by K. L. Jessop
“It’s fine. Did you sleep well?” His voice is as soft as silk. He sits across from me as though he’s been there all night, dressed in his work clothes, the top button on his shirt is undone—showing a tease of his hard chest—and the dark scruff on his solid jaw is neat as ever.
He smells fucking divine.
Goddamnit. He’s something everyone woman would want to wake up to. I did sleep well considering I drifted off feeling both miserable and sexually aroused. “Yes, I did, thank you.”
“Then that’s all that matters.” He smiles, but doesn’t meet my eyes.
He seems tense this morning, but I’m unsure if I’m correct as there’s no sign of it in his voice. These small dedicated signs of care he’s showing, like making me supper and now bringing me coffee, are pulling on my heart strings more than they should. Romantic isn’t the right word to use in a situation that is often more strained than relaxed, but when they escape from him I’m instantly weak and hungry for more.
Untwining my hair from my band, I run my fingers through it. The sun streaming through the windows is low, an indication that it’s before seven. Taking my coffee, I make my way to admire the view, debating whether or not it would be a good idea to mention our kiss.
My breath is caught as I reach the glass. The scene is like a life size painting you’d find in an art gallery: dozens of rich colours in shades of deep blues and greens from the ocean, golden yellow sand and small grey and white buildings that are in the distance.
“Wow,” I whisper. It’s magical and perfect, but to get full use out of this place it needs a balcony. “Why do you not have a balcony?” I ask, not bothering to turn around.
“I do, only it runs off the master bedroom instead.”
I want to see it. I want to rest back against it as I ogle his naked body on the bed from across the room. I turn to him. “So, there’s nowhere for guests to sit out?”
“Step closer to the window and look down to your right. There’s a different view and one that caters for guests like yourself,” he says, getting up and making his way towards me. I do as he suggests, reaching my hand out to the glass to gage awareness of how close I am.
“Holy shit. You have a pool!” I gasp, looking down at the large summer garden with rattan furniture and a long rectangle shape of turquoise that also looks out over the coast. “Not even Marcus has a pool.”
“No, he just owns a beach,” he says sarcastically with a grin. He should do it more often: smiling brings a sparkle to his eyes. “It’s a nice little place to sit out and watch the sunset. The pool gets cleaned regularly by the local cleaning service, but I’ve not used it in years.”
I face him with wide eyes, shocked at the fact it’s been left abandoned. “Wait a minute; back the hell up. So, you’re telling me that not only are you hardly ever in this huge amazing house, but you also hate it, and you have a pool that you don’t use?”
“Pretty much.”
I stare at him; a small grin tugs my lips. “I think you need therapy.”
My heart squeezes at the laugher that rumbles from his chest. It’s deep and genuine, and I’m uncertain if I’m happy because it’s me that causes him to respond this way or because he genuinely seems happy. Either way, the glow that appears around him sends the butterflies soaring and a surge of need to my core that only heightens when our eyes lock.
Before long, our laughter dies and that electricity is once again bouncing between us as he holds my gaze. His eyes fall to my lips and my skin heats in remembrance, and I know that if he should touch me, he’ll set my body to flames.
Then, like a movie that’s been wound back, that troubled expression starts to wash over his face. It’s the same look I received last night, but I still can’t work out what causes the reaction. Even though things seem a little better between us, there’s no denying that uneasy distance that lies there—a distance that, for some reason, he is too afraid to close.
“Why do you do that?” I ask.
“Do what?”
“Look away from me as though you’ve done wrong. It was the same as last night when—”
“You’d best get ready for work,” he says, avoiding my eyes. That barrier between us bolts up high. He’s so mystifying, but it hasn’t changed my feelings. I still want to get deep into his soul and pepper it with kisses.
As I step closer, he steps back like he’s about to run. “Andrew, please stop cutting me off,” I plead.
“Get changed, Megan, we’ll be late.”
“Andrew, please.”
Then like déjà vu, my stomach drops when he exits the room and I’m once again left in a wide-open space with dark fucking walls.
***
I can’t stop smiling as I parade around my new office that smells of fresh paint and spring flowers. Even away on business, Marcus and Amelia still surprise me with welcome gifts and a congratulations card. Not much can be said of my other co-worker.
I’ve not seen Andrew since he dropped me off at the hotel this morning, and even though the car journey was nothing more than a silent ride of sexual tension, I managed to keep my mouth shut and my hands to myself.
My desk phone rings.
“Miss Simmons’ office.”
“God, you sound sexy.”
“Amelia!” I beam, not having heard from her in over two days. “Fuck, I miss you.”
“Miss, you too. Tell me everything. Give me gossip. What have I missed?”
I sit back in my desk chair, kick off my heels and rest my legs up on the desk. My life literally stops when it comes to this girl. “I love my new office, I’ve still not got laid, and I’m living with Andrew.”
“What?”
I laugh and go to speak but hear Marcus in the background.
“Amelia, what’s wrong?”
“Megan’s living with Andrew.”
“What? Put her on speaker.”
