Ruthless (Playboys in Love)

by Gina L. Maxwell

  That’s true. I’d forgotten all about that. For a long time, I was hypersensitive about using any sort of rough play, regardless if a woman asked for it. If Austin would’ve told me back then about his forced fantasies, I wouldn’t have handled it well. And that’s putting it mildly.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, man.”

  Austin looked at me warily. “So, we’re cool?”

  “Yeah, brother, we’re cool.” I hesitate to mention her again, but I want to make sure he’s taken care of. “Addison helped you with everything you needed, then? I can take a look at things if you want.”

  “Nah, man, it’s all good. She’s a damn good attorney.”

  “Yes, she is.” One working for my father since quitting her job with me.

  That had been both an advantage and a kick in the teeth. An advantage because it’s easy to keep tabs on her, to see how she’s doing, thanks to all of my sources at my old firm. It’s a kick in the teeth for the same reason. According to my sources, Addison is doing great. She’s thriving under my dad’s tutelage and fast making a name for herself. She’s happy and never without a smile, with the exception of when she faces opposing counsel. I’m guessing she made a reference to her favorite animal at some point, because people are starting to refer to her as the Honey Badger, which I have no doubt she loves every time she hears it.

  I’m happy for her. I’m proud of her. I miss her like fucking crazy.

  “Do I dare ask what happened with you two?”

  I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Wasn’t meant to be a long-term thing.”

  “Maybe not. That doesn’t mean it can’t be.”

  Staring into my glass, I contemplate the repercussions of getting drunk at one in the afternoon in my office. “I’m not cut out for forevers like you and Chance, bro. Never have been.”

  “That’s such bullshit.” My eyes flick up to his, daring him to continue. I should know by now that the “I’ll eat you for breakfast” look that makes opposing counsel shake in their loafers doesn’t work for shit on my friend. “That’s what you’ve always thought, but it doesn’t make it true. You were different with Addie than with any woman we’ve ever been with. Hell, there were a few times I thought you were going to rip me apart for daring to touch her, even though you’d just given me the order.”

  I’d be lying if I argued against him. He’s right—there were several times when the three of us were together that my feelings for her lifted the veil of shared erotic pleasure. My possessive side has a volatile temper, but I’d managed to keep it caged during our sessions. Though apparently not enough that Austin didn’t catch glimpses of it.

  “I’ve never seen two people complement each other more than you and Addison. She’s perfect for you in every way. You’d have to be blind not to see that.” He leans back in the chair. “And I don’t think you’re blind. I think you want more, but you’re so convinced that you can only operate in a relationship involving a third person that you won’t allow yourself to consider anything different.”

  I let out a humorless chuckle. “For once, you’re actually wrong.” Austin arches a brow, inviting an explanation. “I more than allowed myself to consider it. I’d decided I wanted a more traditional relationship with her. Because you’re right about that much; toward the end, I hated sharing her pleasure. I wanted her all to myself. But ultimately I fucked myself by introducing her to my lifestyle. She took to it like a duck to water.”

  “You lost me,” he says with a furrowed brow. “She had a good time with us. So what?”

  “She wanted to continue with things as they were. She probably would have been up for trying more things, maybe even bringing in other men than you. Bottom line, she wasn’t looking to pull back, she was looking to branch out.”

  “Addie actually said that to you.” His words are laden with doubt.

  “She said she never thought she’d be comfortable with ménage, but she found it exiting and erotic.”

  “And that’s when she said she wanted to branch out and try new things?”

  Some details from our fight are crystal clear, and others are fuzzy thanks to the whisky bath I gave my liver that night. But I knew the gist of our conversation. “I suggested it. She didn’t confirm or deny, which we all know points to guilty.”

  “Okay, hold up,” he says. “Anywhere in your conversation, did you tell Addie that you wanted to go completely exclusive? I don’t mean you hinted or suggested or telepathically communicated. I want to know if you literally said the words to her.”

  “Telling her I’d turned into a pussy over her wouldn’t have done anything but give her gloating rights.”

