by Kennedy Ryan
It’s difficult getting his bulk down the steps, and I almost lose my footing several times. Hakeem alternates between drunken snickers and tearful apologies. He can’t decide what kind of drunk he wants to be, but he’s getting on my damn nerves. He steps on Jared’s foot more than once, and based on the muttered curses coming from the other side, Hakeem has gotten on Jared’s nerves, too.
“I think he broke my toe,” Jared complains when we get outside.
It’s been a long night, and we narrowly averted disaster. Only time will tell if some damning photo surfaces to wreck Hakeem’s career. For now, though, we saved the day, and I’m so relieved that when I see Jared’s almost sullen face, my lips twitch in the closest thing to a smile I can manage under the circumstances.
I step away and leave Hakeem leaning on Jared while I search for my car. I was in such a hurry to get here, I don’t even remember where I parked. I turn to tell Jared I found it and catch him staring at my ass.
“Are you looking at my butt?” I ask, waffling between flattered and offended.
“Of course,” Jared replies as if I’m crazy for asking. “I actually wish you’d stop talking because I was literally committing your ass in those pants to memory, and you’re breaking my concentration.”
I try my best to scold him with a look, which is hard to do when my lips are twitching.
“What?” He shrugs as best he can with Hakeem leaning on him. “I mean it’s right there. What do you expect? At least I’m honest.”
“The guy who slapped my ass was honest, too,” I remind him. “So maybe there’s a balance you could find between honest and lecher.”
“If I find it, you’ll be the first to know.”
I shake my head, still fighting twitching lips. I’m not doing this. I refuse to enjoy him.
“If you can just help me get him to the car,” I say over my shoulder. “We’ll be on our way.”
“What car?”
I stop and turn, looking at him like he’s crazy now.
“My car.”
“And you’re taking him where?” Jared demands. “Do you know where he’s staying?”
“No.” Hakeem doesn’t live in LA. He’s here strictly to party, I guess. I have no idea where he’s staying, and he’s in no condition to tell me. “I’ll take him to my house.”
“The hell you will.” Jared jerks his brows together. “Isn’t Zo out of town?”
“Yeah.”
“You are not taking Hakeem back to your place, not like this. He’s drunk, high, and twice your size. No way.”
Hakeem makes mild sounds of protest, but looks like he could float away any minute.
“Well, what do you suggest?” I ask, irritated with his logic and frustrated by my lack of forethought.
“Oh, now that I broke my back and a toe dragging around a three-hundred-pound seven-footer, you’re open to suggestions?” Jared shifts Hakeem into a more comfortable position. “Fucking figures.”
The twitch of my lips is just the beginning. He looks so put out, like a little boy not getting his way, that a laugh escapes me before I can catch it. And once it’s out, it won’t stop.
“Your toe,” I gasp, pointing to the foot Hakeem kept smashing as we descended the stairs. “I’m so sorry.”
“Apologies usually seem more sincere if you’re not laughing when you deliver them,” he says dryly. “You must have missed that in How to Win Friends and Influence People.”
“Oh, shut it.” After I get my borderline hysterical laughter under control, he’s staring at me, a small smile teasing his lips.
“What?” I ask, smiling back involuntarily.
“Your laugh,” he says. “I want to make you laugh like that every day.”
The comment blindsides me. We were working so well together, it was easy to forget how dangerous being around him is.
I don’t respond but walk the few steps to my car, unlock it. “We need to get him out of here.”
“So that’s how you’re going to play this? You’ll just keep ignoring it?”
I don’t answer, but that’s what I do. Ignore him.
“What should we do about Hakeem?” I ask, risking a glance at him over my shoulder.
Jared stares at me for long seconds before sighing and nodding toward my car. “I’ll follow you and sleep on your couch. I’m parked over there.”
“There’s no need for you to stay,” I rush to assure him. “To sleep on my couch, I mean.”