Now I’m laughing at the pair of them. “Guys calm the fuck down—it’s only temporary. My boiler has blown and fallen through the ceiling. Whilst work is being done on it, I’m staying with him.” There’s a sudden silence at the other end of the line and I can only image their reaction.
They’re loving this.
“And… you two are getting along?” Amelia asks, her sweet voice dripping in curiosity.
“I’ve not stood over him in the dark with a knife in my hand yet, if that’s what you’re asking?”
That causes Marcus to laugh.
“But he cooks me supper and drives me to work.”
“Well fuck me, the man does have a soft side,” Marcus says.
I’m interrupted when my mobile alerts with a text, and Felicity’s name pops across the screen.
Fliss: Jason Kelly from the French Cuisine company is waiting for you.
Shit.
I lost track of time on our meeting. “Look guys, I’ve got to go.”
“You’re going already?” Amelia sounds disappointed.
“What can I say, I’m a busy woman now. Just hurry up and get your asses back here; I’m missing tequila slammers and table dancing with my bestie. Life’s no fun without my ginger cuddles.” I hang up, slip on my heels whilst putting a brush through my hair and head down to reception.
“Jason, pleasure to meet you.” I smile at the tall, lean man I recognise from our Skype conversations. His blonde hair is slicked back and his bright white smile is enough to blind you. He’s so pristine, he looks fake. I pretty much closed the deal on his company working with The Grand, but he was insistent in coming here personally to view the place. However, the only place he’s viewing now is my cleavage.
Eyes up here, dickhead.
“Miss Weston. You look even more fine than I imagined.” He takes my hand and pulls me in to kiss my cheek. “Let me take you to dinner and make a night of it.”
“Fast mover,” Felicity mumbles behind me. Jason is a nice-looking guy and can work a suit well, but other than showing him the layout of the hotel I have no intention of a
nything else.
“Let talk business first, shall we?” I step to walk, rolling my eyes at Felicity as we leave.
“So…” I say to Jason, who is currently walking two paces slower and no doubt checking out my ass. “As I said in earlier conversations, the hotel has a maximum of three thundered guest rooms along with bar areas and ball rooms.” I turn to my right at the end of the corridor and open the heavy doors with large golden handles, entering the huge luxurious area that is called the grand room for a reason. Ribboned in cream and gold, the master ballroom is like the inside of a palace with enormous arched windows and golden chandeliers. A warmth of pride swells in my stomach: it’s a reminder of how much I love this place.
“This is our main room where larger scale functions take place. The average number of guests it can hold is five hundred, and the smaller function area just off the left holds two-fifty.”
Jason walks around, casting his eyes over the interior whilst a leather folder rests under his arm.
“Oh, this is spectacular,” he says, trying to act impressed as though it’s his first viewing. Only it’s total bullshit: as Andrew mentioned, he’s been to The Grand before on business conventions. “So, with the package the hotel is offering in working with us, the two rooms are included?”
“Absolutely. As stated in the contract, all private functions will be offered the use of the two rooms, depending on the numbers attending. They’ll also have use of the rest of the hotel if attending parties should require a room. Therefore, companies like yours get the fair share of the bargain whilst we give them a promising location.” He knows all this already; it’s in the package document and I’ve told him numerous times.
“Alright, I’m in.” He smiles, swimming his arm around my waist and pulling me to him. “Now let’s arrange dinner.”
Against my better judgment, I arranged to have dinner with Jason. Excited about the deal, I call Andrew. He’s been out the hotel most of the day, which is unusual. “Hey, where are you?”
“Out on a personal matter. Everything alright?”
I can’t help the anxiety that’s suddenly built in my stomach. “Yeah, I’ve just settled the contract with Jason Kelly and wanted to tell you.” The excitement is evident in my voice. “Do you want to celebrate with me later?”
There’s silence at the end of the line and I’m wondering if I’ve stepped too far.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
“Oh, ok. Maybe another time.” Disappointment hits me but it’s the anguish in his voice that causes concern. “Andrew, are you alright?”
He sighs heavily. “I’m better now I’ve heard your voice.”
I’m a little taken back with his words. Has he been thinking of me?
“Look, honestly I’m fine don’t worry. I’ve got to go. I’ll see you later.”
“Ok, call me if you need anything.” I’m about to hang up when he stops me.
“Megan?”
“Yeah?”
“Congratulations on the deal. You’re a good part of my team.”
My stomach fills with pride, but it doesn’t stop the apprehension I feel for him lying just below the surface.
***
Once showered, I slip into my short, red dress that will leave little to the imagine for any male sex with lingering eyes. It’s slightly on the seductive side which is not the look I wanted to go for but it’s all I could grab whilst checking on the progress of my house. The last thing I want is to go to dinner with some business associate that’s adamant money can buy everything just as long as you have a nice car and a big dick. I want to be here with Andrew when he arrives home from wherever his troubles have taken him today. Our conversation this afternoon and the melancholy in his voice has unsettled me.
As I slip into my heels, I hear the front door slam and the sound of keys sliding across the kitchen island. He’s home. Grabbing my purse, I head out down the hall, gaining his attention as I enter the living room. He’s sitting in the armchair drinking a large whiskey in a dusk-filled room as the night draws in. Even in little light, my body shivers as I feel his emerald eyes take all of me in.
