by Megyn Ward
Tobias
She’s pissed.
In all fairness, I’d be pissed too. I asked her to dinner and ended up kidnapping her. Even I have to admit that’s bad form.
As soon I dropped the my place bomb, I got out of the car and boarded the plane to hold my breath, half convinced I’d have to chase her down and carry her onto the plane myself.
Instead of giving in to the urge, I weigh on the side of civility. Pouring myself a few fingers of Dalmore 64, I settle into a seat near the back of the plane and wait her out.
Less than ten minutes later she appears at the top of the Lear’s aisle, cheeks flushed, her luminous gray eyes finding and skewering me with a sharp glare before stomping her way toward me. Behind her, the stewardess raises her eyebrows at me in silent question. Probably wondering if she’s going to be committing felony kidnapping if she closes up and tells the pilot we’re ready for takeoff. “Are we ready for takeoff, sir?”
“Yes.”
“No.” She bites the word in half and spits it at the poor stewardess before turning on me again. “I don’t know who you think I am, Mr. Bright,” she seethes at me, chest heaving. “But I’m not some wide-eyed—”
“Tobias.”
“What?”
“Tobias,” I say calmly before taking a sip of my drink. “You know my name and I want you to use it.”
She visibly bristles. “I prefer to keep our relationship as professional as possible.”
I laugh. Can’t help it. “Little late for that, isn’t it?” I watch her eyes narrow as one slim, dark brow arches over the heated glare she’s giving me.
Instant. Hard-on.
“As for who I think you are,” I say, fighting the urge to shift in my seat to make room for my rapidly growing cock. “I don’t think anything, Argenta. I know.”
“You know what?” she whispers, her face suddenly pale.
Instead of answering her I allow my gaze to slide over her, running down her frame until I catch onto her wrist. “Nice bracelet.”
She looks down, her mouth falling open in dismay and what looks a lot like surprise. She had no idea she was wearing it.
Behind her, the stewardess points to the plane’s door and I lift my chin just enough to signal her to close it up.
Like an animal sensing the snap of a trap, Silver whirls around and watches as the stewardess does as she’s told. Seconds later, we’re rolling down the runway.
“Dinner,” I say to her back. Calmly, rationally, when what I really want to do is beg and bargain. Negotiate and cajole. I forgot what she does to me. That just one look from her has me tossing out every rule I live by. “Just dinner and then I’ll bring you home.” Even as I say it, I know that I’m lying. I don’t want just dinner and I have no intention of bringing her back. Not in a few hours. Not in a few days.
Not ever.
She turns on me again. I can see it on her face, the way she’s running through her options. Admit. Deny. Pretend ignorance.
In the end, she doesn’t do any of those things. She simply slides into the seat across from me and stares out the window.
25
Silver
I haven’t been back to New York since I found out I was pregnant with Noah.
Poised to start my senior year, I sat in an exam room and listened to a campus doctor tell me that a pregnancy didn’t have to change my life. That I had options.
I left the NYU campus health office and took a cab to the train station. I bought a ticket to Boston. I cried. I told my father. I cried some more.
And then I adjusted.
I completed my senior year online and abandoned my dream of an MBA from Columbia and opening my own restaurant someday. I gave birth to Noah and attended Boston College. After graduation, I took over managing Davino’s for my father. Not my dream but when the nurse placed Noah in my arms, his sweet face scrunched up and red, mouth open wide on a trembling squall, I looked at him and I knew. I didn’t need dreams. Everything I needed was right there, nestled in my arms and screaming his lungs out.
Like I said, I adjusted.
Tobias hasn’t said a word since we left Boston, choosing to bury his head in a pile of work instead of acknowledging the fact that 1) he essentially kidnapped me and 2) he all but admitted to recognizing me. 3) He’s a liar because even though he said just dinner, we both know what’s going to happen if I let him take me to his apartment.
And I can’t do that again.
I can’t let him do that to me again.
Even though I know all this, even though I recognize that I’m practically begging him to cut out my heart and trample it all over again, here I am.
He used you. Tried to pay you for sex. Treated you like a whore. Took what he wanted from you and then sent his butler to sweep you out the door with his British accent and a fancy cup of coffee.
“Ma’am?”
I look up to see that the car is stopped in front of Tobias’ building and Angus has my door open, his hand offered in assistance. He met us at the airport with a car and if he recognizes me as the woman who played Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with his boss’s money before practically throwing hot coffee at him, his expression doesn’t let on.
I take his hand and let him help me from my seat to find Tobias already standing on the sidewalk, watching me like he fully expects me to bolt down the sidewalk in three-inch heels.
Because that’s exactly what I want to do, I don’t run. I take a deep breath and lift my chin, smoothing my hands down the front of my dress while letting it out slowly. That’s when it hits me.
I deserve to know what happened.
What went wrong.
What I did.
He owes me an explanation and he’s going to give it to me whether he wants to or not.
Tossing my hair over my shoulder, eyes straight ahead, I walk past him. Approaching the front of the building I see Teddy, the doorman and as soon as he sees me, his face splits into a grin so wide, I can see his tonsils. “Hey, Ted-o,” I say, stopping long enough to press a kiss to his wrinkly cheek. “Long time no see.” When I pull back I can see tears shining in his eyes.
