by M. Leighton
And I make my escape.
I search the hostile environment for the universal signs of a restroom. When I spot the little silhouette of a girl in a dress, I practically run for it. I don’t, of course, mainly because I’d probably trip and fall and give everyone an even bigger laugh. But I do walk very, very quickly.
In the bathroom, I keep my head down and make a bee line for the solitude of a stall. Once inside it, I close the door, lean back against it and let the tears flow.
I’m so embarrassed. And so angry. And so embarrassed again. And for them to be so nasty in front of Nash…
My God, those girls make Marissa’s vicious bite feel like butterfly kisses! No wonder Nash doesn’t mind her.
My tears turn bitter—bitter at them for humiliating me, bitter at me for caring about someone I can never have and bitter at the reality of how ill-suited I am for a guy like that.
After several more minutes of wallowing in self-pity and the cruel why-oh-whys of life, I exit the stall. I know if I don’t get back soon, someone will think I’m in here blowing up the toilet. And that’s the last thing I need.
No, you horrid ho-bags, my stress response is not intractable irritable bowel!
Thankfully the bathroom is empty, so I get to clean up my ravaged makeup and tear-streaked face in peace. I run a few paper towels under the cold water and hold them to my eyes like compresses, hoping they’ll reduce the swelling. All they manage to do is make my already-wet lashes clump together.
I shake my head at my reflection. The only thing I can do at this point is go back out there with my head held high and a smile on my face, and try to finish the rest of the night without incident.
”You can do this, Liv. You can do this.”
I almost add for Nash, but even in my head, it sounds stupid and presumptuous. He’s not mine to care for. No matter how much I wish he was.
I take a deep breath and fling open the door to head back into the viper den. But I don’t get very far. I stop dead in my tracks when I see Nash leaning against the wall right outside the ladies’ room. His legs are crossed casually at the ankle, as his arms are crossed casually over his chest. His smile is faint. And sad.
I say nothing. I don’t know what to say. I fidget with the little wristlet purse dangling against my palm.
Finally, he straightens and steps toward me. He doesn’t stop until he is mere inches from me, forcing me to tilt my face up just to maintain eye contact.
He brushes his thumb over the ridge of my cheekbone at the corner of my eye. I wonder briefly if I missed a streak of mascara.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, closing his eyes as if in pain. His face is etched with regret and it tugs at my heart.
“Don’t be. You can’t control other people. I just hope I haven’t embarrassed you too badly, or ruined any important business connections you were hoping to make.”
“I don’t care about business connections. Not at this cost.”
“But you should. That was the whole point of coming tonight. It shouldn’t be ruined by some random girl that’s too much of a misfit to bring to functions like this.”
“You’re not the misfit. I am. I’m the one masquerading as something I’m not,” he says pensively.
“Not being like them is a good thing, but you have to play by their rules. It’s part of the game. It’s part of who you are and what you do.”
“It may be part of what I do, but it’s not part of who I am. I’m not this guy. Not really. This,” he says, tugging on the lapel of his tux, “serves a purpose. It’s a means to an end. Nothing more.”
I frown. “A means to what end?”
Nash’s inky eyes bore holes into mine and, for a second, I think he’s going to tell me something. But then he changes his mind and smiles another small smile.
“Nothing I want to get into right now. Come on,” he says, reaching down to take my hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Nash leads me to the door and we leave without a backward glance.
He doesn’t say another word as he helps me into his car, starts it up and heads toward the Northern edge of the city. I don’t ask where he’s taking me; I really don’t care. I’m just glad to be in his presence and away from all those other people. Anything else is just gravy.
I’m a little surprised when I start seeing the buildings grow taller as Nash weaves his way through the streets of downtown. He slows and pulls into a parking garage, waving a card in front of an electronic eye. A gate lifts and he drives through. He slides into the first available spot and cuts the engine.
Still, he doesn’t say a word. He helps me out of the car and leads me to an elevator.
Still, I don’t ask questions. I’m sort of excited and very curious to see where he’s taking me. I shouldn’t be. Because he’s not mine. But I am.
He flashes his card before another red eye then punches the button for the twenty-fourth floor. The doors close with a hushed swish. We ride smoothly upward until the doors open into a luxurious, dimly lit reception area. Directional lighting sparkles like thousands of diamonds in the gold lettering that reads Phillips, Shepherd and Townsend.
We’re at the law firm where he works. With Marissa. And my uncle. Who’s a partner. He’s the Townsend in Phillips, Shepherd and Townsend.
I want to ask why we’re here, but again, I don’t. He takes my hand and tugs, leading me out of the car into the quiet of the empty office. We make our way across to another, smaller bank of elevators. We go up two more floors, but when the doors open this time, it’s to a breathtaking view of the brightly lit skyline of Atlanta.
I gasp. I can’t help it. I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. It’s like a postcard. Only real.
I weave my way around groupings of expensive outdoor furniture until I reach the wall that surrounds the rooftop. The warm breeze teases the hair at my temples as I look out at the Bank of America building across the way.
“Up here, people like that don’t exist,” Nash says quietly as he comes to stand beside me. He’s so close his shoulder is brushing mine. I fight the urge to lean against him.