“Andrew, you’re home earlier than I expected?”
“Why the fuck is there a black Porsche outside of my house with Jason Kelly’s smug fucking ass sat inside?” he growls.
Wow, he’s in a fine mood!
“Because he’s taking me out to dinner.”
“Since when did you do dinner dates?”
“No one said it’s a date.” I sigh, walking over to the kitchen to find my heart necklace I took off before my shower. I don’t want to argue with him despite how much he’s clearly wanting to.
“So, you’re mixing business with pleasure now? Classy.” He scoffs.
I’ve learned quickly with Andrew that when out on ‘personal business’ he comes back and takes whatever anger he has out on others. Of late, it’s me that’s always in the firing line. He has untold history, I get that, but making me feel like I’ve been dragged through sandpaper is more than I’m willing to bear.
“Let me guess.” He sneers from across the room. “He offered to pay for everything whilst in return you just lie on your back for him to whisper sweet seductive nothings in your ear?”
I take a deep breath, trying to hold it together as my throat begins to burn in anger. I feel him walk towards me. I sense the tension rolling off him. “No actually, it’s not like that.”
“And like the sex-craving woman you are, your knees went weak and your panties got wet while you imagined his dick inside you.”
“Jesus, Andrew, what the fuck!” I snap. In nought to sixty, my temper hits. His mood is pure fucking evil, and I can easily match it. “It’s just dinner. Why is that so hard to understand?”
“Well what do you expect when you parade your pussy around Spring Rose!”
That stung.
Fury blisters across my chest and heat glazes at the back of my neck as I spit back my words. “Going to dinner with someone and going home to fuck them are two completely different things. Why is it that men can fuck as many times as they want and it makes them a god, but reverse it and the woman’s a slut?”
“Probably because with you, you’ve forever got your legs wide open.”
I swing to slap him but he grabs my wrist to block it. Hurt like I never felt rips my stomach from his low opinion of me. Yes, I like sex—there’s no denying that—but I’m also a person, and one that has a heart that he’s clearly trying to crush. I blink back the tears that are about to spill, livid with myself about how weak I’ve become with his existence and sudden proximity. Trying my hardest to not give him the satisfaction he’s hurt me, I spit out my words. “If I’m a slut, then how come I’ve not slept with anyone since we kissed at Amelia’s birthday!”
Yeah, that got your attention.
His eyes soften but heat remains in them. The tautness in his build is enough to make anyone unknown to him petrified, but I’m not in any form scared. If anything, I’m pissed with the lack of control I have around him. That raw pull between us is thick and my frustrations are quickly replaced with a need that only he can cure. My heart pounds, and there’s no question: he can hear it. I grip the counter behind me. He’s so close. Our bodies hum for one another.
I can’t breathe, but I don’t want to move. I want him to kiss me, raw and wild. I want him to take me in his strong arms and not let go. I want him to mark my body with everything he is.
Pressed up to the unit, his forehead rests on mine, and he cups my jaw, sweeping the stray tears from my cheek.
“Forgive me,” he whispers, and I loathe the fact I already have. This man is such a head-fuck with his irrational behaviours, that with just one touch, I already have forgiven him. The low resistance I have for him drives me crazy.
“Stay with me, Megan.”
I want to. I shouldn’t, but I do. But even with his arousal pressing against me, expressing what he wants, I’m standing my ground this time.
“After that performance, give me one good reason why I should?” My voice is shaky as I fight to stay upright. He can’t give me a reason. Even after all this time, he’s still fighting this. His hand falls from my face and his eyes change, that haunting look is back. And it guts me when I feel him retreat. “I thought as much.”
Moving past him, I head for the door, trying to control my breathing, and gain back strength before I meet Jason.
“You’re still going out with him?”
Rage sours in my chest. What is his problem? He doesn’t want me, yet, he’s not prepared to see me with anyone else. “Yes. Yes, I’m going!”
He shakes his head and scoffs. “Jesus, you really are something else you know that, Megan?”
I turn back and look him straight in the eye, my veins bubbling, but my voice remains measured. “No, Andrew. I’m something you want but are too afraid to go out and get.”
With that, I slam the door and leave.
Chapter Twelve
Andrew
Glasses smash and shatter into tiny pieces as I swipe them from the kitchen counter, a need to release my rage from the way I’ve behaved towards Megan and seeing her walk out the door. My entire body aches to have her in my arms. I can’t think straight when I’m alone now. There was a time I needed this silence to get my shit together, only now it feels like I’m being ripped apart.
What the fuck have I just done?
I’ve taken my stupidity out on her—treated her like crap and no doubt just made her feel cheap and dirty—all because of some dickhead with a flashy car. I’m such a screw up. She makes my mind spiral. She clouds my judgment and she invades my space in the most pleasant way, and I treat her like some trashy back-alley whore, dripping in S.T.Ds. She’s not been with anyone in months: that’s the biggest kick in the gut considering what I said to her. Why hasn’t she?
Did she feel the connection between us all those months ago like I did?