I daren’t.
I didn’t know what to think.
Part of me wanted to over-analyze everything; to replay the way he disciplined that guy and try to connect dots that weren’t there. My imagination worked over-time, doing its best to believe that perhaps I knew Nameless’ identity all along. That maybe, just maybe, he’d been the one to find me after all these years and not me failing to find him.
But one awful flaw sat like a toad in that perfect fantasy. Penn didn’t have a gentle bone in his body like Nameless. Nameless was cool and prickly but beneath that armor had been kindness—sweet wrapped up in daggers.
Penn was just the blade, shiny and impenetrable, one dimensional with refracting surfaces to distort my true perception.
The only problem was I couldn’t distinguish one punch from another. I was seeing things—making things up—trying to link two very separate incidents into one.
To do what?
Find meaning in why I slept with Penn?
Validation that I wasn’t some romance-broken girl, after all?
“I owe you an apology.” His voice barely registered over the hum of the tires on the road.
I tensed, staring out the window. “I owe you thanks.”
His head snapped left and right in denial. “No. I kicked you out. I thought your driver would collect you, but then you walked off.”
“You were watching me?”
He didn’t reply. “You almost got hurt.”
“But I didn’t.”
“If you had…fuck!” He punched the steering wheel, making the horn blare, shattering the sleep in many apartments. “I would’ve fucking killed him.”
“I wouldn’t have asked you to.”
He glowered. “I wouldn’t have done it for you.”
“So you would’ve taken a life purely because you wanted to and not to somehow avenge me?”
“I would’ve killed him because he touched what wasn’t his to touch.”
My heart beat wild. “So you protected me, not because I shared your bed and gave up a significant part of me, but because in your twisted ideals, I’m a possession that only you can touch?”
His jaw worked as he drove fast through residential streets. “Yes.”
“Not because you feel anything for me?”
“No.”
“Anything at all.”
“Nothing.”
“But the sex was good.”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to see me again?” I hated that I had to ask; that I cared about the answer. He’d turned into a bastard who terrified me. He’d hurt that thief with such ease.
But with him emotionally withdrawn and icy, it helped remind me what we had was purely physical. I didn’t like him. Not in the slightest. I didn’t even feel some resemblance of gratitude-induced affection from him rescuing me. He turned everything that could be good and exciting into bad and unwanted.
But I’d tasted what sex could be like. And I wanted more. I wanted to be selfish for me. So, for now, I’d accept his asshole persona and ignore my questions.
“I don’t know.” His confession wasn’t what I expected.
“You don’t know if you want to sleep with me again?”
He half-smirked. “We didn’t sleep together, Elle. We fucked.”
“Thanks for the clarification.” I huffed, crossing my arms. “Forgive me; do you want to fuck me again?”
His fingers latched tighter around the wheel, the leather creaking. For a moment, his head shook with a silent no. Then a cocky smirk stole the truth with yet another lie. “Yes, I want to fuck you again.”
Why the hesitation?
Why say we are engaged if he only intended to sleep with me once?
Why the cold shoulder and strict boundaries?
Why, why, why?
“Good.” I sat prim, reveling how the ache in my womb turned liquid again. “Me too.” Testing my innocent mouth with erotic commands, I added, “I liked fucking you. I want more.”
His gaze shot from the road to mine. “More?”
I swallowed, fighting back my embarrassment. “I want your uh…cock. I want you inside me again.”
He groaned and focused on the road, the speed we traveled far too fast. “Fuck you for saying that.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I had no come-back for being cursed at.
How rude.
What an ass!
I sat silent, stewing as the neighborhood switched to one I knew and my penthouse on top of the white sparkling building up ahead beckoned me home.
Home.
Where Sage would be waiting and Penn could fuck off with his secrets, curses, and lies.
Pulling to a stop, he turned off the car and climbed out.
I didn’t wait for him to get my door. Cracking it open, I jumped out only to wince and hobble as the cuts from running tormented me.
“Fuck, look at your feet.” Before I could reply, he scooped me into his arms and carried me toward my building.
The doorman nodded and opened the large entryway without showing any signs of shock. Penn left his black Mercedes coupe parked haphazardly on the street and marched me through the foyer of my building.
“Everything okay, Ms. Charlston?” Danny, the night manager, called. His lined face worried beneath the navy cap of his uniform. He eyed Penn with wariness.
Preventing me from yelling for help or for Danny to call security, Penn growled, “I’m taking my fiancée to her apartment. She’s fine.”
I squirmed in his arms. “You are not my fiancé. Stop telling everyone that.” Waving at Danny, doing my best to keep up appearances rather than panic the neighborhood, I said, “Everything's fine. Sorry for the odd entry.”
Danny waved back, frowning and unsure but polite enough not to intrude.
The moment we left the foyer and entered the bank of elevators, I hissed, “Put me down.” I pushed at Penn’s chest. “I can walk.”
“Your feet are bleeding.”
“I don’t care. I want you gone.”
He looked down, his brown eyes bordering oak-black. “That wasn’t what you said a few moments ago.”
“That was before you told me to fuck off.”
“I didn’t tell you to fuck off. I said fuck you. There’s a difference.”
