by Whitley Cox
Despite the craziness of the airport around us, I saw only Derrick, heard only Derrick.
“I don’t know what’s going on with us,” he said, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “But it’s more than a fling. It’s more than two people making one another forget their troubles and just feel good. You know it, too. You feel it, too. I see it in your eyes.” His lips trembled, but he pressed on. “I want you, Piper. Every minute of every day, I want you. Fuck, I’m pretty sure I need you. You make me feel more alive, more… in love with the possibility of happiness, of second chances than I’ve ever felt before.
“It’s only been a week, but… if this is what falling in love feels like, if I’m supposed to feel a tightening in my chest and have a brain of mush whenever you’re around, then… I don’t want this feeling to end. Come with me. Let’s figure out what is going on with us. Let’s explore the possibility of the impossible. Take a chance on a second chance.”
My mouth hung open, he took it as an invitation and leaned in for a kiss. His tongue swept inside, tasting me, pleading with me. This time he was the one doing the begging. I felt it with every brush of his lips, every lave of his tongue, and the way he tugged me closer, unwilling to let me go.
Reluctantly he finally pulled away, bending his knees so that we were eye-to-eye, a wicked gleam in the swirling thundercloud gray of his irises. I’d never noticed it before, but there were hints of gold in the gray. How unusual and beautiful.
“We can travel the world if we want to. See any country we choose. Teach abroad. You said you’re done with law, and your husband thought you should be a teacher. You’re educated enough to teach; so am I. We could walk into an ESL school in Santiago tomorrow and have jobs by the end of the month when we get back from Easter Island.”
“But…my apartment.” I was grasping at straws now, and I couldn’t quite figure out why.
He shook his head. “Call a friend to lease it for you, or give it up and have a moving crew put everything in storage.” The man had an answer for everything. Had this been why he’d been so quiet? Was he trying to figure out a way for the adventure to never end? His hands were now cupping my cheeks. “I can see it in your eyes, Piper; you want this too. You want to travel and have more adventures. You want to throw caution to the wind and see what tomorrow brings without having planned the whole thing out the day before. I can see you want this… you want us.”
There was that word again, us. He wanted us.
“Take a chance on me, Piper. Take a chance on love… take a chance on us.” There was that word again — us.
My heart pounded like a drum in my chest and my entire body was on fire. I could feel a flush of heat spreading up from my neck to my cheeks and into my hairline and a buzzing sound filled my ears. Was I having a stroke? Or was this just what it felt like to take a leap of faith into the unknown? Gently and sweetly, I pulled his hands from my face. His eyes went wide with panic, and he started to shake his head to get me to stay. But I didn’t say anything. I just took his hand and pulled him forward and up to the LATAM Airlines desk.
I fished my passport and my last remaining credit card out of my purse and plunked them on the counter. “One ticket to Santiago, please.”
Epilogue
Six Months Later…
“Hello?”
“Piper?”
“Yes, who’s this?”
“You’re a tough woman to track down.”
“Who is this?” I put my pen down and got up from my desk, wandering over to the window and looking out onto the rolling hills.
“Chase.”
I gasped. “Chase?”
“Yeah.”
My heart started to beat wildly in my chest. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“H-have…” My voice caught in my throat. I hoped to God he wasn’t going to say ‘yes’ to my next question. “Have you been in prison this whole time?”
Silence.
“Chase?”
“You’re a tough woman to track down. Been doing some traveling?”
“Yes, where are you?”
“Home.”
“And where is home?” The man could be such an ass.
“I’m okay, Piper.”
Tears pricked the corner of my eyes, and I sniffed, wiping the back of my wrist beneath my nose. “Okay.”
“If you’re ever back up in Canada, you look me up. We can grab a beer…laugh about all of this. Maybe even be friends.” Yeah, because you laugh! I fought the urge to laugh now.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “Okay. Chase?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
More silence.
“Chase?”
“You’re welcome. Listen, Piper, it’s good to know you’re safe and happy, but I have to go. We’ll talk when you’re home.”
I sniffed again and wiped my eyes. “Okay.”
“Goodbye.”
I don’t say goodbye anymore; it’s too final. “See you later, Chase.”
Several years later…
“Excuse me, is this seat taken?” I ask, noticing that the seat next to a menacingly attractive man is vacant. He’s busy puttering away on his laptop. It appears he is editing and polishing up an interesting photo of a grizzly bear and her cubs. The photo is stunning, and so is he.
His eyes flash up at me, and he smiles, moving his laptop bag off the chair I’m interested in. “No, not at all.”
I flop down with an oof and throw the bags around my neck and shoulders to my feet; my back is killing me. “Thanks.”
His lips twist. “Not a problem.”
I grin at him and pick up my ratty old copy of Accepting Loss: A step by step guide to dealing with the loss of loved ones. He snorts through his nose but doesn’t look back at me. He keeps his eyes fixed on his computer, his fingers furiously flying across the keys and touchpad.
