I held up my hand to stop her . “Please, let’s not belabor the point.” I needed no further reminders of her sleeping with my father. “What’s done is done.”
A shadow crossed her face in the dim light, and it was several seconds before she voiced her next question. “Do you think your mom knows? I mean, about me.”
I frowned. While I didn’t condone Brooke’s sleeping with my father while he was still married to my mom, I also knew that she hadn’t been the first, nor would probably be the last. Truth was, she was not the source of their problems, just another result of them. “I really don’t know, but I wouldn’t worry too much about that. My mother has her own. . .issues. And I’m sure you weren’t. . . .” I trailed off, unsure how to proceed without sounding like a complete ass*.
“The first?” Brooke laughed bitterly. “I get it. I’m sure I wasn’t either.”
I reached over and touched her hand. “Brooke, what’s done is done,” I repeated. “I’m not mad at you, although I do seriously question your taste in men.”
“He’s your dad,” she replied, as if that was answer enough.
“Exactly.”
She smiled. “You do have a point. But he is letting me keep this place, so I guess there is that.”
I hadn’t been aware that my father—Elite, most likely—paid for this apartment, but I guess it made sense. I didn’t find the idea of Reagan’s living situation left up to my father’s whims appealing, and made a mental note to change the lease to my name.
Brooke got up and took her mug to the sink and rinsed it out before turning back to face me. “So. Utterly fascinating, huh? What exactly does that mean?” she continued, leaning back against the counter.
“It means exactly that. I am completely and utterly fascinated with everything about her. So you need to know that I’ll be around. All the more reason we needed to have this little chat.”
Brooke nodded, and crossed her arms. “Don’t hurt her, okay? There’s something. . . .I think she’s. . . .just be careful with her, alright?”
I drained the rest of my coffee. “Of course, I wouldn’t hurt her. I—“
“Good morning, sunshine.” Brooke’s sudden, cheery outburst came mere seconds before I felt a presence behind me. I turned to find Reagan walking into the kitchen, hair a dark, tangled mess and wearing my Columbia t-shirt. My cock twitched at the sight of her. What was it about seeing this woman in my clothes that drove me insane?
She yawned behind her hand and perched herself on my knee, uncertainty in her gaze. I brushed back her hair and pressed my lips to the curve of her neck. “It’s all good,” I whispered. I could sense her unease, and knew she was wondering about the exchange between me and Brooke.
She nodded, then snagged my mug and took a sip. I made a half-hearted protest, but I was more distracted by those long legs of hers draped over mine, my shirt barely grazing her knees. I took the mug from her and set it down. Whether we had time now or not, I couldn’t wait. I needed to feel her against me once more before we left.
I stood and hauled her up over my shoulder, smacking her butt when she squealed in protest. I threw a quick salute to Brooke, who only rolled her eyes and shook her head, and then I carried Reagan back to her room and tossed her down on the bed. She laughed and scooted backwards, pulling the covers with her as she went.
“Nathan, we don’t have time,” she protested. “You’ve gotta go home first, and you’ll be late.”
I stuck my head under the covers and began my ascent, kissing the length of her thigh as I moved up to her stomach. Her breath hitched, and my head finally appeared near hers, and my tongue darted out to taste the dip in her collarbone. “We have time.”
She giggled and leaned her head back, giving me more access to her neck. “Are you sure—“
“We have time.”
Thirty minutes later, I again threw on my jeans and caught the shirt Reagan tossed at me. I didn’t have any morning meetings, but still needed to hurry if I wanted to be at the office by eight. Reagan walked about her room, wearing nothing but her panties, chattering on about random office gossip and I was struck by the odd sense of domesticity to our current situation. We were together, in her room, going about the morning ritual of getting ready for work, and syncing up our schedules so we could meet for lunch. Like normal, healthy, committed couples do.
Like married couples do.
Married.
What the hell?
