Lost In Between: Finding Me Duet #1

by K. L. Kreig

  “Who?” I ask when he goes silent again. “Who knows?”

  He draws in a deep breath and shakes his head slightly. The thrall we were in snaps, thank you, baby Jesus. Much longer and my clothes would have been in a pile on the floor. “My business partner.”

  I spent hours that first night we made our arrangement doing research on Shaw Mercer and found out that he and Noah Wilder own Wildemer & Company, a management consulting firm. It’s been wildly successful under the helm of the great, great grandchildren of the original founders. In the past five years, they’ve almost doubled the value of an already-lucrative business.

  I also found that he and Noah are considered quite the fodder for gossip and have both been spotted with multiple women over the years. Noah doesn’t seem to be with the same girl twice, but up until recently, Shaw was photographed several times with the same woman I saw shooting daggers my way the night of the political fundraiser.

  “Would that be Noah Wilder?” I ask. My guardian angel.

  He cocks his head along with that lip. Why is his subtle swagger so damn sexy? “I see you’ve been busy.”

  I shrug. I want to ask him how someone so sophisticated and connected ended up in Randi’s office buying me but I don’t. “So, no one in your family knows?”

  He brings his drink to his lips. My inner walls tighten when he drags his tongue against his bottom lip to the corner of his mouth, catching a stray drop of beer. I swear he did that on purpose. “About the fact that I’m paying you to be my girlfriend?” He laughs sardonically. “No. And it will stay that way. I’d never live it down, and my mother would be very disappointed in me.”

  A wave of shame washes through me. I don’t understand it, and I certainly don’t like it. If anyone should feel guilty here, it’s Shaw, not me.

  “I wasn’t planning to say anything,” I answer defensively. “I just needed to understand who knows what, that’s all. I don’t want to look like a fool.”

  His nod is clipped, close to an apology, even. Then he says, “Tell me about yourself, Summer.”

  I swallow hard, knowing this is exactly why I came but anxious nonetheless. I need to reveal just enough about myself to appease him and others while safeguarding the true me.

  “Well, I’m twenty-six. Never been married. I live with my best friend, Sierra. No pets. I’m not against them—I just don’t have time to take care of one. Blue is my favorite color. I run an eight-minute mile, and I’m a pretty mean kickboxer. I love slasher movies, chocolate ice cream, dancing, and fall. I hate plaid, snakes, pizza, and Sunday drivers.”

  His light laugh draws a smile from me until his words follow. “Sounds like a well-practiced bullet list of superficial bullshit.”

  I shrug and smirk, annoyance running along my skin. “It may be perfunctory, but it’s not bullshit if it’s true. We don’t need insight into each other’s hopes and dreams to pull this off. Just the basics.”

  The noise he makes in the back of his throat sounds like he doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t argue.

  “Siblings? Parents?”

  I school my features, knowing this question would be asked. It hurts like hell anyway. And this is one thing I will be keeping to myself. The pain in my soul does not belong to a man I don’t plan to see again after four months. “Just me and my momma.”

  He looks as though he wants to ask more but lets it drop.

  “Do you do anything for a living outside of…this?”

  Derision. I heard it. My face flushes in embarrassment, but I let the unwelcome emotion fall away. He does not get to judge me. “I have my reasons for what I do, and I won’t let you or anyone else make me feel criminal for them.”

  “What are they?” he asks tartly. He almost seems angry at my choice of profession, only I wouldn’t be sitting here otherwise, helping his ass out of some sort of bind, so how fucking mad should he be?

  “That’s insight into me you don’t need,” I reply just as sourly. “But to answer your original question, I do have another job. I narrate audiobooks.”

  One eyebrow lifts. “Interesting. I listen to a few audiobooks myself occasionally.”

  Doubtful they’re the ones I narrate.

  When he decides I’m not going to elaborate, he restarts his twenty questions.

  “You’re not currently dating anyone, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “Any exes I need to worry about coming out of the woodwork ready to reclaim you? Because if they’re there, it’s best to find out now so we can be prepared.”

