For 100 Reasons: A 100 Series Novel

by Lara Adrian

  The art-filled chamber where Kathryn used to entertain the most elite of Manhattan’s social scene has been transformed into a private hospital suite. The fortune in paintings and sculpture still remains inside the high-ceilinged room, but the new focal point is a king-size adjustable bed draped in a champagne silk duvet and flanked by wheeled medical machines and portable IV stands. A table cluttered with enough prescription bottles and pain killers to outfit a small pharmacy sits off to the side of the bed.

  Christ. I knew Kathryn’s condition was grave, but I wasn’t prepared for this. I keep my shock contained as I place her on the mattress. At least, I think I do. Avery senses my reaction as soon as our eyes meet.

  “Kathryn’s been living down here for more than six months now. The stairs have been out of the question for a long time, and the elevator only makes her nausea worse.” As I move away from the bed to let the nurse take over, Avery gives me a sad smile. “She’s going to be livid when she finds out she had to be carried into her house like an invalid tonight.”

  I grunt, knowing it’s true. “Especially by me.”

  “Probably,” she admits, lifting her shoulder in a vague shrug. “Thank you for being here, Nick. I didn’t mean to pull you away from your other business tonight. Another late night with a client?”

  She’s looking at my dark suit and white dress shirt, which is unbuttoned at my throat. Although she doesn’t say it, I have to wonder if she’s picturing me having dinner with another female like Simone Emmons from last week. If she suspects I’m being anything but honest with her, it’s too hard to tell for all the weariness I see in her face.

  “I was on a video conference with my team in Melbourne when you called. We’re in the middle of acquiring a large residential tower over there and some of the Australian regulations are slowing the whole thing to a standstill. I left Beck in charge of the meeting and drove straight over to get you.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Business can wait. I don’t want you to call anyone else.” I give in to the urge to sweep aside a tendril of golden hair that curls against her cheek. “I’m here for you, Avery. That’s never going to change.”

  The fact that she doesn’t withdraw sends a warm current of hope through me. I’m not going to bullshit myself into thinking she reached out to me due to anything more than necessity or desperation tonight, but it’s a start.

  Avery glances toward the bed, where Kathryn’s nurse has begun to attend her. “I ought to see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

  I should offer to do the same, but being in a room so full of sickness and painful, prolonged dying is almost too much for me to take.

  Before a lot of old rusty memories have the chance to churn to life in my head and make me feel like any more of a pussy, I nod at Avery. “It’s all right. Take all the time you need. I’ll be here if you need me.”

  “You don’t have to wait around, Nick. It could be a while before I’m comfortable leaving her.”

  “Avery, I’ll be here.”

  She stares at me for a long moment, then turns away and quietly goes to Kathryn’s bedside.

  I don’t linger in the room. The cloying scent of antiseptic is already drilling into my skull, though not sharp enough to mask the odor of disease. All of it makes my throat close up and a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck.

  I step out to the hallway and breathe in the cool, fresher air.

  It’s been roughly thirteen years since I’ve been inside this house. I was a kid, barely twenty when Kathryn Tremont brought me here for the first time. Our relationship was brief and mutually advantageous. She was looking for someone new to decorate her arm at social events and make her feel alive in bed. I was looking for myself. I was trying to figure out who I might be able to become in a city that was about as far away from my father’s home in the Florida Keys as I could get with nothing but one good hand to work with and a hundred bucks in my pocket.

  It was Kathryn who introduced me to this glittering world I also inhabit now.

  She gave me a taste for fine things. She introduced me to people who taught me about money and business—albeit, not as their peer, but as the disregarded boy-toy who quickly learned the value of listening and observation. I absorbed every conversation I heard. I learned everything I could from the rich, arrogant fucks who talked as openly around me at cocktail parties as they did any other unimportant service attendant.

  I wanted to be one of those rich, arrogant fucks too. I wanted to be as different as I possibly could be from the poor, powerless kid I was when I left Florida.

