tongue, pivoted and walked right up to Alex. “Fine. Keep your paintings.”
His stupid, fucking, cocky smile in place, he leaned back just enough to let me pass. “Those can go in my bedroom.”
I took two strides into his fancy fucking condo and dumped the paintings against the entryway wall. “You carry them into your bedroom.”
“Aw, and here I thought you’d want to see the view.”
Heat hit my face and I made the mistake of glancing at Jesse. I could see the exact moment that he put two and two together and his expression morphed into sheer anger as his nostrils flared. Then his eyebrows drew tight and just like in the car, he locked that shit down and spoke in a calm voice. “Where do you want these?”
Alex sighed like he was put out. “The hallway, but don’t scratch the paint on the walls.”
What an asshole. Irrationally pissed, I carried two more paintings in while Alex just stood there and watched with a smug look on his face. Jesse was silent but his jaw was ticking and more than anything, I wanted to lash out at Alex. Not for the paintings, but for leaving last night. And if that didn’t spell f-u-c-k-e-d, then I don’t know what did.
Jesse grabbed the biggest painting and placed it in the hall, and I followed with the two last smaller ones. Without even a glance in Alex’s direction, Jesse walked out, and before I could follow him, Alex kicked the front door shut and caged me against the wall. His giant hands landed on either side of my head and he leaned toward me.
“What’s wrong, sweetness? You pissed I left last night?”
“I don’t give a shit what you do.”
The side of his mouth tipped up. “Oh you little liar. Damn, that’s sexy. What else you gonna fight me on?”
Jesse pounded on the door. “Liv!”
“I’m fine,” I yelled toward the door. “Be right there.”
Alex traced a finger down my arm and gooseflesh rose. “Will you?”
I jerked away from his touch. “Will I what?”
“Be right there.” He ran his finger over my hip and ever so slightly down the inseam of my running tights. “Because I think you and I have unfinished business.”
No underwear. I fought a moan and instantly soaked my pants. “Then I’ll finish it. Go fuck yourself, you egotistical jerk. I don’t need your money or you.”
He smirked. “Really? Because—”
“You have two seconds, Vega. Open the door,” Jesse boomed.
Alex’s hand froze and he glanced at the door. “Now that’s an interesting development.”
I reluctantly let go of Olivia and yanked the door open. Bob the Bui
lder looked fucking apoplectic. “How do you know my name?”
Ignoring me, he reached for Olivia. “Let’s go.”
Her eyes narrowed, her lips thinned, and I almost felt sorry for the prick. I’d seen the exact same look last night half a second before she let loose.
“Seriously?” she snapped at Bob. “You think I need rescuing?”
I leaned back to watch the show and Bob did what any prick who can’t handle a feisty woman does. He retreated. All the way to the elevator and without a word.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I called after him.
He punched the call button and before he stepped inside the elevator, he spared me one infuriated glance. “NC Construction. I built your penthouse.”
Damn. He was Bob the Builder.
The elevator doors started to close and Olivia kicked my front door shut.
“You ready to fuck, sweetness?” Just thinking about sinking inside of her had me hard. Shit, I’d been hard since I’d left her bed early this morning but I’d had no intention of being there when she woke up. Not fucking happening. I knew the psychology of women and I was betting her beautiful ass wasn’t any different. She’d either regret the shit out of last night or wake up wanting what wasn’t there. Either way, I wasn’t stupid enough to stick around and find out. I was playing my hand.
“No. And don’t call me that.”
“Then what’s with the door slamming?” When I’d bought all the paintings last night and left instructions for delivery, it was on impulse. I didn’t bring women or clients to my home. But now, after coming inside her tight cunt and seeing her here? I’d be lying if I said she didn’t look hot as fuck in my place.
“I don’t need to be rescued by you either. You want to keep these paintings, fine. But don’t expect shit in return.”
“Did I ask for something?” I was imagining every surface I could fuck her on.
“Call me a cab.”
I took a calculated risk. “You call.” I walked into my kitchen. “I’m making breakfast.” I’d already eaten after my workout this morning, and it was too early for lunch, but fuck if I was going to tell her that. A thousand bucks said she’d woken up hard and I knew how to make a great fucking breakfast for hangovers.
I pulled eggs, potatoes, cheese and peppers out of the fridge. I was setting them on the counter when she walked into the kitchen.
“Where’s your phone? I don’t have mine.”
“You have a bad habit of leaving it.” I cracked eggs into a bowl and added sour cream.
“I hate phones. What are you doing?”
Hook, line and sinker. Chicks loved a guy who could cook. “Making you breakfast.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re ornery as shit, you’re definitely something. And since I fucked you less than eight hours ago, I’m going with hungover. You’re gonna eat, sweetness, so sit your ass down and pretend to be grateful.” I whisked the eggs and turned a burner on.
“I’m not going to pretend shit and I don’t owe you anything.”
“Then stand. I don’t give a fuck but one way or another, you’re going to eat.”
“Who the hell died and made you boss?”
I put the bowl down, closed the distance between us and tipped her chin. “Good question. Who did die?” The cries she’d made in her sleep last night weren’t just a nightmare. I’d seen it too many times in the Marines. PTSD manifested in all sorts of fucked-up ways. There was a reason she was starting a charity for vets and I wanted to know what it was.
“What are you talking about?” She tried to shake my grasp but I held tight.
