Lost In Between: Finding Me Duet #1

by K. L. Kreig

Her flavor.

  Her curves.

  The softness of her lips.

  The texture of her skin.

  I can’t get them out of my head. It’s bordering on obsession, this unquenched thirst I have for her. It’s built every goddamned day for nearly the past two weeks, ever since I got distracted by Lianna’s pathetically sad plea to reconcile and rammed into the back of her.

  Ah fuck, I want to ram into the back of her again, but in a much more pleasurable manner this time. For both of us. I want her so fucking bad, my balls have been drawn perpetually tight, and I can’t relieve the ache no matter how many times I release the pressure. All I have to do is think of her honeyed skin or her breathy moans and I’m right back where I started. In agony.

  She wants me, that much is clear. She’s also drawn a line in the sand, which she doesn’t want to cross. I understand her reluctance in a weird sort of way. This is a temporary arrangement. A business deal. And we all know you don’t fuck (literally) your business partners unless you want to end up fucked over (again, literally) later on down the line.

  I don’t have a future to offer her. I know this. It’s by design, of course, but the reasons remain irrelevant. The only thing available on my menu is pleasure. Immense, intense, unimaginable fucking pleasure.

  As shitty of me as it is, I need to find some way to convince her to let down her guard and let me inside, or I will spend four months in absolute misery. Not only did I require her to be celibate during the next long weeks, I required it of myself. Can’t very well pull off having a serious girlfriend if I’m caught walking out of a hotel room at two in the morning with a one-night stand. A big part of me is now wishing I’d taken Gina up on her offer last week so I could have at least taken this edge off.

  Looking up from my drink, I see the hostess walking my way. It’s not until she steps aside and waves her hand that I see Summer. My dick twitches.

  She is absolutely stunning in her simple black cocktail dress that dips low enough to show ample cleavage without being trashy. She smiles when she sees me, entirely oblivious to the eyes of every man in this room on her right now, which makes her that much more alluring.

  I want to know who this woman really is. Not just her name, but how she thinks, what she loves, her sad past.

  That screams future, Shaw. Get a goddamn grip.

  “You look edible,” I whisper, grazing my lips against her cheek.

  “Thank you, Drive By.” She doesn’t flinch when I snake my arm around her waist and pull her close, my mouth purposely lingering against her warm flesh for another couple beats.

  Yes, motherfuckers, I’m staking my claim, even if it is only temporary.

  I reluctantly loosen my hold and pull out a chair to my right, getting her settled before taking my own seat again. Tonight is our first official public outing since she was at my home five days ago. Just a simple dinner. But I’ve made sure it’s a well-known, exclusive haunt not too far from city hall.

  Our waitress is Johnny-on-the-spot and has her drink order before I can even ask her how her week has been, which surprisingly I really want the answer to.

  “How was your week, Goldilocks?” I quirk my lips when her nose crinkles.

  “Are you always going to call me that?”

  “What?” I feign, holding my full smile in check. I have no idea why I derive so much enjoyment from getting under her skin because that is not who I am at all. That’s more Noah’s shtick. But I do. Enormously. She is so damn easy to rile, and I love to watch her fire burn. Every poke I make loosens those petrified ashes a bit more so I can fully expose the sleeping volcano underneath.

  “You know what. Goldilocks?” She looks so fucking cute with her brows raised and an I’m waiting look on her face. I want to laugh.

  “I already told you, Goldilocks, it’s my pet name. So, yes, I do plan on calling you that.”

  “It’s stupid,” she laments quietly, breaking eye contact as she places the black cloth napkin on her lap and picks up her menu. I don’t believe she really thinks that, though I’m not about to argue. I grew up with three women. I learned to pick my battles.

  “Maybe if you’d give me your real name, I would use it less.”

  At that, her brilliant blue eyes snap back to me.

  “Did you talk to Ms. Deveraux?” I ask pointedly, holding her glower.

  “Yes,” she replies after a brief hesitation.

  “And?”

  “And, what?” She lowers the menu, giving me all her attention.