  My belly clenches hard at that question. I’ve dated a few times, of course, but I haven’t had a serious relationship since I foolishly left the man I loved behind. So no, there is absolutely no one waiting in the wings to reclaim me.

  “No.”

  “You sure? I sense hesitation.”

  “No hesitation. Nobody has occupied that space for some time. What about you?” I try to change subjects, tired of talking about myself. It’s starting to get too personal. “Do you have any scorned women lurking about that may try to gouge my eyes out?”

  His lips turn up wryly. “I’m thirty-six. I have skeletons.”

  I wonder if he’s talking about the brunette beauty, Voodoo Eyes. Another question I want to ask but decide not to. If I don’t want him to pry, I can’t either. “Will these skeletons throw a bone into your plans?”

  His loud barked laugh has me giggling. “Very clever. I don’t believe any bones will be thrown, no. Any women I’ve been with remain firmly buried in the past.”

  My laughter shudders to a stop as I realize I’ll join that lengthy, scandalous list all too soon. “Hence why I’m here.”

  “Touché.” He tips his glass in my direction before finishing his beer. “Want another?” He looks to my nearly empty glass, and I shake my head. My nerves have calmed, so one is enough.

  We spend the next couple of hours making small talk. He tells me about his parents and three siblings. He talks a little about his father’s reelection but never admits that’s the ruse he hired me for, although I'm becoming more convinced it is. I learn about his love of the water and his dislike for his brother-in-law. I also learn he grew up in Seattle and his great, great grandfather and uncle founded Mercer Island, where his parents still make their home.

  Like me, he keeps his facts superficial. When I probe into something he doesn’t want to discuss, he changes the subject. But there were two things he couldn’t hide: his passion for his company and his intense love for his family. He talked about his niece, Cora, as if she were royalty. Both traits were more endearing than I wanted to admit.

  I look at the clock and am surprised to see it’s close to nine. I’ve been here for almost three hours. I’ve been so at ease, so engrossed in our conversation, it seems like fifteen minutes. Oh no. Red flags are popping up like Whack-A-Moles.

  “I should go.” I untuck my feet, brush down my sundress, and make to stand when he sets his palm on my arm. My heart immediately beats in my throat as my gaze flicks between his intense stare and the place our bodies now spark.

  “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about tonight before you leave.” When he brings his fresh beer up to his lips, I force myself not to watch his throat work as he swallows.

  “Okay,” I reply nervously. The hops sitting in my stomach from hours ago churns wildly.

  He leans forward, setting his drink on the coffee table before clasping his hands and pinning me with his stare. He’s preparing for a fight. I can feel it. “We need to use your real name.”

  “What?” I squeal. “No. No, that wasn’t part of the deal.”

  “I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I think it’s best to be as honest as we can, given the circumstances. The less we have to lie about, the more the press will leave us alone. If they can’t find anything about you, Summer,” he emphasizes my fake name, “they won’t rest until they do, and neither of us will like the fallout if they uncover your real profession.” />
  He’s right. Of course he’s right. And I kick myself that I never thought of this as I was signing my life away for months. He’d mentioned the media, but all I saw were dollar signs.

  Still, putting my real name out there in association with Shaw means I’ll never be able to come back to La Dolce Vita even if I want to—which I don’t—because I will be compromised. Forever associated with Shaw Mercer, my true identity known to the public. I’m starting to understand the gravity of the mistake I’ve made, money or not.

  “Randi will never agree,” I state sharply.

  “She already has. It puts all of us at less risk that way. Summer ties you back to her. Your real name doesn’t.”

  Christ on a crutch. I’m not sure what I feel most in that moment. Betrayal or panic. Randi knew exactly what she was doing, and the fact that she wasn’t completely honest with me up front is devastating, after everything I’ve done for her. Maybe she was madder at me than she let on.

  But panic is quickly snuffing out devastation.