“Banner, it’s late,” he says wearily. “I’ve been up since four this morning. He’s not coming back to my place. He’s not staying at yours if you’re there alone. This is as much of a compromise as you’re getting.”
I reluctantly nod and help him load Hakeem, who has gone quiet—asleep but breathing evenly—into the car. He’s buckled into the backseat while we ride to my house. The whole way, I recite all the reasons it’s a bad idea to have Jared in my house with Zo not there. I pep talk myself into believing that everything will be okay. That I will emerge from this night unscathed and still faithful.
But as soon as Hakeem is tucked peacefully into my guest bedroom with the door closed, and Jared and I are alone, my confidence wavers. He hangs his jacket on the back of a stool at my kitchen bar. The muscles in his arms strain against the expensive material of his shirt. He rolls the cuffs back, eyes fixed on me.
“Would you like some water before we go to bed?” I hear how that sounds. “Uh, sleep. Before we go to sleep. Me in my room, you on the couch.”
He cocks one brow and folds his arms across the width of his chest and watches me sputter.
“Orrr . . . food?” I march over to the wood panel refrigerator and pull it open, studying the contents. “Let’s see. We have some grilled chicken. Or there’s . . .”
I trail off when I feel him at my back, the heat from his body contrasting with the cool air from the fridge.
“Some cheese or . . .” I can’t think when his hands span my waist, his thumbs seeking out the tense muscles in my back. “Leftover Indian.”
I lick dry lips and try to control my breathing that’s growing more erratic with every probe of his fingers.
“Thai,” I squeak, my voice high-pitched when he lifts my hair away and kisses the curve of my neck. “Ummm . . . or Viet-Vietnamese.”
His hands slide under my shirt from behind and come around to cup my breasts, stroking the nipples barely but insistently.
“Oh, God,” I gasp and drop my head back against him. “Jared, I can’t do this. I’m not a cheat.”
“Then let him go,” he whispers in my ear and slips his fingers under the lace cups of my bra to squeeze my breasts. “He doesn’t have to be caught in the middle of this. He doesn’t have to get hurt.”
“But he will get hurt.” The thought of Zo hurt by my betrayal, by me choosing someone else, fortifies me enough to pull away from Jared’s hands. I face him, breasts still heaving. I’m aching, throbbing between my legs, and my body is a livewire, humming with the electricity of his touch. “You have to respect my relationship.”
“No, I don’t.” Jared runs an agitated hand through is hair. “It’s your relationship, so you can respect it, but I don’t. You’re not married to him.”
“That would make a difference?”
He clutches the back of his neck, head lowered and eyes narrowed, as he considers the question.
“I honestly don’t know.” He shrugs, his face as open and honest as I’ve ever seen it. “I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you, so I can’t say for sure that a ring would stop me.”
This is worse than I thought, and I thought it was awful.
“Don’t you feel bad, though?” I ask, pressing the back of my hand to my forehead like I might have a fever.
“If you’re serious about not cheating on him, one of us has to care, and it’s not me,” he says flatly. “I’m not made that way.”
“Not made to care?”
“I’m not made to deny myself something I w
ant.” He drops his eyes to the tight buds of my nipples still poking through the silk of my blouse. “Especially when I know it wants me back.”
“Don’t.” I cross my arms over my breasts.
“Don’t what? Tell the truth? You want me to lie to myself? I’m not made like that either.”
“You’re going to wreck my life, Jared,” I tell him, fear and longing muddled in the words, mixing inside of me.
“Only if you want me to,” he says softly. “Do you want me to?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Is that what this is about?” He flattens the fullness of his lips into a hardened ridge. “You want me to keep pressing you, keep cornering you until you give in so I’m the bad guy? The one who made you fall?”
“No,” I choke out, hating the picture he’s painting.
“You want me to relieve you of the responsibility? ’Cause I’ll do it. I don’t mind being the villain, but between you and me, we’ll know that you want it as badly as I do. I’m just the one with the balls to make it happen.”