  “And, what did you decide?”

  Biting her lip she looks away, breathing deeply. The waitress interrupts with her glass of red wine but is quickly gone when my stare conveys we need more time. After she takes a sip, her attention returns to me.

  “A name is power.”

  I’m taken aback, confused. “Power? A name is just a name, Goldilocks.”

  “No.” She shakes her head adamantly. “No, it’s more than that, Shaw. It’s giving up control. It’s sharing a piece of yourself that’s only yours to give away. It’s a connection that ties humans together. It’s intimate, even. You curse a name on a roar or whisper it on a breath. You cry it out of unimaginable agony or sheer ecstasy. You use my name and the dynamics between us will shift. This”—she waves her finger back and forth—“becomes personal instead of professional.”

  She is an amazing creature. Each enlightening word drew me in further. My beautiful sprite holds a chasm of hurt inside that’s so full it practically bleeds from her pores, so she tightly clutches the reins of every shred of control she can, no matter how small.

  And while her little theory has some merit and may be quite necessary in her job, the problem with applying it to us is that in the short time we’ve known each other, we’ve rocketed well past arm’s length. This already is personal. I know it. She knows it. She just doesn’t want to acknowledge it, and I’m not sure why.

  Leaning close, I palm her cheek. My thumb moves reflexively in circles across her soft skin. I want to kiss her. I want to fucking inhale her. In a low voice, I tell her, “I know you don’t want to believe this, sweetheart, but regardless of whether I know your real name or not, I assure you my feelings for you are entirely unprofessional.”

  Her eyes flutter shut as I give in to the urge to set my mouth on hers. I move softly, reverently, my gentle exploration confirming she tastes as damn good as I remember from the other night.

  “This will be getting very personal between us. It already has,” I whisper against moist lips, forcing myself to pull away when all I want to do is set her on my cock. “You know I’m right.”

  “I…I don’t know what the right answer is.” Her soft voice is unsure, and it ignites an angry torch inside me.

  “You signed up to do a job. This is too important to fuck up.”

  And apparently my comment lit a fire inside her, too. When she speaks, her tone is harsh and acerbic. It makes me even fucking harder than I am.

  “About that. Maybe if I knew exactly why we were doing this, I could make a more informed decision. We are going to be spending a lot of time together after all, and I did sign a nondisclosure agreement. I think you owe me that much, actually. If you leave me on the periphery, I’m more likely to fuck up.”

  My sigh is heavy. “Can’t you just trust me?”

  “A river that flows both ways,” she replies resolutely.

  I stall by taking a sip of my Manhattan. As it is, she’s on the right track; can it hurt to be completely truthful with her?

  Completely? Yes. I’m doing this for my father, true, but I’m doing it in large part to protect Bluebelle and her sordid past or maybe even her sordid present. But partially? That’s probably fine.

  “All right, well you already know my father is up for mayoral reelection and let’s just say his new campaign manager thinks it would be a good idea if I settled down for a while.”

  She regards me before a slight smile curves her lips. “There’s more to the story tha
n that.”

  “Why would you think that?” I ask, impressed by her insight, although by now I guess I shouldn’t be.

  “Because, that reasoning is just plain stupid. You taking a girlfriend is not going to get your father reelected, and if his new campaign manager thinks it can and he’s convinced your father of that, then not only does his campaign manager need to be fired, your father deserves to lose.”

  After my shock wears off, I laugh loud enough to draw the attention of the tables surrounding ours, which is tucked in the corner away from listening ears. It’s a good place to be seen, but not overheard.

  Still chuckling, I say, “You have got to be one of the most perceptive women I’ve ever met.”

  Frowning, she cocks her head. “Considering your depth of experience, that tells me a lot about the kind of company you keep.”

  “Is that so?” I sober, wondering why that prickles more than it should. I’ve been with a lot of women, yes, but have never been remotely ashamed of how many until just now. Even my family couldn’t shame me; they’ve actually tried on countless occasions. I know this lovely creature beside me wasn’t trying to do that intentionally. She was just stating a fact. It makes me pause nonetheless.