  “Jesus Christ. Tell me you’re not that fucking dumb.”

  My hackles rise, and I’m not in the frame of mind to show restraint. Insults are liable to launch me across my desk. “Fuck off, Massey. You don’t know what you’re talking about. You weren’t there.”

  “You’re right, I wasn’t. But I was there to see how inconsequential my presence was during our sessions. Usually the women are into us both, but Addie never was. She never watched me when I touched her. If they were open, her eyes never left yours. I was nothing more than a tool to help you get her off. It was always about you with her.”

  “That’s not what she said.”

  “Of course not. You pounded it into her brain that ménage was a requirement of being with you. If you didn’t tell her otherwise, how the hell was she supposed to know you’d changed your mind with her? She thought she was telling you what you wanted to hear so she didn’t lose you.”

  Fucking hell. Could that have been it? The idea turned the alcohol in my stomach sour. “You don’t know that to be true.”

  “And you don’t know that it’s not true. Don’t you think she deserves the benefit of the doubt? You’re a lawyer, for fuck’s sake. You work in evidence and facts and testimonies, not assumptions or hearsay.”

  I have no witty retort or plausible argument. So I don’t say anything. He sets the glass on the desk and stands with a resigned sigh. “Look, man, all I’m saying is that you should find out for sure how she feels before you write her off. It might not even matter; you may have fucked up your chances with her regardless of how she felt before. But if it was me, I’d have to know if there was even the smallest chance I could make things right.”

  I’m relieved to have my friend back. Not that I ever lost him in his mind, but I hadn’t realized how heavily it weighed on me to dodge him for so long. He’s giving me a lot of shit to think about, but that’s what friends are for. To make you swallow the difficult shit whether you want to or not. Forcing a half smile to show there’s no hard feelings, I say, “If I promise to consider your unsolicited advice, will you shut up and leave me in peace already?”

  He returns my grin. “I’ve got things to do anyway. Need to get a tux for your dad’s shindig on Saturday. You going?”

  A lump lodges in my throat. Saturday is New Year’s Eve and the annual client appreciation party for Reeves, Rotier, & Davis. Even though I’m no longer part of the firm, my dad told me and Cooper that he expects us to attend. There hasn’t been a year since I turned sixteen that I haven’t been at that party with my friends. Until this year. I planned on hitting up a club or staying in; I haven’t decided which. But the idea of seeing Addison and not being able to hold and kiss her, or whisper how much I love her…that’s a level of pain I’d rather not explore at a highly public and prestigious event such as my old firm’s holiday party.

  “Planned on taking a year off,” I say.

  Disappointment flickers in my friend’s eyes. “You should change your plans.” Austin raps his knuckles on the desk once as if to punctuate his thoughts on the matter, and turns to leave. The big-hearted asshole has totally messed with all the progress I’ve made on burying my feelings for one Addison Paige. I watch him stride toward my office door, and the farther away he gets, the easier it is to breathe.

  But then he fucks that up for me, too.
<
br />   Reaching the threshold, he pauses with a hand on the doorframe and looks back at me. His gaze pensive, he says, “Don’t live your life based on others’ mistakes, Roman. Your father’s sins are not yours, and Addie is not your mother.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Addison

  If it weren’t mandatory for everyone at the firm to attend this New Year’s Eve party, I’d be curled up on my couch with a pint of mint chocolate chip ice cream, wearing a baggy T-shirt and yoga pants and watching the ball drop on television. Instead, I look like I’m attending the Oscars in a Prada dress, with hair and makeup that took almost two hours to do, and I’m in a sea of Chicago’s elite excited to ring in the New Year in style.

  Bill and the other partners spared no expense for their annual client appreciation party at the Drake Hotel. Appetizers and desserts are offered by the waitstaff on silver platters, champagne fountains flow with Dom Perignon, complemented by fountains of silky chocolate. A live band is set up on one end of the ballroom, playing sophisticated music for the guests dancing in a sophisticated manner. Smiles are everywhere and laughter floats in the air.

