by Kennedy Ryan
It hurts to swallow. It’s hard to breathe. It feels wrong to even converse intimately with him when I’ve come on Jared’s fingers. When last night I dreamed about Jared making love to me with the lights on. We haven’t spoken since yesterday morning, when he carted a chagrined and hungover Hakeem to his hotel. With Hakeem watching, we kept things professional, but the look Jared gave me on his way out burned through my clothes.
“It’ll be good to have you home, if only for a day,” I deflect, making no promises of nudity, and hope Zo doesn’t notice.
No such luck. The silence on the other end swells for a few seconds.
“You’re okay?” I hate the uncertainty in his voice. “You sound . . . I don’t know. Off somehow.”
The trouble with dating your best friend . . .
“No, just a lot of work,” I lie. Only I can’t lie to Zo, thus the conversation we need to have tomorrow. “That’s not entirely, true. We need to talk when you get home.”
“You can tell me anything, Bannini. You know this, yes?”
Tears burn my eyes and my chest aches with the pain I’m going to cause him, with the knowledge that things won’t be the same between us after we talk. I don’t know exactly what that means or how we’ll look, but it will be different. And the “same,” the constancy, is what we’ve always needed and gotten from each other. But maybe that’s the problem. Too much of the same.
“Banner?” Zo asks when I don’t answer. “I said you know this, right?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “Yeah, I know. There’s so much going on with free agency and work and . . . we just need to talk.”
There’s a small break, a silence in which the man who knows me so well tries to figure out what the hell is going on.
“Whatever this is,” he says. “I love you.”
A runaway tear skates over my cheek, and I swipe at it impatiently. No time for tears or weakness.
“I know, Zo. I—”
Movement at my office door momentarily distracts me. I press my lips into a stiff smile of welcome to Cal Bagley.
“Zo, Cal’s here,” I say in English for my boss’ sake. “I need to go.”
“Of course. We’ll talk tomorrow when I get home.”
I place my phone on the desk and gesture for Cal to take the seat across from me. My spine stiffens at the calculating gleam in his eye and the plastic smile on his face.
“Good old Zo,” Cal says to start the conversation.
“Not that old,” I return with a small smile.
“Do the Titans agree? Lowell says there’s still no deal.”
I lean back so my ergonomic chair tilts.
“Checking up on me, Cal?” I ask casually. Too casually. He knows I’m the last shoulder he needs to look over.
“No, I happened to run into Lowell.” Cal crosses one ankle over his knee. “But I have heard some things that I wanted to address before we have any . . .”
He squints and waves his hand in the air.
“Any issues,” he finishes.
“Issues?” I cross my legs, too. “Uh huh. Go on.”
“I know you and Jared Foster are working on a project together.”
“Yes, Kenan and August, one of Jared’s clients obviously, are doing a fundraiser together.”
“The golf tournament, yes.”
That gives me pause. He and I haven’t spoken about the specifics of the project. Why would we? He hasn’t interfered in my business for years. If he and I haven’t spoken about the project, he’s obviously spoken to someone about it. And I have to wonder why.
“What’s going on, Cal?” I lean forward and set my elbows on the desk and rest my chin on folded hands.
“Now, you know I trust you, Banner.”
“I thought I knew,” I reply, deliberately keeping my voice light.
“I do trust you,” Cal assures hastily. “It’s that damn Foster I don’t trust.”
“Jared?” My heartbeat stills and starts again. “Why? I mean I know he’s at another firm, but we’re coordinating sponsors for our clients’ fundraiser, not swapping company secrets.”
“Nothing like that. I think he means to lure you over to Elevation.”
I laugh because it’s ridiculous.
“You’re mistaken.” I shake my head, relieved that this is all. “He doesn’t.”
“He definitely has an interest in you.”
I won’t stop until you’re completely mine.
An interest. That’s one way to put it. I bite into an involuntary smile and suppress a shiver. As complicated as Jared has made things with Zo, I haven’t felt so alive in ages. Anticipating the next time I’ll see him. The intimacy of his kisses, the fire in his touch, how he stimulates my body and my mind. I shift in my seat and uncross my legs.
“Don’t worry, Cal,” I tell him with a wry smile. “Jared’s no threat.”
“Really?” Cal looks anything but sure. “He told me himself that my prize mare, as he put it, was safe, but that he could take better care of you at Elevation.”
All the gooey residual feelings congeal and thicken, settling like a lump at the bottom of my belly.
“Prize mare?” I ask numbly. “He said that?”
“Word for word,” Cal says, watching my face closely. “He all but warned me. You’d tell me if he made any offers, right? At least give me a chance to match whatever he presents, Banner.”
“Uh . . . he hasn’t made any offers,” I say absently.
Of the professional variety anyway, but maybe that was his end game. Even though Bent told me Jared wasn’t in on Prescott’s cruel joke, doubt floods me again. It’s like a habit, doubting myself. From the outside, no one would suspect, but there’s a crack in every wall. I’m no exception. I’ve lost a lot of weight. I’m in the best shape of my life, but I’m not, nor will I ever be a Quinn. A Tanya. A Cindy.