  There’s a far bigger reason I don’t want him knowing my real name. This is just a job, another role, another act. A paycheck, nothing more. Using a stage name not only protects my true identity but it helps keep me grounded firmly in reality. I remember to keep my distance, keep the situation fully in perspective lest I ever forget what it is I’m doing and who I’m doing it for.

  Without “Summer,” I become vulnerable. I become me. This entire charade becomes all too real. The veil of my character is worn, but effective. If I lose that shield, I’m completely defenseless to the drag of his gravitational pull. I’ve already shown him how he weakens me. I can’t let him see any more.

  No. I can’t hear him whisper Willow in my ear or against my lips. If he uses my real name for the next four months, I will lose myself to him. I will start to believe this insane attraction between us is something that can turn into a future. I can’t let the stark reality of this situation morph into girlish fantasy.

  No, no, no.

  Stall for time. Find another way.

  “I need to talk to Randi myself.”

  His mouth turns down slightly. “Of course. But you know this is the right decision.”

  It may be. Probably even is, but my mind screams no. “I really need to go.”

  He looks disappointed but stands when I do. I flinch slightly when he places his hand at the small of my back, feeling it everywhere. Without a word, he walks me to the front door. When I slip into the ballet flats I left on the tile floor, I feel his eyes on me, assessing me.

  Reaching for the doorknob, I say, “Goodnight,” over my shoulder, petrified to turn around for fear I’ll buckle under the power his stare.

  Only I don’t have a chance to turn it before my back is pressed between the cold beveled glass and his taut body. He palms my face, lifting my chin with his thumbs so I have no choice but to meet his lust-filled gaze.

  “Shaw, what are you doing?” I don’t recognize my own voice, choked with rising feelings I refuse to acknowledge. His bulk thoroughly surrounds my small frame. It terrifies me that it feels so right. I can hardly think, let alone breathe.

  “You can’t flinch every time I touch you.” Dark eyes run wildly over my face. He’s trying to work out my contradicting reactions. It’s clear I want him, but he’s right. Every time he touches me, it sends a bolt of energy through me. It’s electrifying and scary as fuck. I’ve never felt anything like it before.

  “I…I’m not. I don’t.”

  “Yes, you do. If we’re going to make this believable, you need to sink into my touch. Crave it with everything in you, not shy away from it.”

  Oh, fuck. I already do crave it. Too much.

  I lick my lips, an automatic nervous reaction. When he runs a thumb over my now moist bottom one, my blood buzzes. I feel drunk on the pure lust swirling around us.

  “You are so goddamn beautiful.” Low, needy words feather over my face, causing my willpower to backslide, like I’m caught in the middle of a blinding avalanche. “When was the last time you were good and kissed? Painstakingly, completely branded by a man so thoroughly you could still feel the press of his lips and the coiling of his tongue with yours when you went to bed that night?”

  “Stop.” My demand is a lie on a puff of air.

  “There are so many sinful things running through my head right now. So fucking many. But right now, I’m going to settle for giving you a kiss you’ll feel right between those clenched thighs of yours.”

  Oh God.

  I try to shake my head, but it’s firmly planted between two strong hands. His deep pools simmer with delight as he lowers his face to less than an inch from mine.

  “This is part of the dance, Goldilocks.”

  “Stop calling me that.” My reprimand comes out breathy instead of irate as I’d wanted.

  “Every couple has pet names for each other. We’re a couple now.”

  “On paper only.”

  Hot breaths wash over the column of my neck when his mouth travels to my ear. “It’s more than just paper, sweetheart. My hands will be on you. Touching you, stroking you, holding you. My lips will graze your ear, your neck, your shoulder, your mouth. Especially your mouth. You need to get used to it, because I’ll be doing it. A. Lot.”

  When the softness of his mouth presses to that sensitive indent beneath my ear, I moan, “Shaw.”

  “Fuck, I love the breathless way you say my name.”

  “We—God, we can’t do this.” But my eyes betray me. They’re already closed in sweet anticipation as he continues to lightly nibble. Whiskers scratch. Chills erupt. Desire is a kaleidoscope spinning inside me.