  It’s an hour until midnight. I’ve been here since eight, mingling, chatting, schmoozing, the whole bit. I’m not a professional actress by any means, but I’ve done a damn fine job in my role of happy employee-happy human tonight. No one suspects that I see the world’s vibrant colors as muted tones and dull hues. That it’s hard to find joy in the things I used to, now that they’re tainted with memories of a happier time.

  That I’ve been relentlessly scanning the room, at once hoping and dreading I’ll find a particular man with hair black as night, staring back at me with icy-blue eyes.

  I’m relieved that Roman is a no-show. Bill mentioned in passing that he made sure his son knew he was still invited, despite no longer being a part of the firm. Ever since hearing that, I’ve been scared shitless of seeing him. Not that I’d give him the benefit of knowing. I planned on acting aloof and civil, like I would in a public setting with any other attorney I’m acquainted with.

  My life is not irrevocably changed by my past with Roman Reeves. My broken heart—no, not broken, Addie, merely damaged—is only a temporary setback. At any rate, whatever his reason is for not attending, I’m grateful for the reprieve. One more hour and then I can get the hell out of here and into my pj’s.

  “Addie darlin’, you’re an absolute vision in that dress.”

  Leave it to Austin to draw out the first genuine smile from me since I arrived. Stepping into his open arms, I gladly accept his hug and give him a kiss on his freshly shaven cheek. “Why thank you, Austin. And you’re looking awfully dapper in your tux. Let me know if you need me to beat the women away with a stick.”

  He straightens his jacket with a tug at the hem and smiles wide, his twin dimples doling out that Southern charm even when he’s not drawling compliments. “That won’t be necessary. But you could help them form an orderly line so I can wish them all a Happy New Year properly.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. Something tells me Bill won’t appreciate you sucking face with all of his female guests.”

  “If you think Bill has ever been aware of what really goes on at his parties, you have much to learn.”

  Laughing, I say, “Maybe so, but I think I’d just as soon stay in the dark on this one.”

  “Suit yourself,” he says with a wink. “Where’s your date?”

  My smile falters, but I recover quickly. The practiced happiness has become automatic over the last few months, almost second nature. “He’s refreshing our drinks.”

  “Perfect.” Austin steps beside me and looks out over the crowd in the massive ballroom. Since there is a bar set up in every corner of the room, he’d be hard-pressed to find Sam with only a sweeping glance, but Austin seems determined to try. “I’ll keep you company until he returns, then.”

  I cock an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously pretending to stay for my benefit and not because my date happens to be one of your favorite NHL players?”

  “Now, Addie-girl, you know how much I adore you,” he says, placating me with an arm around my waist and pulling me into his side for a half hug and friendly kiss on top of my head. “Being in your company is the highlight of my evening. Getting to meet Sam Larsen is merely the icing on the cake.”

  I snort and roll my eyes. “Yeah, right.”

  “Normally, this would be the part where I tell you to get your hands off of my date.” Sam sidles up to us, a mixed drink in one hand and a chocolate martini in the other, and gives Austin a cutting look. “But considering she’s my cousin, I’ll forego that particular threat and skip to the prelude of another by asking if you’re the asshole who broke her heart.”

  “Sam,” I hiss, accepting the drink he holds out to me. I didn’t exactly tell Sam what happened between me and Roman, but when I canceled the birthday surprise with him via text and didn’t take his calls for a couple of weeks, he reached his own conclusions.

  Austin gives my waist a squeeze to let me know it’s okay and pulls away. “I’m actually one of the asshole’s best friends, Austin Massey.” Offering his hand, he adds, “But I’d like to think I’m Addie’s friend as well.”

  Sam takes a drink of his Jack and Coke, leaving Austin to hang while he scrutinizes him. Finally, Sam nods and clasps Austin’s hand in a firm shake. “Since she didn’t nut-tap you for putting your arm around her, I’m inclined to believe you. I’m Sam—”

  “Larsen, yeah, I know.” Austin’s pumping Sam’s hand so enthusiastically, I’m afraid he might cause damage. “I’m a huge fan.”