I can feel warmth from his body radiating toward me, teasing me with its enticing heat. I shiver in response.
“Are you cold?” he asks, turning toward me to run the backs of his fingers up and down my upper arm, as if testing the temperature of my skin. “Here,” he says, taking off his jacket and draping it over my shoulders. The jacket is warm and heavy and smells just like Nash, like whatever cologne or soap he uses. I figure it must be called delicious, maybe by Armani or some other fancy designer. It almost makes my mouth water. “Is that better?” He wraps his arm around me, too, as if to ensure I won’t be cold. Of course, I won’t complain. Even if I was sweating, I wouldn’t complain.
“That’s much better, thank you.”
We stand in silence for so long I finally begin to get uncomfortable. But just when I start to rack my brain for things to say, Nash speaks.
And drops a nice little bomb.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN- Nash
“My father’s in prison. For murder.”
Way to just blurt it out there, idiot!
I don’t know why I feel so compelled to tell Olivia all my dirty little secrets, but I do. Maybe it’s because she feels like the misfit. I can relate to that. In a world where appearances and reputation mean everything, I have to work extra hard to make sure that everything I say and do is above reproach. It was a nearly impossible feat to overcome, outlive and outdistance myself from my father and his imprisonment, but I did it. After years and years of hard work and kissing all the right asses, I finally did it. And now I’m one step closer to my goal.
After what feels like a freakin’ eternity of silence, I look down at her. She’s looking up at me, her lips slightly parted in shock. Her bright green eyes, dark in the dim light, are focused sharply on mine. But the thing I notice most isn’t what’s in them—surprise, disbelief, curiosity, maybe a little pity—it’s what’s not.
Judgment. Disdain. Horror. None of the things I’ve so often seen in people’s eyes when I’ve had to tell them my story.
Now I want to kiss her even more.
Damn you! You just get more and more appealing.
“What? No running away, screaming?” I say, unable to keep the slight trace of bitterness from my voice.
She surprises me with a grin and a dubious look. “I think we’ve clearly established that I’m nothing like the people you normally associate with.”
I laugh. And it’s genuine. “Yeah, I guess we have.”
She turns toward me. The only thing on her face now is interest. Simple curiosity. I’m glad to see that trace of pity gone. Of the many things I’d like to have from this girl, pity is nowhere on the list.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t bother me as bad as it used to. It feels more like part of my past now than anything else.”
“It must be more than that for you to want to tell me about it.”
Perceptive. She’s as smart as she is beautiful. And probably doesn’t think she’s either one.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t even know why I brought it up.” I look out at the twinkling city lights. Now I feel like a fool for mentioning it.
“But you did. Now you have to tell me or I’ll be forced to think you’re cruel and sadistic.”
“Maybe I am.”
She narrows her eyes on me, sizing me up. “Nah. I don’t believe it. Besides, isn’t there some law against cruel and unusual punishment? You can’t be a lawyer and be a law-breaker at the same time.”
I chuckle at her logic. I can’t help but wonder what she’d think if she knew the truth. “People do it all the time.”
“But you aren’t ‘people.’ You’re the guy that’s getting ready to put me out of my misery.”
“Misery, huh?” I ask, quirking one brow at her.
I know my smile probably gives away the direction my thoughts have taken, and Olivia manages to surprise me again when she immediately jumps in to play along.
“Yes, misery,” she agrees with a smile. “You’re not the kind of guy to leave a girl hanging, are you?”
Although she seems sweet and innocent and shy, at times she seems ready to participate in a much more intimate and dangerous game. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about games or misery or anything else concerning Olivia Townsend.
But damn if I’m not!
Dark and dirty things come to mind, things like how much pleasure I’d get from putting her in misery. But not the bad kind of misery. No, I want Olivia in the kind of misery that makes her sweat and writhe, and then beg me to come inside her.
I feel the need to resituate inside my pants and I remind myself that I’m drifting onto dangerous ground. My mind understands that, but looking down into Olivia’s face, at her sparkling eyes and lush lips, I can’t for the life of me get that through to any other body parts.
“Only if that’s what she likes,” I say, reaching out to pick up a long black lock of hair from Olivia’s shoulder. The strand feels like silk between my fingers. So does her skin against the back of my hand. “What do you like, Olivia?”
I think I see her chest rise as she catches her breath. Maybe she’ll be the one to throw on the brakes. God knows I’m not going to. I might regret it later, but right now I’m not thinking about anything but what it would be like to see Olivia without that red dress.
Her eyebrow arches. I don’t know if it’s really in acceptance of my challenge or if that’s just what I’m hoping. But then she licks her lips and drops her chin a little, looking up at me from beneath her lashes.
She’s coy. But not on purpose. It’s just the way she is. And it’s an even bigger turn on.
“You mean you don’t know? I figured a four-star General would know all sorts of things the rest of us didn’t.”
“Maybe I just like to do my own recon.”
“And what does that consist of?”
I know I should stop while I still can. Only I can’t.
“I like to use all my senses to get a good lay of the land.”
“Lay of the land?” she asks, the corners of her mouth dimpling.