“Here’s how this is going to work. You’re going to drop the attitude with me. You’re going to eat my food and you’re going to be fucking civil about it. We’re going to talk about whatever bullshit small talk you want then you’re going to tell me why you’re so goddamn defensive.”
She scoffed but I could see the alarm in her eyes. “I don’t need a daddy and I don’t need some stranger’s shoulder to cry on.”
I picked up on her use of words. “There’s a whole lot you need but for now, we’ll settle on breakfast.” I dropped my grip and walked back to the stove. “Plates are in the cupboard. Set the table.”
For three seconds, she didn’t move. Then she shoved past me and threw open one of the cupboards. I didn’t tell her she was on the wrong side of the kitchen because frankly, I was getting off on watching her throw a tantrum. Shit was definitely fucked-up in my head over this one.
She banged open three more cupboards before she turned to me. “Where are the plates?”
I smiled my panty-dropping smile. “Last cupboard on your left.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?”
She turned and I got a spectacular view of her ass. “You didn’t ask.”
“So I gotta ask all the obvious shit?”
“Ask whatever you want.” Didn’t mean I would tell her the truth.
“Why’d you buy the paintings? You don’t strike me as the motivated by guilt type, even though you single-handedly ruined my fundraiser.”
I wasn’t sorry she was standing in my kitchen, so I didn’t care how she got here. “We went over that last night, sweetness. I didn’t single-handedly ruin shit. I’m not repeating myself.” I told her the truth about the paintings. In part. “And I bought those paintings because veterans need all the help they can get.”
“You’re a veteran. You don’t look like you need help.”
“I don’t. Did you serve?” I didn’t think so, she had way too much attitude to ever cut it in the military, but stranger things had happened.
“No.” She clanked my expensive dishes on the kitchen bar like they were Pottery Barn castoffs.
“Don’t break my plates.”
She picked one up and turned it over. “What kind of bachelor has Villeroy and Boch china?” She blanched and almost dropped the plate. “Holy fuck… you aren’t married, are you?”
“Do I look like I’m married?” I sliced up the potatoes and threw them in the hot pan.
“Then why the hell do you have fancy plates like this? They’re not even symmetrical.”
Why did I have expensive anything? “Because I can. Come here.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“You’re going to help.”
“I don’t cook.”
I shook my head. “The odds aren’t stacking up in your favor, babe.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You don’t cook, you don’t do grateful, you’re all attitude and you can’t handle your alcohol.” I glanced at her and tipped half my mouth up. “No wonder that pussy was so tight.”
Heat colored her cheeks beautifully. “You’re a pig.”
“Yet I find you sexy.”
“And you’re demented.” Her hands went to her hips like she was totally put out. “I’m not getting my hands dirty.”
I laughed. “Oh yes you are. One way or another, sweetness, you’re getting dirty.”
“Do you think about anything besides sex?”
No. It was my business. But for some reason, standing with her in my kitchen, it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about. Sex with her? Fuck yeah. But the back-to-back clients I had booked for tonight? Hell no. “I’m thinking about why a hot brunette decides to do a charity for vets.” I handed her the spatula for the potatoes. “Stir.”
She took the utensil but she didn’t say anything.
Damn, she smelled good. “You didn’t have a dog at your place.” I started grating the cheese.
“My building doesn’t allow them. What is this, twenty questions?”
“I bought all your paintings, I think I’m entitled to a few questions.”
She dumped the dirty spatula on the counter and pointed at me. “I knew there were going to be strings attached. You don’t give a shit about veterans with PTSD. You just want to hold something over my head.”
Shit clicked in my he
ad. “Who was it?”
“Who was what?”
“Who died?” I watched her face for a reaction. “Boyfriend? Husband?” Nothing.
She dropped her hand and her challenging stare wavered. “What are you talking about?”
“Father?” It had to be someone she was close to. “Brother?”
She looked away.
Bingo. “Your brother.”
With her back to me, I couldn’t see her face, but I didn’t have to. Her quiet voice was a dead giveaway. “I don’t have a brother.”
“I’m sorry.” And I was. “What branch did he serve in?”
She exhaled and her voice went even quieter. “Marines.”
“Iraq?” Jesus, I wanted to put my arms around her.
“Afghanistan. Three tours.”
“Did he make it home?”
She nodded.
“But he wasn’t the same.” Fact of combat, it changed you.
“No.” She pushed the single word out.
Her arms crossed over her body, her head down, you didn’t need to be a genius to figure out what happened. “Stir the potatoes, sweetness. I’m done grilling you.”
She didn’t move and I seized the opportunity. I stepped behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. Then I put the spatula in her hand, turned her toward the stove and helped her stir. “Why don’t you cook?”
“I don’t like it.”
Her voice was so small, her grief was palatable. “Who doesn’t like to eat?”
“I didn’t say I didn’t like to eat.”
I chuckled to break some of the tension. “You want good food, you gotta learn to cook.”
“There’s only so many ways to pour hot water over ramen.”
“Ramen’s not food.” I ate enough of that shit growing up and in the military that I never wanted to eat it again.
“Sometimes it’s the only food you can afford.”
“Then come to my place and I’ll feed you better.” Shit, I’d give her steak every night if she wanted it. “I can afford it.”
She dropped the spoon and pushed away from me as she glanced around my penthouse. The attitude she usually threw out came back full force. “Nope, you’re sure not hurting for cash, are you?”