  “Oh, thanks, man. I suppose you can’t be all bad, then.” Sam breaks into a smile, transforming him from badass to baby-face in a matter of seconds. He’s one of the better-looking hockey players. Built like a brick shithouse, he has close-cropped brown hair, a trim beard, and amazingly enough, all of his own teeth still firmly intact. Currently he’s sporting a black eye that’s faded to a lovely shade of purple, and a split lip from a fight he got into in his last game.

  I asked him to come as my date so I would have someone to talk to between chatting with guests, and because it almost guarantees that they’ll pick up a conversation with him about his career or the NHL, which gets me off the hook from talking so much. He took some convincing—Sam’s way more comfortable in his hockey uniform on the ice—but he finally agreed when I told him about all of the divorcées that would be in attendance. Despite his original claims otherwise, he cleans up nicely and does well enough on terra firma with the rest of us non-skating heathens.

  Sipping my martini, I mentally check out as the boys dive into their bro convo about all things hockey. It’s not that I can’t join in, it’s just that I don’t have the energy. I’d rather switch to empty-headed Barbie mode for the last fifty minutes of my required sentence. I wish Chance and Jane hadn’t decided to spend their first New Year’s Eve alone at some romantic mountain resort. I could use the female support and a rousing game of What’s Their Story to distract me from my general malaise.

  Then again, the game is just another thing that makes me think of Roman, so that’s out. Goddamn him. He’s sucked all the fun out of life. If he were here now, I’d kick him in the junk.

  No sooner does the thought cross my mind than I feel a heavy gaze settle on me. My head turns, and I find him effortlessly, as though he’s the only one in the room. Which I suppose isn’t all that surprising because, as far as my heart’s concerned, he is the only one in the room.

  Roman stares back at me from where he stands just inside the doors. The venue is huge, and I’m on the far side. With the level of noise from the band and chattering guests, we’re not even within shouting distance, yet it feels too close. I’ve been fortunate that our paths haven’t crossed at the courthouse since that night at his apartment, and I’ve made sure we never hung out with our friends at the same time. But I thought that when the time came, I’d be able to handle seeing him. That I’d be strong
enough to hold my head high and greet him with a smile and well wishes.

  I was wrong. So very fucking wrong.

  It’s bad enough when my memory forces me to see him every time I close my eyes. But in person like this…it’s more than I can bear.

  His steel-blue gaze pierces my protective shell like an arrow through tissue paper. Once again, I’m laid bare. Stripped naked in the worst way. My breath catches, held prisoner in my chest, and hot tears sting as they brim and threaten to fall, outing me as weak and damaged.

  The well of sadness I’ve managed to keep contained has turned into a tsunami wave, and it’s seconds away from crashing over the shores of my public composure. There’s no stopping it.

  Screw mandatory. I have to get out of here.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Roman

  From the moment I step into the room, she’s the only woman I see. I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as Addison, but tonight…I can’t get over how incredibly sexy she looks. She outshines them all. She is the moon among the stars. And when our gazes finally collide across the distance, it’s like getting struck by a meteor to the chest.

  Her pale blond hair is flowing free in loose waves, and the smoky makeup around her eyes whispers of mystery. Chandelier earrings of chunky onyx stones nearly kiss that sensitive place I love to bite, where her shoulder and neck meet. The black lace cocktail dress clings to her body like a desperate lover. Before she turned toward me, I caught a glimpse of her back, covered in sheer black netting all the way down to the base of her spine. It’s a flirtatious combination, the perfect merging of Addison’s two sides, classy corporate and tempting vixen.

  I did a little of the same thing. I wore my diamond stud earrings and left the silver barbell in my tongue. My hair is styled in the bed-rumpled way I prefer, and although I’m wearing a tux, my bowtie isn’t tied and the top few buttons on my shirt are undone, allowing flashes of the tattoos covering my chest to show if I move just right. I didn’t want to be one or the other, Roman or Ruthless. I wanted to be me. All of me.