“There's no difference.”
He punched the elevator button and strode into it as the doors opened instantly. “Press your floor.”
I did so then froze as the doors whispered shut, imprisoning us. “Wait, how the hell do you know where I live?”
“I researched.”
“You stalked, you mean.”
Once again, he didn’t reply. The ride upward was awkward and strange and loaded with every foreign sensation imaginable. I hated him holding me, but I liked his protection at the same time. I hated the way he took control but liked his need to make sure I was safe.
Ugh, I just hate him.
I don’t like any of the other stuff.
The elevator stopped, and Penn stepped off, pausing in the middle of the fancy wide hallway. Two doors—left and right. Two penthouses taking up one-half of the entire floor each.
He glanced at me. “Which one?”
I crossed my arms—or the best I could while reclining in his embrace. “Don’t you already know?”
His gaze tangled with mine, deliberating to show me a truth or lie.
He chose the truth.
Striding toward the left door—the correct door—he waited while I inputted the nine-digit code rather than a simple key then leaned on the door handle to enter.
I made a mental note to change the sequence tomorrow, seeing as his eagle eyes had watched the nine digits with quick intelligence.
His attention swooped over my foyer where a chandelier hung from the ceiling in crystal glitter before pooling onto the floor with a glass table imprisoning it. For a statement piece, it had oodles of wow factor.
A
loud meow sounded just before a silver streak charged from the white couch facing the floor-to-ceiling windows directly for Penn. Sage latched onto his leg, no doubt sinking her claws into his calf.
I laughed softly. “Seems I’m not the only one who doesn’t like you.”
“The feeling is mutual, I assure you.” Wincing, he stalked forward—with Sage still clinging to his leg—entering my sleek kitchen, where every cupboard looked like a high gloss wall with no handles or appliances in sight—all hidden or magically designed to keep such necessities of life a mystery.
Placing me on the white bench top, he grabbed Sage, ripped her off his jeans, and plonked her down beside me. She swatted him, hissing, but immediately leaped into my lap and purred, stretching to lick my chin with her sandpaper tongue.
“You did well.” I scratched her neck. “Thanks for protecting me.”
Penn snorted, turning to locate the sink. He wouldn’t find it. It was hidden beneath a large slab of bench top that revealed the tap and bowl with a press of a button by my orchid plant.
He searched for two seconds then stalked off, leaving me gaping after him.
Where the hell is he going?
A few moments later, he returned with a white towel from the guest powder room and a bowl that had contained blue marbles for decoration now filled with tepid water.
Without a word, he dropped to his knees and grabbed my foot.
I froze, speechless as he wet the towel then slowly, carefully, with all the tenderness in the world washed my feet, running the towel so, so gently over the lacerations from the beer bottle I’d run over.
I sucked in a gasp, my breath wobbly as he cleaned the towel and the water turned pink with my blood.
There was nothing else in that moment.
No questions. No lies. No lust.
Just him giving himself in ways I never imagined he would.
My heart stopped thudding, settling for the slightest tiptoe as if afraid one wrong move or noise would shatter this strange new existence.
His hands were swift but sure, soft but serious. He didn’t tickle me while he felt my instep to make sure no debris remained, and he didn’t take advantage when my legs spread with instinct as he rubbed my ankle with his thumb.
He tended to me, and once I was tended to, he stood, placed the bowl onto the counter, then grabbed my face in his warm hands.
He stared into my eyes, barriers in place, curtains protecting his true thoughts. He didn’t speak, but he leaned forward and his lips claimed mine in the most sensual kiss I’d ever been given.
His tongue was velvet. His mouth cashmere.
I swooned into him, utterly seduced and unbound.
There was magic in this kiss, a spell promising secrets, a connection to sever all other connections.
And then, it was over.
As silently as he’d washed my feet, he turned around and walked out of my apartment.
Just like that.
25
A FEW DAYS passed.
I didn’t contact him.
He didn’t contact me.
It was as if he never existed.
If it weren’t for the fading cuts and bruises on my feet, I would’ve struggled to believe the night at his place even happened.
My mind was a broken record—even work couldn’t distract me.
All I could think about was Penn washing my feet, Penn hitting that guy, Penn sliding inside me.
He’d shown two totally different sides of himself, and I couldn’t unscramble what it meant. I’d hoped having some time to myself would deliver decisions on what to do. To make up my mind to forget about him or chase the answers slowly turning me hollow.
Spread-sheets and conferences calls didn’t help, and the lack of contact did the opposite of what I wanted. My heart grew fonder (just like that stupid saying). My idiotic mind sketched him in a kinder light than the one he’d shown. I second-guessed his pretension and conceit, making up stories that would explain his sudden switch to guardian and medic all in one.
Just like my unpaid debt to Nameless, I had one toward Penn now. I owed him thanks at the very least for ensuring I returned home safe and my injuries were disinfected.
When he finally did text me, I no longer wanted him to fall off the face of the planet but was grateful to hear from him.
Penn (08:47a.m.): How are your feet?
Elle (08:52 a.m.): Fine. I never said thanks for taking care of me.
