by Amelia Wilde
There are voices in the hallway, strangely close to this unused door, but he doesn’t freeze. He doesn’t seem to care if we’re caught fucking in this little closet. He doesn’t seem to care about the consequences, not at all. He cares about me.
I come down from the peak. I start to relax into his hold. “Again,” he says, his face dark and wild in the dim light of the closet.
The voices get louder, closer. Marilee?
This time he meets me in my release, teeth gritted, eyes still locked on mine.
I’m silent, trying to stop my ragged breathing from escaping into the hall. “You’re so bad,” I whisper. My heart pounds. Now that we’re not actively fucking, I’m worried that the door might swing open, and then . . .
Then people would see me with Beau Bennett.
I can’t say I’d mind.
He helps me back into my jeans and tucks my shredded panties into his pocket. “These are useless now,” he says with a grin.
Back in his disguise as a perfect gentleman, he escorts me to the costume shop. At the door he gives me a lingering kiss. “I promise not to interrupt you again.”
I’m still reeling from the intensity of what happened, speechless as he turns away and moves down the hall. “Will you break your promise?” I finally call after him.
“Wait and see,” he tosses over his shoulder, and then he’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Beau
Every time I block her out of my mind, she finds a way back in.
It’s my own lack of self-control. I can’t blame Annabel for the fire that burns in my veins every hour of the day.
For the past week, she is all I’ve thought about. I’ve lost count of the messages that have come in from the Overton crew. Our usual rounds of dinner and exclusive films have all but dropped off my schedule.
I’m supposed to be finalizing some of the last details for Edgar. This project has ballooned into much more than a single secure apartment. It will take multiple apartments in multiple buildings, each of them as strong as the others. Instead I’m running other numbers. How much would it cost to have my office moved to the Pearl? I’m responsible for a great deal of sensitive information, so the information technology there would need to be upgraded. Revenues for the Pearl itself aren’t a pressing issue, but I can’t rush ahead with anything that might ultimately damage the brand. If the Pearl becomes a New York City hot spot—and with my team on it, it will—I can’t be taking up valuable real estate with an office.
I run my hands over my face. Annabel isn’t going to be living at the Pearl forever. At some point repairs on her apartment will be completed.
Back to the work at hand.
Picturing Annabel in her suite at the Pearl, half-naked, eyes lit up with need for me, makes me painfully hard.
The images on the screen start to blur. The lists I’m writing become fragmented half ideas that Edgar will never accept.
God, it’s impossible, working like this.
I shove my chair back from the desk and grab my coat. I don’t care if I’m taking Annabel in that closet. I need her, even if it means interrupting her work. A certain guilt rises in my chest, but Annabel is eventually going to leave that position. She’ll float away to another job, another boss, and it won’t matter at all.
It’s a terrible approach, but it makes my choice easy. There is always the hope that all this will make it hard for her to go.
This is the last time, I tell myself. I’m not going to do this again.
The sound of Linda protesting jerks me out of my thoughts.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Linda. Positive.”
Oh for God’s sake.
West appears in the doorway to my office with both hands up. I adjust myself in plain sight, but he doesn’t face me right away. He’s giving Linda a winning smile. “He’ll be fine,” he repeats again.
I won’t. I’ll die of the pulsing irritation that’s already rising in my throat.
West turns. “Old buddy, old pal,” he says, waltzing into the office and dropping into one of the chairs across from my desk. “How is everything at Bennett Inc.?”
I smile thinly at him. “Very busy. Very, very busy. I was on my way out.”
“Yet I’ve stopped by to pay my old buddy a visit.” West grins at me, his body squared off. He lifts one foot and rests it on the edge of my desk. He’s not the type to visit during working hours. He’d much rather throw a party. So what is this?
“I don’t have much time.”
“You haven’t had much free time lately,” he says as if he’s commenting on the weather, which is perfectly inoffensive. Sunny. Gorgeous. Hinting at early fall, not a cloud in the sky.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “I’ve been busy with work.”
“Too busy for your oldest friends?” He arches an eyebrow at me.
“This coming from the man who was out of the country for months?”
West takes his foot off the table and leans forward in his chair. I have half a mind to sit down, but at this point it would only invite him to make this conversation longer. “I’m back now. Kinsey says you’ve been distant.”
The irritation almost boils over into anger. “What would Kinsey know about it?”
His smile is a cautious one. “You know I’ve been trying to make plans. Get us all back together. The show at the Pearl has everyone’s businesses involved.”