I watched her lay clothes out on the bed, gathering items for her shower, still naked from the waist up, and I realized that the idea of marriage, specifically to this woman, did not scare me as much as it should have. And that alone scared me more than I’ve ever been scared in my life.
“What?”
My gaze refocused on her, and found her standing by the door holding some silky black robe thing. “What do you mean, what?” I asked, pulling on my shirt.
“You’re just standing there staring off into space. You okay?”
I was falling for this girl I’d known less than three months, a girl who I’d learned so much about in that short time, and yet still knew so little, and the thought terrified me. Was that okay?
Am I okay?
I didn’t know.
I cleared my throat and walked over to tie the belt to her robe. I kissed her nose and smiled at her. “Of course, I’m okay.” I opened the door and turned back to her. “I’m gonna go, but I’ll see you later this morning.”
I left her at the bathroom door and headed into the kitchen, grabbing my keys off the island countertop as I passed by. Brooke was on her phone, and smirked up at me as I neared the door. “I’m gonna need to invest in some earplugs if the two of you keep this up.”
“I’ll bring you some myself tonight,” I vowed, still preoccupied with the shit storm of feelings that had decided to suddenly make their presence known.
She laughed, seemingly unaware of my inattention, and pushed me out the door. “Get out of here, Preston.”
Whatever else Brooke said to me as I left the apartment was lost, and I pulled out into the heavy morning traffic, my thoughts swirling. My feelings for Reagan were all too real, and entirely too strong, and they weren’t going away. I had to face that fact.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t me. I wasn’t that guy who met the girl of his dreams and suddenly became all domesticated, complete with the white picket fence, two point five kids and family trips to Disney. It wasn’t who I was.
So why was I suddenly feeling as if that was exactly who I am?
I made it through my morning, and by one o’clock I was at some obscure Mexican restaurant, a hole-in-the-wall that I knew Reagan and I would go unnoticed at. I hadn’t seen her since I’d left her bed this morning, and as petrified as my new found feelings made me, they didn’t stop the giddy anticipation of knowing she’d be walking through the door at any moment.
Giddy anticipation? I was totally losing it.
I had just ordered drinks when I heard my name. I closed my eyes and threw up an urgent prayer that I was only imagining things, and that it really wasn’t my mother, and that she hadn’t called my name.
The good Lord must have been out because it was indeed my mother. And as if to prove He had a sick sense of humor as well, she wasn’t alone.
I feigned a smile as my mother arrived at my table, Whitney Bradshaw in tow. What the hell was she doing here? “Mother, what a surprise.” I stood, offering my cheek to my mother, who thankfully appeared relatively sober.
“Indeed,” my mother agreed. “We’ve been shopping, and decided to stop for lunch. Whitney swears they have the most delicious tamales here. You remember Whitney, don’t you, darling?”
My heart lurched as Mom pulled out the only remaining chair at my table, and motioned for me to take another from the table behind us. I cast my eyes upward. You’re kidding me, right?
I didn’t bother looking Whitney’s way as I scanned the front of the restaurant. My only hope now was tha
t Reagan would be running late and I would have a few extra minutes to send my mom and her unwelcome guest packing.
“He remembers me,” Whitney purred, her hand tugging on my arm as they sat down. I snatched my arm out of her grasp and moved my chair away from hers and sat.
“Mother, while this was a . . . .pleasant surprise, unfortunately, I am meeting someone. It’s work,” I hastily added, lest she decide to stick around and meet this someone.
Katherine waved her hand. “Of course, we won’t stay. I just saw you and knew we had to stop and say hello. Whitney so enjoyed your time spent together the last time she was here. In fact, she’ll be in town for the next several days. Why don’t the two of you make plans?” This said with a conspiratorial wink in Whitney’s direction.
I opened my mouth to adamantly refuse—my irritation overruled politeness—when my attention was caught by the woman making her way to the table. I again pulled away, and hastily stood, but I knew Reagan had seen my arm in Whitney’s clutches. Some unnamed emotion crossed her features as she cautiously approached the table, and then stopped, standing uncomfortably behind Whitney’s chair. She looked at me in question.