“It’s not like that.” Tears burn my throat. “I’m confused.”
“No, you’re not.” He shakes his head decisively. “You’re not confused about the fact that you want me in a way you don’t want him. I know you, Banner. If you loved Zo, really loved him, there’s no way I could tempt you.”
God, he’s right. I hate that he’s right. I watch him in silence, sure that he’s not done.
“You’re not confused,” he continues. “You’re conflicted because you don’t want to hurt him, but you don’t want to tell him the truth. I, however, am not confused, and I’m not conflicted.”
He moves suddenly, breaching the imaginary fortress I erected to buy myself thinking room. He cups my face in his big hands, rubbing his thumbs over my cheeks.
“I know exactly what I want.” He bends and leaves featherlight kisses on my lips. “I want another chance with you, Banner. The chance that was taken from us. I want to make love to you with the lights on.”
He kisses my chin, caresses my throat. I close my eyes against what I see in his eyes. It’s so much more than the need to fuck, than the base urge of one alpha male compelled to take a woman from another of his species. It’s tender and sincere and all the things I’ve told myself all these years he wasn’t capable of.
“I saw you first,” he whispers, kissing the bridge of my nose where my freckles are.
“I had you first.” He kisses my face where the dimple dents my check when I smile.
“I want you back,” he declares, meeting my eyes and taking my mouth in a deep kiss, never looking away. He sucks my tongue into his mouth with eyes wide open, and the intimacy of it overwhelms me. I can’t close my eyes, can’t look away even when the kiss turns more aggressive, possessive. When he coaxes my lips open wider and goes deeper, taking and giving with every stroke. He skids his hands down my waist and cups my ass, kneading the muscles until finally my eyes drift closed and I slump against him, bliss stealing the last of my pitiful resistance. I groan and my hands creep up over his shoulders and around his neck, my fingers stealing into the cool silky hair. He presses me into the refrigerator door, hooks my leg on his hip, and opens me up, grinds his erection into the divide of my pussy.
“Jared, oh, God.” My head drops back as he pushes against my clit through our clothes. The pleasure swells with each forceful thrust, arrowing from between my legs and up through my chest, coiling at the base of my throat and then breaking free on a silent scream.
“Does he make you feel this way?” he asks, a tightness to his voice that makes me look at him even in the midst of this unimaginable pleasure. “Has he seen you when you come? Seen how beautiful you are when you fall apart? Or do you make him fuck you in the dark, too?”
I squirm free, dropping my leg and pushing away, stumbling over to the counter and leaning there, head dropped forward so my hair hides my heated cheeks.
“Don’t talk about him.” I turn a serious stare on him, ignoring my body’s unfulfilled needs. “You may have seen me first and had me first, but Zo’s been my best friend for a long time. That means something to me. He’s like family, and as much as I want you, and I admit I do, I don’t want to hurt him.”
He walks over, and I flinch when he touches my face because I know how frail my guard is. I could go up in flames again if he wants me to. With just one touch.
“Then you have some tough decisions to make, and you should make them soon.” He bends to drop a soft kiss on my nose. “Because I won’t give up until you’re completely mine, Banner, and I won’t wait much longer.”
19
Banner
“Girl, you better eat. All work and no food does the body no good.”
Quinn designed the app to alert you if no food has been recorded at certain pre-programmed intervals. Now that I understand my body better than I did before, I usually eat several small meals instead of three large ones. Or worse, skipping breakfast and loading up only twice a day. I work out hard and need to fuel and burn all day. Sometimes I simply forget to record what I eat, but today, the app is right. I haven’t left this laptop in hours. I reach across the desk to buzz my assistant.
“Maali, could you grab me a salad from that place up the street?”
Instead of answering, she appears in my doorway. Her inky black hair swishes at her chin in a bob, and her dark eyes mirror concern.
“Sure.” She approaches my desk. “It’s almost quitting time. I’ll go grab the food before I go. The usual?”