  “This is exactly what we need to do. We can’t have our first kiss in public. It needs to be well practiced before then, kind of like the catalogue of character traits you recited flawlessly earlier.”

  Before I can call him an ass or voice another protest, he angles my head and melts me with a raspy, “I can’t stop thinking about how you’ll taste.”

  Then his mouth is on me, driving all objections away.

  His lips are soft and warm but also brim with enough power to let me know he’s in charge every second he touches me. It’s heady. I like it too much.

  Shaw’s presence is commanding, absolute. A force to be reckoned with. So, I expect him to claim, own, invade. But he doesn’t. He takes his time, imprinting me instead. Slowly branding me as promised, drawing my top lip in between his before doing the same to the bottom.

  He repeats the painstakingly slow process over and over, sucking and nipping, applying just the right amount of pressure. It's drugging, sweet, and oh so freaking good. I can’t remember ever being kissed like this. By the time I feel the first touch of his tongue on me, demanding entry, I want it so damn bad my lips part automatically, welcoming him inside.

  His strokes are light at first, like he's learning me, treasuring me. But they quickly turn deep, urgent. Demanding. I gasp when he bites my lip hard enough to sting before he returns to gorge on me. Groaning, he shifts his weight, pressing his stiff shaft farther into my belly. I throb everywhere.

  “Oh God,” I whisper. A hot trail blazes along my jaw, down my throat, everywhere his teeth nip and his tongue soothes.

  “Jesus, fuck. I want you.” His hunger crashes into me as hard as rogue waves, flooding me with voracious need. I almost drown, letting him take me under with him.

  “We can’t,” I choke. My body screams at me, Why not? Let him take you right here. Right now. It’s inevitable anyway.

  “You want me. I can smell it.”

  So can I. I don’t even pretend to deny it.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to sleep with you,” I pant.

  His hands have now joined the party. Their slow climb up my torso attempts to convince me otherwise. My breasts are heavy and aching.

  “Oh, Goldilocks, there won’t be any sleeping, only fucking. Lots and lots of fucking,” he growls as he makes his way to the other
side of my neck. I tilt my head.

  It’s tempting. He’s tempting. Lots and lots of only fucking sounds so incredibly tempting.

  “Shaw. Please, stop.”

  He stills, this time sensing my inner turmoil, but his muscles remain taut, ready to resume where we left off if I just say the word. Say the word; say the fucking word, bitch, my girly parts snarl. But I can’t. I won’t come back from this.

  Not pushing me, Shaw gently leans his forehead to mine. We let our breathing calm and appetites settle.

  In a gravelly voice, he tells me, “You feel this thing between us just as much as I do. It’s not going away. It’s going to spread and thicken until it consumes us both, burning so fucking hot and strong it will never be extinguished.”

  Yes. That’s precisely what I’m worried about.

  “I need to go,” I whisper hoarsely. Before I can’t.

  Knowing he won’t change my mind, he sighs and takes a half step back. I think he’ll just let me slip out the door, angry that he couldn’t get me naked tonight, but he surprises me by gently cupping my chin and, eyes locked with mine, presses a close-mouthed kiss to my Shaw-swollen lips.

  “Goodnight, my beautiful girlfriend.” His eyes sparkle.

  That stupid label zings through me like a random lightning bolt. I feel hot and needy and angry that I liked it. His red, sexy, turned-up lips beg me to return to them. “Goodnight,” I say before I do.

  “Drive carefully.” Lust still thickens the voice that follows me all the way to my car. Once I get inside and pull away, I see him watching me from the porch, hands stuffed into his pockets. As he gets smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror, I wonder why the thought of him knowing my real name doesn’t scare me half as much as it did just fifteen minutes ago and why I’m now dying to hear how it will sound on his breathless lips.

  I go to bed that night knowing he accomplished his goal. I unquestionably felt his kiss everywhere, and I swear I still feel his lips pressing to mine as I let sleep claim me.

  11

  Her scent.