It was like a scene out of some low budget comedy, designed to get laughs but falling short because of the sheer absurdity of the situation. Reagan was here, my mother was here, and my last one night stand was here. I really hoped God was enjoying the laugh at my expense.
I called upon every smooth talking skill I possessed. “Miss Andrews, thank you for joining me. You remember my mother, Katherine Preston. She and her lunch companion are unfortunately on their way out.” I leaned down and took my mother’s arm.
Katherine glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “Ah, yes. I do remember you from our Hampton’s party a few weeks, back. A friend of Miss Wade’s, is that right?” She looked from Reagan, to me and back again, and continued, not waiting for a response. “Please forgive our intrusion. Whitney’s family and ours are old friends, and I wanted to be sure Nathan knew she was in town. They always have such a good time together.” My mother reached down and picked up her bag, oblivious to the havoc she was wreaking in those around her. She leaned up and kissed my cheek. “Do give her a call, Nathan.”
She turned to Whitney, who had stood and was standing entirely too close to me. “Come, dear. Let’s leave these two to their work.”
I barely acknowledged their departure, my gaze focused on Reagan, who had yet to move. We stood their awkwardly for several moments, and then, she abruptly turned and strode toward the door.
“Reagan! Wait!” I hurried after her, finally catching up to her outside. Thankfully, my mother was nowhere in sight. “Stop!”
She stopped and turned around to face me, the sidewalk busy with an endless sea of people walking from one destination to the next. She didn’t speak, but her face had drained of color and a mixture of hurt and confusion clouded her gaze.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed, willing to say anything to erase the last five minutes. “That was . . .” I trailed off, unsure how much to give away. But Whitney had put her hands all over me, and Reagan wasn’t an idiot. I opted for the simple truth.
“That was someone you were never supposed to meet.” I closed my eyes and shook my head, then opened them again and stared at her. “A mistake made and it meant nothing. She means nothing.”
She fiddled with the strap on her bag, watching traffic as it snaked heavily down the street. Her voice was soft when she finally spoke. “It’s okay. Really. I saw her and it was obvious. .. .I don’t know. I just overreacted. I don’t have any right, and I know we aren’t exclusive—“
“Of course we are.”
Her eyes met mine and I felt rather than saw her quick intake of breath. “We never talked about it, and you’re you and I’m me and. . .” She shrugged, as if her explanation made perfect sense. As if her being her wasn’t enough for someone like me.
Ridiculous.
I slipped a hand behind her head and brought her to me. “Don’t. Don’t cheapen this, what we have. You don’t want titles, fine. No titles. But I’ll be damned if you aren’t exclusively mine.” I kissed her softly on the lips. “Is that conversation enough for you?” I whispered.
She placed both hands on my face and kissed me hard. “Yes.”
I caught her hand and turned toward the restaurant. “Good. Can we eat now? I am officially starving.”
She laughed and we headed inside.
The following morning, I had just settled into my office when Nancy’s voice buzzed over the intercom. “Mr. Preston, a Mr. Tyler Winston is here to see you.”
What in God’s name did he want?
I really didn’t have time for Tyler today, but as Nancy had already made it known I was here, I couldn’t exactly pretend otherwise. “Send him in.”
“Nathan, good to see you, man.” Tyler strolled into my office, and the site of him had me curling my fist under my desk and wondering again just what had gone on between him and Reagan when she’d been there.
My face revealed nothing as I indicated the chair across from me. “Tyler, what brings you here? Aren’t you about to open a hotel?”
“I am. You’re coming to the grand opening, right? I’m sure you’ll find our accommodations to your liking,” Tyler winked, his implication clear.
I frowned, questioning how Elite had ever gotten into business with such a jackass. “I’ll have to check my schedule.” I leaned back in my chair. “But surely you didn’t come all this way just to invite me to your opening.”