Penn (09:00 a.m.): Are you saying it now?
Elle (09:03 a.m.): Maybe.
Penn (09:06 a.m.): Are you sore?
Elle (09:08 a.m.): My feet?
Penn (09:08 a.m.): No. The other part I touched that night.
Sex between us exploded into my senses: sight, sound, taste, feel—I wasn’t in my office but back in his bed. I had no intention of letting him know how much I wanted a second round.
Elle (09:09 a.m.): Oh yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten about that.
Pen (09:10 a.m.): Do you want me to refresh your memory?
Elle (09:11 a.m.): Perhaps you should.
Penn (09:12 a.m.): I want to fuck you again.
Elle (09:14 a.m.): So do it.
Penn (09:17 a.m.): Fair warning, I won’t go so easy on you next time.
I choked a little.
I’d played fairly easy to catch, and the thought of tangling in bed together sounded far too tempting. But if I let him into my body again, I might not be able to keep my feelings out of it. Damn him for washing my feet and showing me he could care. How could I keep my heart frosty if he’d thawed a little?
The answer was I couldn’t.
We’d slept together. We’d had three days apart. It was a good time to end this charade before everyone he’d lied to got hurt. I’d thanked him. I could move on.
Elle (09:20 a.m.): I’ve changed my mind.
Penn (09:23 a.m.): What the fuck does that mean?
Elle (09:27 a.m.): It means the sex was amazing, but it doesn’t change the fact you lied to my father. You made him think he can relax knowing I’m going to be taken care of—his words, not mine. I can’t let him believe we’re truly together. He has heart issues. I enjoyed the other night but don’t expect anything more. Let’s end this now before it gets complicated.
No text came back.
My phone vibrated alive in my hand.
Penn calling…
“Oh, shit.” Huddling over my desk, I deliberated whether I should ignore the call. Problem was he knew I was around because I’d responded to his texts.
Sucking in a breath, I pressed accept. “Hello.”
“Don’t hello me, Elle.”
“Okay…”
“Don’t okay me, either. Especially in that tone.” His voice dripped with sex, pooling directly into my core.
“Well, if you’re not going to let me speak, why the hell did you call me?”
“I’ll tell you why. Because I found your last message ridiculous.”
I held my tongue, waiting for him to continue.
“It so happens I’ve spoken to your father.”
“What?”
“And he approves of us.”
“He’ll approve of anyone with a penis and a pulse.”
As long as it’s not Nameless or someone with a criminal record.
“Thanks for that stab at my self-worth,” he purred. “Nevertheless, I have a lunch date with him today. If you say you’re sorry and admit you want me to make you come again, I might let you join us.”
I couldn’t do this.
“Hold up. You might let me come on a date with my own father?” I rolled my eyes, glowering at Sage as she pranced over my desk. “I can’t hear you because your ego is so inflated.”
“I think you mean my cock. My cock is inflated thinking about fucking you again.” His voice dropped from crude to cool. “I’m meeting your father at the Tropics in three hours. Come or don’t. Your choice.”
He hung up.
I had a good min
d to call him back and screech that I wasn’t some possession to be played or a toy to be tormented. But someone knocked on my door. “Elle?”
Oh no, this day just keeps getting worse.
“Yes, Greg, you can come in.”
He strode in with all the arrogant airs of a playboy dressed in a baby blue polo and pressed jeans. His dark blond hair was tussled in just the right way to hint he was always this good looking with no effort, when I happened to know—from many childhood get-togethers—that he took hours in the bathroom manscaping.
Yet another reason why I could never be with Greg. He valued his appearance more than any other thing in his life…including whatever woman he ended up with as his wife.
“Hi, Elle.” He perched on the edge of my desk, his butt nudging aside paperclips and scattering pens. “Whatcha doing today?”
Sage gave him a kitty-glower and leaped off the glass to return to her nest of blankets by my feet.
I forced myself not to roll my eyes. “The usual. Running my family’s company. You?”
“Just had the weekly brief with my old man. Logistics is boring compared to all the number-juggling you guys get to do up here.”
When Greg left school, Steve and my father had worked out a position for him to fill. A position that wouldn’t affect Belle Elle’s reputation or bottom line if he lost interest or screwed up. Being the head of the logistics department ought to be a full-time, full-on occupation, but his executive assistant was far too good at her job, and Greg took that as an opportunity to play retired.
“It’s not fun.” I smiled huge and bright. “Believe me.”
And you’re not allowed to fiddle with things you know nothing about and don’t give two craps over.
He plucked my turquoise ink fountain pen and spun it in his fingers. “Want to go to dinner with me tonight? Hanging at the Palm Politics with those girls from your school was fun.” He flashed me a grin. “I enjoyed it. And I know our fathers did. They’re so happy we got together on our own accord and not at a family dinner.”
Unable to help myself, I grabbed the pen from his fingers and placed it back on the desk. “Sorry, Greg, I’m busy. Maybe next time.”
“Next time what?” His eyes narrowed, that edge of darkness revealing itself. “Next week, you mean? Next month? When, Elle? I’m not going to wait around for you forever, you know.”
Vote Then Read: Volume III Page 351