“Miss Silver,” he says, reaching up to pat my cheek. “I was wondering when you were going to come see me.” His gaze darts past me and lands on Tobias. The smile on his face loses some of its shine. “Sir.” Teddy gives him a slight incline of his head before letting go of me to open the door, but despite the gesture, sir comes out sounding like a dirty word.
“Later, Ted-o,” I say, and he gives me a wink as I pass through the door, heading straight for the elevator.
Punching in my code for my mother’s apartment, I silently hold my breath. It’s been five years since I’ve been here and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d canceled it long ago. When the doors slide open, I let out a soft sigh of relief and turn just in time to watch Tobias follow me in.
Reaching out, he keys in the code for his penthouse and the door slide closed. As soon as they do, he turns to me. “You want to explain why I’ve been fielding dirty looks from my doorman for the past five years?”
“Because,” I say, reaching down to pull off one heel and then the other. “When I used to visit my mother, I would sneak down the elevator and play in the lobby.” I hook my fingers through the straps of my heels and let them dangle from my hand. “Because when my mother would send the nanny down to wrangle me and drag me back upstairs to the modern art museum she calls an apartment, Teddy would hide me until they gave up. Because I was six years old and a middle-aged doorman was my best friend.”
Before he can say anything else the doors slide open and I step through them into the dark. Turning, I set my heels on the floor just outside the elevator. “Because he saw me the morning after. Because he loves me, and he knows you broke my heart.”
26
Tobias
There are two things that keep people from giving in to their baser urges.
Guilt or fear.
Guilt over what suc
cumbing could mean for those around you. Over doing something bad. Fear of getting caught. Of what giving in might cost you.
I’ve never felt either.
I’ve never thought twice about hurting people. Taking what I wanted. Needed.
Even in Brighton, without the insulation that billions of dollars has afforded me, consequences meant little to me. The only thing that kept me in line was the thought of being separated from my brothers. What would happen to them if I were gone. Who would protect them if I couldn’t.
I did what I had to do to protect and provide for my brothers and myself. In a world of Us or Them, it was always Us and I never lost a minute’s sleep over it.
I’ve lost a lot of sleep over Silver.
Now here she is, telling me I broke her heart. That I hurt her. And I feel guilty.
I follow her off the elevator, charging after her like a predator who’s caught the scent of the thing he’s hunting. The doors slide closed behind me, casting the place into deeper shadow but the dark doesn’t slow me down.
I can see her on the other side of the apartment, standing in front of the bank of windows, arms wrapped around her middle, staring out across the city.
Waiting for me.
Standing a few feet behind her, I watch her reflection in the window. Can see her face, backlit by city lights. Her eyes, glowing like moons, finding mine in the shadows. “I never expected more, you know,” she says, turning around to face me. “I knew what was happening. I knew what it was. You didn’t have to make me feels shitty to get me to leave.”
I think about that morning. Finding my pictures rearranged. Knowing she’s seen them. Knowing I’d opened up and told her things I’d never said out loud to another person. How I felt. Like my belly had been sliced open and my guts were hanging out. I’d assumed the worst. That it was a set-up.
My birthday is a matter of public record. So is the day of my mother’s death, to anyone who cares to dig for the information. I convinced myself that she knew who I was and figured out the most opportune time to worm her way in. Manipulate me into trusting her. Bring her here instead of to my suite at the Hawthorne.
I accessed my floor safe and took out ten thousand dollars and then I stood over her, watching her sleep, chest feeling like it’d been caved in by a wrecking ball. I was going to wake her up. Throw the money at her and tell her to get out, but I couldn’t seem to make myself move. I wanted to, but I couldn’t because I knew that if I woke her up and demanded an explanation, I’d believe whatever she told me.
Standing there, staring down at her, half in love and so fucking angry I couldn’t see straight, I still wanted her.
God, how I wanted her.
So, I left the money and a note. Fished her bracelet out of the bedsheets and tossed it on the pile before calling Angus to take care of the rest.
Coming home and finding the money I left her torn up and scattered all over my bed, I told myself it was another trick. Another step in her long con to pull me under. Seeing that money destroyed was supposed to be proof that she was different. I was supposed to find her. Beg for forgiveness. Trust her.
Seeing that money torn up and tossed around like confetti didn’t convince me she was different. It showed me who she really was.
At least that’s what I told myself.
And now here she is, staring me in the face, demanding that I explain myself. Expose myself like I owe it to her. “The whole thing could’ve been avoided if you’d just told me who you were instead of—”
“Oh.” She throws up her hands, stepping into me with zero hesitation. “Because you were so goddamned forthcoming with the information, right?”
“Is that why you went through my things?” I don’t mean to say it, but it slips out before I can catch it. “Because you wanted information?”
“Went through…” She shakes her head at me, her neck stiffened by my accusation. “What are you talking about?”