Tyler smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from the sleeve of his suit coat. “Of course not. I am actually on my way to see Isaac, but figured I’d stop in and see my old buddy first.”
I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to plant my fist in his face, and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what is it you need to speak to Isaac about?”
“That amateur he sent me a few weeks ago left some loose ends. Nothing you need to worry yourself about,” he drawled, doing his best to effectively dismiss me. “I’m just gonna need her to come back out and settle things before our opening next week.”
“She isn’t available.” My tone held no room for argument.
Tyler cocked his head. “I think Isaac makes that call, does he not? She does work for him, right?”
My temper flared, but again my face revealed nothing. “She does,” I conceded with a nod. “However, she is currently assisting on one of my projects and unfortunately, I can’t spare her.” I shrugged in feigned apology.
Tyler lips curled into a derisive smirk. “Well, well,” he said softly, then leaned forward. “I think I’ll talk to Isaac anyway. Like I said, there are several loose ends.”
“I don’t think so,” I replied, my voice low in the silence of the room. “She isn’t available. If you need assistance, I will arrange to send someone else.”
Tyler stared across my desk at me, weighing my words, before standing up with a chuckle. “Nathan, always a pleasure.” He exited without a backwards glance.
I unclenched my fist and stretched my fingers. I picked up the phone and dialed. “George, I want to be notified the minute Mr. Tyler Preston leaves the building.” I’d give that bastard ten minutes to exit and then I was going to go find him and remove him myself.
I was denied that pleasure when exactly eight minutes later, George called to let me know Tyler had just signed out at the front desk. Knowing there was no way he’d been in to see Isaac and gone in eight minutes, I let out a pent up breath and headed down to the eighth floor.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Reagan
I suppressed a yawn as I sat in Grand Central, barely aware of whatever it was Isaac was rambling on about. Nathan had spent most of last night showing me just how exclusively his I really was, and I had a feeling no amount of lattes from the coffee cart were going to stave off my exhaustion.
It was a good kind of tired.
I smiled behind my hand as I remembered last night. We’d finally got
ten around to the kitchen table, and he’d made good on his promise. Nathan Preston had an insatiable appetite, and I was finding I had one to match it. Even now, mere hours after leaving his embrace, I was already envisioning the moment I could return to it. I couldn’t get enough.
Bailey flagged me down and extracted a vague acknowledgement from me for lunch, which he interpreted as a yes, and said he’d be by to get me at one. I usually ate lunch with Nathan, and knew I’d have to make an excuse that Bailey would find believable, but I couldn’t worry about that now.
Nathan was lurking outside my office.
“Hello, handsome,” I whispered so only he could hear, feeling playful. I opened the door and closed it softly behind him.
I went ahead of him to walk to my desk, when I felt his hands on my shoulders, and stopped. He brushed aside my hair and stepped close behind me, his lips trailing hot kisses down the side of my neck. I let myself relax against him, feeling his arousal against my ass. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back to his shoulder.
“Nathan—“
“Sssshhhh,” he whispered, one arm snaking around my waist to pull me closer, his other hand slipping inside the silk blouse I was wearing to graze his fingertips across lace enclosed breast. He began turning around, bringing me with him, until we were facing my door.
His hand never ceasing its assault on my breasts, he slid his other one down from my waist and grabbed the hem of my knee-length skirt and began bunching it up in his fist. My mind screamed that this was not the best time or place, but I pushed rational thought aside as his fingers slipped into my panties and brushed my clit. In seconds I felt the familiar tightening in my lower belly, and I flattened both palms on my door and braced myself as my legs began to tremble.
“That’s it, baby. Come for me.” His breath was hot against my neck as he kissed and licked his way up to my ear and tugged on my earlobe with his teeth. That was all it took, and I shattered. I buried my face against my shoulder and moaned. He held me as the aftermath of my orgasm left me spent, my head hanging between my outstretched arms, my breathing labored and heavy.
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