  Our waitress approaches before she can respond. A few minutes later, she’s off with our dinner order, and we fall silent, but our blues don’t break from each other.

  “So, are you going to tell me your name now?” I press with a slight bite.

  “After you finish your story. You know, the real one, not the one that’s a well-practiced bullet list of superficial bullshit,” she sasses with a self-satisfied smirk.

  I blink, eating my own words.

  “What’s the matter? A little speechless, Shaw?” She puts her elbows on the table and leans into me slightly. “Maybe you don’t like a woman who’s direct? Maybe you prefer a meek little girl who will bat her eyes, drop to her knees, and submit to you with only the words ‘Yes, sir’ on her lips instead?”

  My weeping cock jumps at her mouthiness. Jesus Christ, I want to dominate and control her. I want to fuck her, brutal and fast and so fucking raw she’ll remember well who’s in charge here, thinking twice about her sassy-as-hell attitude, even if it makes me rock hard.

  With my thumb placed firmly under her chin, I palm her slender neck and pull her ear to my mouth, rasping, “I swear to the holy man himself, beautiful, if we were anywhere but in a room full of Seattle’s finest businessmen and women, you’d be over my knee, your panties would be on the floor, and you’d have my handprints adorning your tight little ass before I fucked you hoarse with my fingers.”

  My hard dick jerks with her faint moan. I’m so focused on the rapid thrum of her pulse beneath my fingers and the quickening of her breaths—both of which indicate that what I just threatened wasn’t actually a threat at all, but a promise she’d like me to fulfill—I forget where we are. I don’t hear anyone approaching until it’s too late.

  “Shaw Mercer, is that you? It is you. How very nice to see you here.”

  Summer tugs back against my hold, breaking it, but only because it had loosened with our unwelcome interruption. My eyes reluctantly lift to our intruder, and while this scenario should make me happy as this is the very reason I chose this restaurant, all I can think about is how I want to take this woman next to me home and pleasure her until her muscles shake and her brain is mush. I want her submission so much it’s practically choking me.

  I stand to kiss the city council president on the cheek while strategically holding the napkin over my throbbing, angry erection.

  Attempting to clear the lust from my throat, I still rasp, “Emily, nice to see you as well. How are Howard and the kids?”

  “They’re good, thank you,” she lies. I happen to know Howard lost five grand last month, and they were late on their mortgage payment as a result. I also know her eighteen-year-old was busted last weekend, found with enough weed to be charged with intent to distribute. Poor Emily’s family is going to shit, and because she’s a public figure, that shit is hard to hide. Not impossible, because I’ve done it, but it’s challenging.

  Emily’s attention now focuses on my lovely date. I smile at the blush still staining her fair cheeks and long to see where else it’s spread. “And who do we have here?” she asks with genuine interest.

  Emily Smith may be a woman of power in the city of Seattle, but she is also one of the biggest gossipmongers to ever grace public office.

  “Uh, this is my girlfriend…” I let it hang like an idiot, not knowing how I should introduce her because she hasn’t fucking shared her name with me yet.

  But she’s already standing, smiling cordially, and extending her hand. “Willow Blackwell. Nice to meet you, Emily.”

  I swear by all that’s sacred, you could have knocked me over with a feather. Until this moment, I’ve never understood how powerful a name can be. But now I do, because hers just ripped through me like an EF5 twister before settling somewhere around the middle of my chest cavity.

  Willow. Music for my soul. And unquestionably perfect for this woman of strength and beauty.

  Fuck. What is she doing to me?

  “…you meet?”

  I was so enraptured with finally learning her true name I’ve missed half of the conversation between Emily and Willow.

  “Oh, Shaw rear-ended me,” she bats her eyes and smiles sweetly as she reaches over to twine her fingers with mine. I grip them tightly and paste on a grin of my own. I have no idea why she’s straying from the farce we’d worked out earlier this week that we met through a mutual friend.