“Of course,” I reply. “So I can plan my attack.”
“Recon? For an attack? Do tell.”
“First I start with touch.” I reach out and brush one dimple with my fingertip then slowly drag it inward, across her pouty bottom lip. “Touch is invaluable. The texture of the terrain tells me how…aggressive my attack needs to be. Some places require a much more delicate approach than others.”
“I see,” she says softly, her warm breath tickling my finger. “What else?”
“Smell,” I say, sliding my hand into her hair to hold it back as I bury my face in the lightly scented skin of her neck. “A certain scent can tell me if I’m heading in the right direction. Something sweet. Something…musky,” I murmur.
I hear her gasp when I gently bite the flesh beneath her ear. “And hearing,” I whisper. “Sometimes the softest sounds, even a moan can tell me a great deal about how close I am to my attaining my goal.”
I feel her hands latch onto my forearms. Her fingernails are biting into my skin through my shirt. All I can think about is how I want to feel them on the skin of my back instead.
Her breath is coming fast and shallow in my ear. “What else?” she pants.
I lean back and look down into her face. Her lids are heavy over her dazzling eyes and her cheeks are flushed with everything that’s happening between us. She doesn’t want to stop either. There’s no doubt in my mind.
“Taste.”
Her eyes flicker to my mouth and back again. “And what do you taste?”
“Everything. I want to taste everything.”
If I ever stood a chance of resisting her, it evaporates the instant she leans into me. So does every last ounce of finesse that I’m normally capable of. The kiss that should’ve started out slow starts out like a forest fire. The first taste of her tongue consumes me.
And I’m lost.
My hands are in her hair and my mouth is devouring hers. I give no thought to where I am or the girlfriend whose father I work for. I can’t think past how badly I want to be inside the tight, hot body of the girl in my arms.
But why? Why do I want her so bad?
No answer comes to mind. All thought seems to shut down when she wraps her arms around me and I feel those fingernails dig in.
I groan into her mouth and I hear her purr in response. I tug on her hair, maybe a little more roughly than I intend, and her kiss turns ravenous. She leans into me, like she can’t get close enough. I turn her around and press her back to the wall. My body is plastered to her length. I can feel every hard inch of me sinking into every soft inch of her. It’s the clothes between us that brings me up from the kiss.
I lean back to look at her. Her eyes are dark and her lips are swollen. I can hear sanity knocking at the door, but I ignore it when she leans slowly forward, stretching up on her tiptoes, to bite my lower lip.
“Oh my God,” I groan, diving back into the kiss. Olivia meets me right where we were. No reservations.
Without breaking contact with her lips, I bend to pick her up and carry her to one of the chaise lounges away from the elevator doors. I lay her on it, stretched out full length, and I straighten to look down at her.
Her knees are slightly bent, giving me a sneak peek of her slim ankles. My attention doesn’t stray from there. Dropping to my knees, I press my lips to the top of her foot, pushing the material of her dress up as I make my way to her calf.
My palm skates lightly over her smooth skin, pushing her dress along, as I lick and kiss a trail to her knee then to the inside of her thigh. She spreads her legs the tiniest bit.
An invitation.
I graze the tender skin with my teeth as the tips of my fingers ascend to brush her damp panties. I hear her gasp. I get hard in anticipation of hearing the noises she’ll make when I�
��m driving my body into hers.
It’s when she stiffens that I realize something’s wrong. I lift my head and my eyes meet her very alert ones.
I’m confused when I see them fill with tears.
“What’s wrong, Olivia? Did I hurt you?”
I didn’t think was rough…
She shakes her head. “No, it’s just…I just…we can’t do this.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I know she’s right. Marissa is too important in my plans to mess things up now. And Olivia is way too nice a girl for me to drag her into my crazy life.
With a sigh, I rest my forehead against her knee.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN- Olivia
“You’re right,” I hear Nash murmur. Then, when he picks up his head, he says more firmly, “You’re right. Please accept my apology.”
He seems stiff and…distant. And it’s making an already uncomfortable situation much, much worse. I sit up and reach for his arm before he can stand up and move away.
“No, wait. Don’t do that. It was my fault. I was flirting with you, knowing that you’re taken. Very taken. It’s as much my fault as yours. Can’t we just sort of forget about it? Not let things get weird?”
He watches me with those intense eyes for several seconds before he speaks. And when he does, I’m relieved. “Sure,” he says, standing to his feet and offering me his hand. I slip my fingers inside his and he squeezes them lightly and pulls me up.
I look down to make sure my dress has righted itself around my legs, which it has, and when I look back up, Nash’s eyes aren’t on my face; they’re on my chest. I look down to see what he’s staring at. Much to my embarrassment, all our…aggressive kissing caused my dress to shift a little. My boobs are practically spilling out. There’s no NippleGate or true wardrobe malfunction, but there is one hellacious amount of cleavage showing.
Nash is still holding my hand. I shake it loose and straighten my bodice. I can’t help but grin at him when he finally meets my eyes.
“So that’s how you charm the cobra,” I quip.
He smiles devilishly. “If you really want to see what effect you have on my snake, I’d be happy to show you.”