I’m a Banner, and Jared made me believe—again—that’s what he wanted. Legitimately, desperately wanted that from the way he looks at me, the things he’s said. Did I misjudge the situation?
You’ve always been beautiful to me. I hope you know that.
Jared is a master strategist. He’ll do anything to get what he wants, but I thought he wanted me. The me I thought he had seen. Really seen. Not the agent who could bring in hefty commissions.
“Just be sure I get to counter whatever he offers,” Cal says, standing and tapping my desk. “We’ve invested too much over the last decade to lose you to some upstart.”
“Of course.” I clear my throat and try to clear my head. I stand to walk him to the elevator. “How much longer are you in town? When do you fly back to New York?”
“In the morning.” He squeezes my arm. “You’re doing a great job out here, Banner, in case I hadn’t told you.”
“Thanks.” I smile, bending my lips into a waxy curve that doesn’t reflect the turmoil and uncertainty this conversation caused.
The elevator doors open, and Maali gets off as Cal gets on. I thank her, take the salad, and head back to my office.
“You okay?” she asks, a frown pleating her expression. “You look . . . I don’t know. Did Cal upset you?”
“No.” I dig into my salad and pull up my email to the Titans, avoiding Maali’s probing stare. “That look is probably hunger.”
She keeps watching me, like she needs convincing, so I look up and give her a confident smile. I’m good at convincing.
“I have some Titan ass to kick for Zo,” I say easily. “Could you close the door behind you?”
Assured, she smiles back and leaves.
Yeah. I’m great at convincing, but Jared is even better.
20
Jared
I’m a reasonable man. Most people who know me would agree. Two days with no word from Banner and I’m not feeling particularly reasonable. I’ve given her space. I know this situation is difficult for her and that she genuinely cares about Zo. I haven’t badgered with messages, but I hoped she’d call me.
Is this how women feel when men don’t call? When we go dark and they don’t hear from us? Do they wonder if we’re with someone else? Only I don’t have to wonder. I know that when Zo comes home from his trip, he comes home to Banner. To her house and her bed.
And I cannot fucking take it. The thought of him inside her even one more time is an itch in my veins, coursing through my imagination. My very blood is agitated when I think of them together. I’m not a jealous person by nature. You have to actually care about things to feel that way, and I care about my family and the few people I count as true friends. Expending that kind of energy and emotion on a girl I may not even remember in a month? Nah. But Banner? She’s like image burn, that impression left on your screen long after the photo is gone. Her outline is seared into my memory.
I told myself I wouldn’t call and I haven’t, but I’m sitting outside her office at seven o’clock and her car is still in the parking lot. I’ve never been to the Bagley offices, but of course I know where they’re located. Know your enemy. The reasonable thing would be to keep driving.
I dial.
“Hello?” she answers on the first ring.
Good sign.
“Hey.” I search for something neutral to discuss before diving into the decision she needs to make. “How are things?”
“You mean how are things at work?” Banner asks, her tone cooler than it’s been in weeks. “Why? Are you still deciding if this prize mare is worth the investment?”
Prize mare?
“What are you talking . . .”
Cal Bagley. Son of a bitch.
“So how is good ol’ Cal?” I don’t pretend ignorance.
“Concerned that you’ll lure me away.” Her laugh is made of tinfoil. “I assured him nothing could tempt me to work with you.”
The whip in her voice lashes my ears.
“Something wrong, Ban?”
“No, everything is very right.” I hear the dismissal before she voices it. “Thanks for calling. Let me know if we need to do anything for the sponsors, otherwise . . .”
Otherwise I can fuck off.
I kill the engine and head for the building.
“So that’s it?” I ask, checking the list of offices in the lobby to find Bagley. “You won’t tell me what I’ve done so wrong that we’re back at square one?”
“We never really left square one. I just needed reminding.” She sighs impatiently. “Look, I’m swamped. I need to go. Goodbye.”
On the elevator, anger percolates under my skin and throbs at my temples. Does she actually think I can be dismissed so summarily? Like I’m some puppy she can get rid of with one good kick? I will myself to calm down on the walk from the elevator to her office. Surprisingly, the door isn’t locked yet, and I walk right in. Note to self: she needs to fix that. The LA office is small, with most of Bagley’s agents still operating from New York. And it’s empty because everyone else has a life and has gone home. I find Banner’s office easily and the knob turns, opening right away.
I lock the door behind me.
She’s at the window, watching the city skyline start to glitter. When the door opens, she whips around, and I catch her unaware. The vulnerability and disappointment on her face before the indifferent mask locks in place makes me want to choke Cal Bagley.
“What do you want?” The ice in her eyes freezes me out, but I know how to warm her, how to warm us both.
“I thought I was very clear about what I wanted,” I say, walking over to stand beside her at the window. “I want you.”
She snorts, scorn distorting the sweet symmetry of her lips. She moves over to her desk and starts straightening papers and packing her bag.
“You want me?” she asks, not looking up from her task. “I already have a job, so you can stop recruiting.”
I move swiftly to the desk and put my hands over hers on top of the laptop she was about to pack.
“You know I don’t give a damn about that, Banner.” I dip my head to catch her eyes.