  I wanted to belong in this immense, indomitable city.

  I wanted to own it.

  And I was so damn sure I could—until the day Kathryn unwittingly invited my past back to haunt me. To be fair, I know she didn’t realize how deeply I hated my art, especially then. It was a reminder of where I’d come from, what I’d lived through. A reminder of everything I’d lost simply because of the fucked up world into which I’d been born.

  Kathryn knew of my hatred for my father. She knew about the drunken fight I had with him and the resulting injuries that cost me all but the most basic use of my hand.

  Thanks to Avery’s friendship with Kathryn, she knows all of this too.

  Fortunately, neither of them know the reason why.

  That’s a shame I intend to take with me to my grave. Hell, I’d hasten the journey before I’d let Avery get anywhere close to the pitiful reality of my past.

  Thinking about that part of my life makes me restless. My muscles twitch with the need to be moving, to be doing something—anything—rather than standing around revisiting old ghosts I left for dead a long time ago.

  I stroll back the way we came in, recalling there is a terrace patio off the formal dining room on the other side of the sprawling residence. Outside the French doors, the summer night air is cool and refreshing. I fill my lungs with it, trying to purge the medicinal stench that still clings to the back of my throat.

  I’m not the only one who fled the house. Kathryn’s young male companion is out here too. He nods at me in greeting from where he is reclined on a sun chair in the dark, the burning end of his cigarette glowing bright orange as he takes a long drag.

  “Those will kill you, you know.”

  A flash of perfect white teeth as he smiles. “Sooner or later, something will, right? I’m Michael.”

  “Nick,” I say, closing the glass-paned door and leaning my shoulder against it. “Have you known her for long?”

  He shakes his head. “Couple of months. You?”

  I don’t answer. What would be the point? This kid doesn’t know Kathryn Tremont, and in another couple of months he’ll be rotated out for a new distraction. If she lasts that long. I doubt very much that she will.

  Which means Avery is going to be hurting all over again when that happens. Her friendship with Kathryn is a fact I can’t ignore any more than I can control it.

  One thing I’ve learned about Avery is that I can’t stop her from caring about someone. Her heart is too big, too pure.

  How else could she ever have loved me?

  I stand outside for a good while, long after Michael has finished his smoke and sauntered off into the darkness to take a phone call in private. When I head back into the house, Avery meets me in the hallway. She’s just come out of Kathryn’s makeshift bedroom, her lovely face tired and drawn.

  “How’s she doing?”

  “She woke up for a couple of minutes, but she’s sleeping now. Evidently she’s been pushing herself too hard planning the auction fundraiser, trying to do too much when she really needs to slow down.”

  I nod in agreement, even though I doubt Kathryn will ever subscribe to that plan. She used to joke that she’d have time to sleep when she was dead. After seeing her condition tonight, I can’t find much humor in the idea.

  “Her fever’s still p
retty high,” Avery adds. “She’s in a lot of pain, more than she’s been letting on. Her nurse just gave her some morphine to take the edge off and help her relax for the night.”

  “I’m sorry.” It’s all I can think of to say. I don’t do well in these situations under normal circumstances, whatever that is. Seeing Avery struggle to cope only makes me feel even less equipped to deal with Kathryn’s illness. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  She looks at me with weary, sorrow-filled eyes. “Will you take me home now?”

  “Of course, I can do that.” I reach out, cupping my palm against her cheek. “Let’s go.”

  We no sooner get on the road than Avery’s phone rings with an incoming call. I tense, dreading it’s Kathryn’s nurse with worsening news. The reality is only slightly better.

  “Jared, hi. I’m sorry I forgot to call you.”

  Jared Rush’s voice is a low, indistinct rumble on the other end of the line. I don’t like the jealousy that flares in me. The suspicion that one of my old friends apparently has a direct line to the woman I love.