“The pictures.” Saying it out loud, it sounds ridiculous. Everything I did, I did over a pair of photographs stuck in the back of my sock drawer. “The pictures I kept in my top drawer of my brothers and my—” mother. I can’t say it. She died twenty-five years ago and I still can’t talk about her.
“Your mother.” Her face changes, goes soft. “Yes. I saw the pictures of your mother and your brothers.” She sighs, her shoulders suddenly sagging, like someone jerked out her spine. “I was changing and needed something to wear, so I looked in your top drawer for a pair of boxers or something because, despite the fact that I wasn’t wearing any, I’m not accustomed to running around without panties on and I...”
She looks away, casting her gaze over my shoulder like she’s remembering that night. What I said. Did. Trying to find the place she went wrong. Where she misread me. She can’t because she didn’t. She read me perfectly. Finally, she shrugs in defeat. “You said it was okay.”
Help yourself to whatever.
I remember that night with crystal clarity. Everything I did. Said. I gave her permission. Free reign in my private space without even thinking twice. The boxers she was wearing that night were in my drawer, forgotten and never worn, stuffed into the same corner as my pictures.
She sighs again. “I found your pictures and I looked at them. Not because I was on some covert, fact-finding mission but because I was curious and not because I wanted information that I could use to manipulate you, but because I’d just agreed to go home with a complete stranger and I was in his house and I needed something to—”
That’s as far as I let her go before I step into her, pulling her into my arms so fast she doesn’t know what’s happening until it’s already done. Sliding a hand up her back, I weave my fingers through her hair, tilt her head back so I can see her face. “I’m sorry.” The hand in her hair slips lower. My thumb skimming the curve of her jaw.
As soon I say it, I realize I mean it.
I hurt her and I’m sorry.
27
Silver
I’m sorry.
As soon as he says it, I know I can’t do it. I can’t tell him about Noah. Not yet. Not now. Because, even though I know it’s wrong, I need the way he’s looking at me now.
Like he needs me.
Trusts me.
Believes me.
As soon as I tell him about Noah, it’ll change everything. He’ll assume the worst. That he was right about me all along.
So instead of doing what I should do, I do what I shouldn’t.
I kiss him.
Lifting myself onto my tiptoes, I press my mouth to his, skimming my tongue along the seam of his lips, sighing softly when they part to let me in. He groans, his hand going tight in my hair, the other gripping my hip. Pulling me closer. Pushing me back until I feel the press of cool glass against my spine.
Slanting my head, I deepen the kiss, licking and tangling my tongue with his, hands finding and fumbling with the lapels of his jacket to jerk it off his broad, muscular shoulders, letting out a low, frustrated moan when I can’t get it off.
He grunts out a curse, untangling his hand from my hair and letting go of my hip long enough to slip it off. I’m yanking at his tie before it even hits the floor, my fingers scrambling over buttons. Desperately seeking skin while the hand on my hip finds the tie to my dress. Giving it an impatient jerk, he rips it off completely and my dress parts, allowing his hands to push their way inside, and I hear myself whimper when I feel his fingertips skim across my belly. Lower, teasing at the waistband of my panties.
I turn my head away, suddenly needing to breathe, my hands fisted into the front of his shirt, desperately hanging on. “Tobias…” his name shutters out of my lungs on a breath when those fingers of his slip lower, finding the strip of lace between my legs.
“I’ve missed you,” he says, each word scraping against the back of his throat, low and rough. “Jesus Christ, I‘ve missed you so much.” His mouth skims my jawline, his tongue leaving a trail of fire in its wake as he pushes my panties to
the side, his fingertips skimming the wet, hot center of me.
As soon as he touches me, I let out a sharp gasp, already so close to orgasm I’m not sure how much longer I can hang on. “Tobias.” I moan his name, fighting against the tight, hot pressure building, low in my belly. “I can’t—”
“Not yet,” he murmurs my throat. “I want you in my mouth.” His mouth slips lower, lips and tongue skating along the swell of my breast. His fingers stroking and teasing me as his mouth moves over my breast, grazing my nipple with his teeth before moving lower, down my ribcage, across my hip, until he’s on his knees in front of me, fingers hooking into the waistband of my panties to work them off the curve of my hips. Down my thighs, until I’m stepping out of them completely.
His hands slide up the length of my legs, thumbs pushing between them until he’s at their juncture, teasing and stroking me again until I’m shaking and half-blind with need. I feel the press of his mouth against the inside of my thigh while one of his hands shifts, lifting my leg over his shoulder, gripping the outside of my thigh, opening me, pressing into the cradle of my thighs with a low growl that sends a thrill up the length of my spine, has me fisting a hand in his hair to keep from falling.
As soon as I feel his tongue against me, I moan again, my hips flexing against the pressure of his mouth and he groans against my core, licking and sucking my slick, swollen flesh until I’m writhing and bucking against the pressure of his mouth.
Until I’m falling.
For him.
All over again.
28
Tobias
It’s like it never happened. Like I was never without her. We were never apart. What’s been my curse for the past five years—wanting and missing her in spite of everything I believed to be true—now feels like a miracle.
I can see it now. Admit it.