“Yeah,” I answer distractedly, scanning the first draft of Zo’s new contract. “Dammit. Lowell is not making this easy.”
“Still holding out?” She props one hip against my desk.
“I think he considers this meeting me halfway, but he’s in for a rude awakening.” I close my laptop with a snap. “Max or we walk.”
“And does Zo have other options?” Hesitation shadows her delicate features. “He did seem to drop off there at the end?”
I shoot her a sharp glance, and she rushes to fix it.
“I’m just saying he was doing so well all season and then seemed out of gas at the end.”
“That happens to lots of guys,” I remind her, trying to keep my voice free of defensiveness. “Zo is in season number ten, not two, so maybe it was typical wear and tear. I have every confidence that he’ll be back to his usual level of performance when the new season starts. He’s an elite athlete, one of the best we’ve seen, and he deserves supermax.”
I open my laptop and start an email to politely, but firmly, tell the Titans front office where they can insert their underwhelming offer.
“Of course,” Maali says, not looking as sure as I am. “I’ll be back with your salad.”
She walks out, only to pop her head back in a few seconds later.
“Oh, and Cal’s in the building.” With a glance, she commiserates with me. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“You’re safe,” I say with half a smile before returning my attention to the email. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
Through the years, Cal and I have brokered an understanding. He stays out of my way and doesn’t expect me to behave like the rest of the assholes who work for him, and I bring him clients. Lots of clients. Lots of business. Lots of money. He gave me the LA office to manage because he’s afraid I’ll branch off and start my own agency. One day I will, but that is a massive undertaking I don’t want right now. I’m settling into a new city. I have more clients than any other agent at Bagley, and they’re as loyal to me as I am to them. When I do leave, I know they’ll follow me out the door. Cal knows that, too, and usually bends over backward to keep me happy, but still feels the need to reassert himself as my “boss” every once in a while, remind me whose name is on the letterhead. He’s been in LA for a week making sure things are going well with the new branch, which they are. If he’s in the building that means at some point, he’ll be in my office.
I’m
making progress on a marketing plan for Lamont Christopher, the rookie I “blocked” with Jared when my cell rings. I’m so tempted not to answer, but a glance at the screen shows me it’s Zo. He’s in another time zone, and with our busy schedules, it’s been hard to really connect. Guilt knots my stomach and my palms actually start sweating. When he comes back, I have to tell him about what has happened with Jared. We haven’t had sex, but what we have done is unacceptable. I pray he forgives me, but I’m still not sure we need to continue forward as we have been, irrespective of Jared.
“Hola,” I answer, forcing a smile into my voice.
“Hola, Bannini,” he says, using the name reserved for family. “Te echo de menos.”
“I miss you, too,” I reply in Spanish, as we conduct most of our private conversations. “How are things at the orphanage?”
He recounts all the amazing things that have been done since I visited the orphanage in San Nicolas with him last summer. Zo does more than simply write checks. He’s hands-on as much as he can be, especially during the summer and in his home country.
“You sound tired,” I say, scribbling on an old draft of a shoe contract.
“I am.” His weary sigh makes me frown. He’s legendary for his boundless energy and rarely admits to fatigue.
“Come home,” I urge him, tossing the pen on my desk and leaning back in my seat. “Rest.”
“Tomorrow.” I know him so well I can envision how the smile in his voice looks on his face.
My heart thuds heavily. I want him to come home and rest, but that means I have to deal with the situation . . . that he doesn’t even realize is a situation yet.
“Tomorrow?” I ask weakly.
“Yes. A quick trip. Only a day in LA and then I fly to Vancouver for some standard team stuff,” he replies. “But I miss you too much. I have to see you, even if it’s only for a day.”
“Oh.” I smile and inject enthusiasm into my voice. I do want to see him. I’ve missed him, too, but the conversation I didn’t want to have will happen sooner than I thought. “Can’t wait.”
“You have no idea, baby.” His voice is husky, eager. “Be naked when I get there.”