  “She’s not doing well,” Avery tells him, a tremor in her words. “Jared, I didn’t realize how quickly she’s been declining. I’m not ready to say goodbye to her.”

  My hands grip the steering wheel as I merge onto the freeway that will take us to Queens. A steady rain has begun, pattering against the roof. Under the relentless beat, I hear Jared offering Avery quiet comfort, indistinct reassurances that sound heartfelt and sincere. They talk for a few more minutes, her tone sober, thready with emotion. Then she quietly says goodbye, promising to call him again tomorrow.

  “That was Jared.”

  “So I gathered.” I sound annoyed, but I can’t help it.

  “He’s going to check in on Kathryn in the morning and let me know how she is.”

  I nod, silent as we turn onto Avery’s block in Forest Hills. The rain has picked up now, pelting the windshield and creating a pounding racket above our heads. I park on the street outside her house, but leave the car running.

  “Come on. I’ll see you to the door.”

  She starts to protest but I’m already climbing out from behind the wheel. I head around to her side and help her out, shrugging free of my suit coat to hold it over her head as we jog up the short walkway to her front door.

  She turns to face me on the stoop, beneath the gabled overhang.

  I’m suddenly glad for the noise of the rain. It fills the vacuum of everything I want to say to her right now. Possessive, demanding things that have no place here tonight.

  That she is mine. That I can’t wait another goddamn minute to know if I still stand a chance with her or if I’ve lost her forever. Or worse, could I lose her to a smooth player like Jared Rush?

  I can’t tell her that I’m losing my fucking mind without her. That what I want more than anything is to carry her up to her bed and take away all of the pain and fear and sorrow she’s feeling, even if she’ll only let me come back for this one night.

  I’m not sure I’ve got the honor it’s going to take to leave her right now. But to stay a moment longer is to take advantage of her vulnerability, her misplaced trust in me—something I’ve done plenty of already.

  “Nick.” Her eyes swim with unshed tears and confusion as she looks up at me.

  I don’t wait for her to say anything more. I don’t dare. “I have to go.”

  I press a brief, tender kiss to her parted lips. Then I dash back to my waiting car before I have the chance to change my mind.

  Chapter 11

  I close the door and lean against it with a heavy sigh after Nick returns to his car.

  What does it say about me that I can spend two hours looking after my terminally ill friend yet come home feeling sorry for myself when Nick practically ditches me at my front door? I feel adrift in my own house, left alone with just my thoughts and my worry for the friend I already feel slipping away from me.

  It’s too late at night to call Tasha or my mom, and when I phoned Lita from Kathryn’s to update her on the situation, she informed me that she’d caught a cab home from the auction and was headed to bed.

  That’s where I should be heading too. That is, if I had any hope of going to bed and not lying there for the next several hours thinking about Nick.

  Wanting him.

  Needing the kind of contentment and comfort I’ve only ever felt in his arms.

  I pick up my phone, my fingers itching with the urge to dial his number. I could ask him to come back. I know he would. I also know that if I’d invited him into my home tonight, into my bed, we’d be crossing a threshold with no turning back.

  If we try to return to each other again and fail, it will be for the last time. For my own sake, for my sanity, it would have to be.

  As much as I wish I had Nick’s strength to lean on, I’m not sure I’m ready to face that much finality in one night.

  Instead I head upstairs to take a shower and try to relax. A few minutes under the hot water soothes my tired muscles. It washes away the tears I refused to let fall in front of Kathryn.

  What it doesn’t soothe or wash away are my thoughts of Nick.

  My longing to be with him.

  Those feelings cling to me as I wrap myself in a short silk kimono and pad across my bedroom rug to draw the blinds. It’s still pouring outside, rain pelting wetly against the windows and sweeping in waves over the street below.

  The street where Nick’s black BMW still sits parked at my curb.

  “What the hell?”

  He’s here? When did he come back? Or did he ever go at all?

  It doesn’t matter. He’s here. I step back from the window in surprise, swamped by a selfish elation I can’t deny.