  “Oh my.” Emily presses her hand over her heart. “I hope you’re okay, dear.”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Just a bit banged up. My neck is still a little stiff due to the whiplash, but Shaw’s magic fingers work out the kinks when I get a spasm. Thank you for your concern, though.” Laying a hand lightly on Emily’s arm, she adds, “It’s very kind of you.”

  Banged up? Spasms? What the fuck? This is not at all what we’d discussed.

  “Well, my goodness, Shaw Mercer, you should learn to drive more carefully,” Emily scolds me like I’m seventeen again, and I accidentally hit the garage door while backing out. So, sue me, I forgot to put it up. Everyone makes mistakes.

  “Yes, I should,” I mutter, trying to work out how I became the bad guy here when having Willow by my side is supposed to elevate me instead.

  “I hope you took care of the damages.”

  I open my mouth to respond when Willow talks over me. “Well, I shouldn’t be saying anything because you and I don’t know each other, but he was so worried about my safety in that little Fiat I drive that he refuses to fix it and has ordered me a brand-new Audi. It has a safety rating of ten, and Shaw is a freak about my safety. I never realized just how dangerous that little tin can I drive really is.”

  The look of pure love and adoration she gives me throws me for a loop, making my heart beat a little faster. She’s so damn good she’s even fooling me.

  “A new car? Oh my. Things must be very serious between you two. I had no idea you were dating anyone, Shaw. Your father hasn’t said a word.” She sounds skeptical, and I’m trying to shove the whole new car comment to the back of my mind so I can cobble together the pieces of our now shattered story into something believable when Willow answers again.

  “We’ve been keeping it hush-hush, you know. I don’t want anything between Shaw and me to upstage the mayor’s reelection campaign, which is just gearing up.” Again with the lovey eyes. “He’s been trying to convince me that we can still keep things under wraps even if he does introduce me to his family, but I’ve been resisting, so I’m afraid I have to take the blame for the fact the mayor doesn’t know about me yet.”

  Holy.

  Shit.

  This woman is fucking brilliant.

  “Of course, yes, that makes perfect sense,” Emily replies, sounding as if she didn’t believe it until she just said it out loud.


  We’re saved from further interrogation when our food arrives, thank God. I feel like I’ve been caught flat-footed and am doing a freshman job of recovering.

  “Well, Shaw, it was good to catch up. I’ll leave you two lovebirds to eat in peace, and don’t worry.” She leans over, lowering her voice to a scratchy whisper. “I won’t say a thing to your father. That’s not my place.”

  “Of course not, Emily. I would greatly appreciate that,” I reply, sounding indebted. I believe her. She won’t say a word to my father. I happen to know my father can’t stand the conniving bitch, but I didn’t miss how she didn’t say she wouldn’t tell everyone else. I guess I’d better plan a family meet and greet sooner rather than later, or I will be on my mother’s shit list for the next year.

  “What the hell just happened?” I huff after Emily is out of earshot.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she replies sweetly, picking up her fork.

  “You know damn well what I mean, Willow.” Christ, her name lingers on my taste buds like aged Scotch.

  Pausing mid-bite, she slides her liquid eyes to mine. I let my gaze fall to her bare chest, which is slightly flushed now, and if I’m not mistaken, fluttering a bit faster with her quickened breaths. I notice the same dainty silver abstract necklace shaded with a hint of purple sitting right below the hollow of her throat. She’s worn it every time I’ve seen her, and I wonder what its importance is to her. When my eyes finally reconnect with hers, I expect to see desire, but all I see is conflict.

  She’s playing her role brilliantly while I’m trying to play her.

  I’m an asshole. My out-of-control want for her is making me act utterly out of character. I don’t chase women. They chase me. It’s not ego, it’s just fact. Maybe I need to change tactics with her. Ease back and draw her into me instead of pushing her away with my unrelenting pursuit.

  Right. New game plan.

  Softening my voice, I quirk my lip and say, “So I’m buying you a new car, huh?”

  The mood perceptibly shifts when a sheepish smile that reaches her eyes breaks out on her face. God in heaven, my mind is blown every time she does that.