“No, I don’t know,” she says softly. “For years I believed you had ulterior motives that night when we . . .”
“Made love?” I offer. “But you said you believed Bent when he told you I had nothing to do with Prescott’s scheme.”
“Yeah. I . . . well, I did. It still all seems sudden and strange.” She pulls her hands from under mine and slides them into the pockets of the narrow black skirt hugging her ass like a lover. “I’m not your usual type, you must admit.”
She laughs, a rueful grin tipping one side of her mouth.
“I’m no Cindy.”
“Who the hell is Cindy?” I ask, perplexed.
“Seriously?” Incredulity is all over her face. “Miss Iowa from senior year?”
“Oh, hell, Banner. I forgot her before graduation day. Not really, but pretty damn close. That isn’t what this is about, is it?”
She lifts her lashes, but the gate is slammed shut over her dark eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
I capture her wrist, sit on the edge of the desk, and draw her between my legs.
“If I’m the asshole who pretends I want to be with you so you’ll come work for me,” I say, linking our fingers and sliding my other hand around her waist. “Then I can’t be the guy who has always seen you, always wanted you, and is willing to blow up your life, as you put it, to have you. If I’m lying, then this thing between us can’t be real and you won’t have to deal with it.”
I lift our linked hands to my lips, connecting our eyes and not relinquishing her.
“You wouldn’t have to deal with me.”
“No, that isn’t—”
“Shut up, Ban,” I cut in softly. “I’m not giving you that out. Tonight you face the truth.”
“Which is what?” she asks.
“Do you have any idea how many women I’ve been with?” I ask instead of answering her question directly.
“No, I—”
“Neither do I. I literally don’t remember some of them. Just a blur of hair and faces. I got some of their names wrong the night they were in my bed.”
I grasp her stubborn chin, lift it.
“But you? I remember exactly how tight you were. How wet. I still hear the sounds you made in the dark, and I know how we smell together. I have perfect recall of every second I was inside of you. That’s the truth.”
Her pupils dilate and she draws a stuttering breath.
“Banner, you’re my match.”
Finally saying the words out loud, declaring it, feels right.
“I’m not your match,” she says, one imperious brow ascending. “I’m too good for you.”
“True,” I grin, tightening my hand at her waist. “But I’m going to have you anyway.”
“It was a one-night stand, Jared,” she says lamely.
“Now who’s lying? It wasn’t a one-night stand. It was one night, and I never intended that to be the end. You let that prick motherfucker take away all the nights we should have had.”
I dip to nuzzle her neck, nudge aside the collar of her blouse to kiss the soft skin beneath.
“I want them back, Ban. I want you back.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” she says breathlessly, still fighting it. “You can’t just have me back like the last ten years never happened. I’m in a committed relationship, and you can’t ignore that.”
I stare at her, waiting for her to remember my moral compass spins. There is no true north. There’s only what I want and what stands in my way. I cup her neck and sift the fingers of one hand into her hair and grab her ass with the other.
“What I can’t do,” I say. “What I won’t do any longer is wait. I tried to give you space, but you’ll only use that space to make more excuses. So that ends tonight.”
And without warning, I kiss her the way I’ve wanted to since I walked in.
21
Banner
It’s like that first time he kissed me, and it’s like no kiss I’ve ever had before
.
When Jared first kissed me in Sudz senior year, the zeal, the fervor of it snatched my breath. Yes, it was deep and hard and demanding, but what startled me was that all that intensity was turned on me. Watching Jared, crushing on him for years, and then kissing him was like seeing a cyclone from land—marveling at its power and dark, twisting beauty only to find yourself suddenly, improbably, at its center. Standing still in my office, I’m at the spinning center of a kiss that will demolish my life. I know it, but I can’t stop.
I want it too much.
I crave the deliberate seduction, the methodical, plunging, sweeping stroke of his tongue over mine. He angles me, fits his lips over mine, controlling the pace and depth of the kiss, standing and flipping our positions. He hoists me by my waist onto the cluttered desk surface and inch by inch, urges my skirt higher and higher until the hem collects at my waist. With a glance down at the triangle of black silk between my thighs, he groans, falls to his knees, raining kisses on my stomach through my blouse. The hot, wet suction of his mouth at my breast penetrates the flimsy layers of silk.
I can’t form the words that would stop him. Maybe I could have before he slid down my belly and buried his nose in my panties. I like to think I could have before he dragged the black silk down my thighs and past my stilettos. But I’ll never be sure. Because he did those things, and then he pressed me open wider and separated the lips of my pussy and sucked my clit.
“Ahhh.” A rumbling starts at my center, the warning tremors of Pompeii. A premonition of ruin. “Jared . . . Oh, God.”
His mouth never leaves me, but he presses one big hand between my breasts until my back hits the desk and my legs dangle over its side. Then he opens me like a flower, peeling back the petals and flattening his tongue against me, his mouth hungry, thirsty, needy, and my body surrendering every response he demands. His is unrelenting worship, and I’m his altar. I stretch my arms down, knotting my fingers in his hair and caressing the rugged beauty of his face. His jaw flexes under my fingers with the ardor, the wondrous labor of his mouth between my legs.