I’m pretending to read my book, all the while actually studying the man beside me, his lusciously dark hair, deep and soulful gray eyes, and that sexy as hell scruff that runs the length of his jaw. God, how I ached to have that scruff on my body, I bet it felt all kinds of wicked. And then I notice the sleeping toddler in the seat next to him. Curled up like a perfect little chubby-cheeked cherub with her thumb in her mouth, long blonde curls covering most of her forehead. He’s draped his coat over her, and she’s using what appears to be his sweater as a pillow. A furry animal of some sort, maybe a bunny, peeks out from underneath her arm. All I can see is a pink nose and one glossy black eye, but I’m almost certain it’s a bunny.
I let my eyes flit back to my book for just a second, and suddenly a hand lands on my belly and begins to rub it rhythmically.
I give him an incredulous look. “Excuse me, sir, but what do you think you are doing?”
He rolls his eyes. “Are you going to make me role-play our meet-cute every year for the rest of my life? Oh, he’s kicking!” Derrick’s eyes, glittering and happy, flash to mine. “That was a hard one. Does it hurt?”
My hand falls on top of his as we feel our son try to get himself comfortable. My eyes flutter shut, and I sigh. “No, not really. He’s still got some space yet. Another month or two and he’ll be up in my ribs, just like Holly was.”
He chuckles. “And there she stayed.”
I stretch and smile but don’t bother to open my eyes. “Yes, and there she stayed. Stubborn little monkey. How’d you get her to fall asleep, finally?”
His fingers link with mine, and he brings the back of my hand to his lips. “I told her she’ll be too tired for the beach tomorrow unless she gets some sleep now. Then she asked if she’ll get to see Connor and Thea. I told her not unless she has a nap.”
Another sigh. “This was a very good idea. Hawaii for two whole weeks, with Chase and his family.”
“Yeah,” he yawns. “And you all pregnant and gorgeous in a bikini. I’m excited.”
I snort and shake my head. “I can’t believe this time nex
t year there will be four of us. It seemed so hard at first when she was newborn. And now it’s easy…” I pop one eye open, and he’s giving me a couple of raised brows. “Okay, okay, it’s not easy, it’s easier.”
The brows appear to climb even higher. “This coming from the woman who was threatening to leave our child in the gift shop just an hour ago, when she threw the mother of all tantrums?”
I rolled my eyes. “Touché. Fine, not easier.”
I can tell he’s struggling not to smile. He doesn’t say anything.
“I’m just nervous about having two kids. We need this time away, just the three of us.”
Stowing his laptop into its case, he wraps an arm around my shoulder. I let my head fall to his and close my eyes again. “It’ll be tough at first. But we’re in this together. Just another adventure, right? Though instead of being robbed blind of money and cameras, they’re just going to rob us of sleep, sex and our sanity for the foreseeable future. Oh, and maybe my hair.” With a worried frown, he runs his free hand through his silky locks.
Oh, how I hope he goes salt and pepper.
“But you know, they’ll probably just make you go gray.” I snort, and he plants a kiss to my forehead. “You, me, them…this is us, and I couldn’t be happier about what’s in store.”
A lone tear trickles down my cheek, and I let my free hand fall to the somersaulting infant in my belly. “This is us, isn’t it? Happy, healthy…”
“And head-over-heels in love.”
I swallow and look up at him, unshed tears blurring my vision. He has them, too. “And head-over-heels in love.”
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Xoxo
Whitley Cox
Sneak Peek of Quick & Dirty
Read on for Chapter 1 of Quick & Dirty
Book 1, A Quick Series Novel
Chapter 1 of Quick & Dirty
Parker
“Hey, it’s me again. Look, I know you’re pissed, but it’s really for the best. You weren’t making me happy. I need a woman who has more spark. More fire. More passion. You’re like a dead fish, really. I think you might have some daddy issues there, darling. Not enough hugs growing up or something.” His syrupy-sweet voice made me wish there was an app where you could reach inside your phone and throat-punch the caller on the other end. How I wanted to just watch him choke and gasp for air, his smarmy eyes bugging out as his hands found their way to his neck and he looked at me in panic.
Motherfucker! Daddy issues?
Fuck him. He knows nothing about me. NOTHING!
But like the mouse that keeps going back to the same freaking trap, I put my ear back to the receiver.
“I need someone who is going to be there for me when I need her, you know? Besides, were you even happy? Half the time I can’t even tell. Happy, mad, sad. For a woman who doesn’t get Botox anymore, you sure have a face like one. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know I’ve put all your things in a box and had my chauffeur drop it off at your apartment.”
Swallowing the taste of bile that had suddenly formed a thick film on my tongue, I deleted the message on my phone before his voice could continue.
Fuck him!
Fuck Xavier Rollins and his millions. Fuck Xavier Rollins and his beautiful downtown penthouse apartment. Fuck Xavier Rollins and his nice cars, his family’s private jet, his enormous yacht. Fuck him and fuck everything else. Fuck everyone else. Fuck everyone he knew, he worked with, fuck them all. I was done.
I’d wasted three years of my life with that asshole, three fucking years. And apparently during the last year (but who really knew? It could have been the whole damn time) he’d been screwing everything with two X chromosomes that batted heavily mascaraed eyelashes at him. His assistant, his secretary, his kid’s nanny, his ex-wife apparently from time to time. You name the bitch, and chances are Xavier had slipped his pasty-ass body between her thighs. And yet the bastard had the audacity, the audacity to dump me.