  Then I’m racing down the stairs and out the front door, barefoot. Breathless.

  Puddles on the pavement slosh against my feet as I round the front of the car to the driver’s side. I pound the flat of my hand against the window, a single knock that brings Nick’s head up sharply.

  Our eyes meet through the water-streaked glass. He’s sitting in the darkened car, the engine turned off. He scowls, his lips parting on a silent curse as currents of rain sluice off my nose and chin.

  The door pops open. I step aside as he climbs out of the car, an apology in his gaze. “I couldn’t leave. Damn it, I tried to, but—”

  I don’t give him the chance to finish. With my hands holding his face, I drag him down to meet my kiss. His answering groan is animal, filled with the same yearning that’s coursing wildly through me.

  We’re drenched in seconds. His white dress shirt plasters against his broad shoulders and chest. My thin kimono practically melts around me. Neither of us seems notice or care. Nothing can cool the urgency of our kiss.

  Nick’s mouth moves hungrily over mine, our faces wet from the rain, our lips fused and fevered. His large hands hold me close to him, one palm splayed at my back, the other cradling my nape beneath the sodden tangle of my hair. His muscles flex, then in an instant he’s pivoted, turning me around so that I’m pinned between the closed door of the BMW and the firm heat of his body. He crowds in closer, still kissing me madly, our bodies crushed together everywhere they can, melding my soft curves to his hard planes.

  I moan with the need for deeper contact. There’s no use trying to deny what he does to me. Just one kiss and I’m his for the taking already.

  Again.

  Always.

  He says my name like a curse, muttering it harshly against my lips before he draws back to look at me. Desire blazes in his eyes and in the stark set of his jaw.

  I see the question in his gaze. The warning.

  I nod, the only response I’m capable of when my body is shivering under the deluge, my senses thrumming with the force of my need.

  Nick kisses me again, hard and fast and heated. His fingers lace through mine and together we hurry back to the house. Dripping wet in the center of my little foyer, we barely make it to the steps leading
upstairs before Nick wheels me around to face him, picking right up where we left off. He kisses me until I feel dizzy, until I am vibrating with arousal.

  It’s always been like this between us from the very beginning. Spark meeting tinder. Passion perpetually smoldering and once reignited, swiftly consuming everything in its path.

  But it’s not only lust that draws us together time and again.

  It’s a connection that goes deeper than that. Nick and I share a mutual need that no one else can fill. I feel it every time I look into his haunted eyes and see a piece of myself there. As strong and unbreakable as he is, I know there’s a part of Nick that recognizes himself in me too.

  I feel our connection now, when his gaze locks on mine and he begins to peel away my soaked kimono. He lowers his head and his mouth finds the curve of my bare neck and shoulder. My skin is cold, but it flares hot the instant his lips touch me. I shudder with unabashed need, curling my arms around him as his lips descend to my breasts. The wet scrap of my clothing falls away, taking the rest of the world and all of my other conscious thoughts with it.

  God. How I need this. I need him.

  Tonight there is the added fuel of our separation, all the nights and weeks and months that I’ve longed to feel Nick’s hands on me again, his mouth on me . . . his hard, powerful body crushed against me, buried inside me.

  In spite of everything we’ve been through, there is still this. There will always be this. I know it as surely as I see that same truth reflected in his stormy blue eyes. We will be drawn together like this always, even if it hurts.

  Even if it destroys us.

  Right now I don’t care about any of that.

  Right now, all I need is him.

  Nick understands. There’s no need for me to say the words. He doesn’t have to tell me how deeply he craves this either.

  My fingers struggle to unbutton his wet shirt. The custom-tailored white fabric is glued to his muscled arms and torso, slowing my quest to get at his naked skin. He seems just as impatient to have my hands on him. Yanking the tails loose from his pants, he rips open the front of the shirt with a sharp flex of his wrists. Mother-of-pearl buttons clatter to the hardwood like tiny pebbles.