“I’m not sure it’s working anymore,” he’d said on New Year’s Eve as we ate dinner in one of Xavier’s New York restaurants. The entire place had been closed down for a private party hosted by Xavier himself. The room was packed with New York’s most elite socialites and celebrities, all “friends” of the eccentric millionaire and giddy as can be to be part of such a lavish event.
“You’re never around. You’re always off working. And you’re, well . . . ” He actually had the decency to grimace slightly. “You’re not exactly warm or adventurous in bed, darling. I need a woman who’s willing to, you know . . . ”
I shook my head and blinked at him a few times before deciding to open my mouth. “No, I don’t know. What is it you would like me to do?” I scanned the nearby tables, hoping nobody was eavesdropping on us, but it was a party, it was New York, it was Xavier Rollins. People were listening. They always were. Bringing my voice down a little lower and leaning closer to him, I swallowed before speaking. “Can we not discuss this here, please, Xavier?”
He took a sip of his rye and tonic while simultaneously giving a half-wave and a smile to Gigi Hammond across the room. She winked at him and bit her lip the way a woman does when she wants you to bite her “other” lips.
“No, we’ll discuss it right here. I want a woman who is adventurous.”
“I’m a travel journalist. I go on adventures for work. You’re not making any sense.”
He coughed slightly while his eyes took on an almost bored, glazed-over look. “Yes . . . but not in bed.”
Suddenly my cheeks felt as if they’d gone up in flames. “Please,” I said with a hiss, “let’s not talk about this here.”
He flicked his wrist again as if I were not more than a pesky fly buzzing around his head, a mild irritation he could just bat away. “I’m sorry, darling, but you’re boring. You’re boring me. I want a woman who is around more. You’re like a dead fish. Cold, boring, lifeless. We’re through.”
I shook my head, still not entirely able to process what was happening but nonetheless feeling the harsh sting of his words.
Cold.
Boring.
Lifeless.
A dead fish.
A distant ringing sound began going off in my ears, and my chest hurt. Was I having a heart attack? A stroke?
“What kinds of things in bed are you wanting? You’ve never said anything. You want me to quit my job and just follow you around like some groupie?”
“Not a groupie.” He got a wistful look in his eye. Xavier had always wished he could be a rock star. Live the life of a rock star. And despite the fact that he had millions of dollars and hobnobbed with the richest of the rich, partied with rock stars and movie stars, models and politicians, he wasn’t a rock star. He was heir to The Handy Dandy Soap Company, a big household cleaning supply company that his grandfather had founded decades ago. Sure, over the years Xavier had bought up restaurants and a couple of nightclubs, made a bit of a name for himself, but no matter how much he tried to run, he couldn’t escape The Handy Dandy Soap Company or his nickname, “Bubbles.”
“Not a groupie,” he said again. “Just a doting girlfriend.”
“I am. When I’m home.”
“Which is not enough and why this won’t work any longer,” he said blandly. “You’re not what I need. You’re not who I want.” He raised a hand and signaled the waiter for another drink. “You. Me. We’re through, darling. I’ve moved on and so should you.”
My bottom lip dropped and nearly hit the table. “You’re dumping me? Here? In front of everyone?” I asked. “All because I’m not adventurous enough for you, which by the way is the first I’m hearing of your discontent with our sex life.”
He looked about ready to get up and leave. Bored out of his tree and wanting to find a more lively conversation companion. “That and the fact that you work too damn much.”
“But you suggested I take this job. It was your idea. I like what I do.” Only when I said the words out loud, they tasted foul on my tongue, because the truth was, I didn’t really like my job anymore. I was tired of it. Tired of the travel, tired of never being home more than a few days a month, tired of living out of a suitcase, tired of eating at restaurants. I wanted to cook my own meals, sleep in my own bed more than two nights in a row, and have a closet full of clothes I could stare at while complaining I had nothing to wear.
But I also wanted to do something worthwhile. I’d never understand these millionaires’ and billionaires’ wives who did nothing all day long, simply because they didn’t have to. Even if Xavier and I got married one day, I would still want to work in some way. Devote my life to charity work or fulfill my lifelong dream of writing a book. I couldn’t simply spend the rest of my days playing tennis, getting my nails done and making wait-staff feel like garbage at the country club bistro. No, I needed more.
He lifted one shoulder cavalierly. “It was either now or tomorrow morning. But I would rather take Felicity home with me tonight. So now it is.” And as if on cue, his little assistant, Felicity with her size zero waist, Double-D chest and mile-long legs, sauntered up in a barely-there black leather miniskirt and matching crop top. Jesus Christ, how old was this chick? Xavier was forty-seven; was he old enough to be her father? I wouldn’t doubt it.
Felicity perched on his knee and wrapped one svelte arm around his back, her coal-black eyes fixing me with a lethal stare.
What the fuck?
We used to be friends . . . sort of. She and I had grabbed lunch in the past. I babysat her cat, and it’d barfed all over my Aubusson rug. And now, all of a sudden, she’s his new fuck buddy and I’m chopped liver?