“This is a side project, West. I’m not sure what you expect of me here. I’ve refurbished the entire hotel and theater. For God’s sake, I had that historical display put in in the lobby. People are rushing in and out of that place at all hours preparing for the show.”
“I know—”
“I have other branches of the business to attend to.”
“Everybody’s worried you’ve taken on too much.”
Why is he saying these things to me? “That’s absurd. You’ve been on vacation—”
“Scouting for media opportunities—”
“—for months. Liam is in the backwoods of God knows where. Charlie and Declan are in the city, like always, but none of them have wedged themselves so far up my ass about this.”
West cracks a smile. “Listen. I came here because I want you to save the date.”
“Save the date for what? Did you convince someone to marry you?”
He laughs out loud. “If I did, you’d be the first to know. After her, obviously. I want you to set aside opening night.”
“Of the show? The Lovers?”
“Yes.” West looks awfully satisfied with himself. “I’ve been planning a nice event for everybody. It’s not the usual outing. It’ll be worth it, Beau.”
“Fine.” I glance pointedly at the door. “Was there anything else?”
“Can I get that in writing? Kinsey’s going to lose her mind if she finds out you’re ambivalent. She’s been bitching about you for weeks to anyone who will listen.”
“Kinsey—” I’ve had enough of Kinsey. We are not together. We’re never going to be together. If she has a problem with Annabel, then she should find a private therapist and talk it out. I try to hold it back. I do. “I don’t care, West. I don’t care.” I move past him. “Thanks for stopping in, but I’ve got to make my way down. I’m going to be late.”
“Be careful,” he calls after me.
It’s not until I’m in the car that it occurs to me. I have no idea what he meant.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Annabel
I come awake all at once.
It’s pitch-dark in the suite. No—it’s not quite pitch-dark. A blue glow seeps in under the door to the living area.
What time is it?
Three-fifteen.
I roll over and squeeze my eyes shut. The bed feels huge and empty without Beau’s warmth beside me, but he’ll be back any minute. I’m sure of it.
Another wave of sleep takes over. Without him next to me, it’s not nearly as deep.
I fall into the shallow edges
of a dream. Don’t do this, he says. His hands are warm against my skin, pressing, stroking. It’s not the answer to everything.
“Not the answer to what?” I mumble into my pillow. The act of speaking bursts the bubble of the dream. He’s still not here, but the blue glow is. Three forty-five. What is he doing out there?
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and shuffle out from under the covers. All of my limbs feel heavy with sleep. There could have been real estate emergency, and he had to step out. The easiest solution is to peek outside, then get back under the covers.
My tank top is completely twisted around, and I tug at it as I move toward the door. The closer I get, the more my heart pounds. Is this a dream? Did I think I woke up? It does seem like the setup for a horror movie. I like a good scary movie, but I’m not interested in being the star of the show. Still, I force myself to keep walking. I am a grown woman. There are no monsters lurking on the other side of the door.
“Bravery,” I whisper, then push the door open a few inches. I’m going to feel so stupid if there’s nobody in the other room.
My heart almost explodes with relief when my eyes adjust to the light.
Beau is there, sitting on the sofa, a laptop perched on his lap. He hasn’t heard me yet.
I open the door the rest of the way, and he squints up at me, looking for all the world like he’s been doing something naughty.
“If you wanted to watch porn, you could have invited me,” I say, my voice rough from sleep.
He smiles, but it’s a flickering thing, hardly there at all before it’s gone. “Annabel,” he says, my name a sigh. “I lost track of the time.”
“It’s all right. I wanted to see if you were still here.”
“Where else would I go?”
“I don’t know. A real estate emergency?”
He gives me a long look. “What kind of emergency would that be?”
I shrug. “You tell me. You’re the real estate baron.”
Beau breathes deeply, but it doesn’t seem to relax him. There’s a tightness around his eyes. Is it from the light of the laptop or something else? “There’s no emergency. I’m a bit pressed for time is all. A project . . .” Something about the way he says the word project makes it seem not quite true, but what do I know?
I know I want him back in bed. I know I want to be somewhere far from here, where he’s not under so much pressure. He was so at ease driving us to New Hope.
The bed isn’t calling to me anymore. That prickling, wild energy begins at my fingertips. We could leave right now. It would be so exciting to steal away right now, when the rest of the world is asleep. What do we have to lose? Nothing, as long as we’re together.
I move toward the sofa and sink down next to him. The grin on my face must look crazed, because Beau cocks his head to the side and closes his laptop. Did he close it so I wouldn’t see what was on the screen? No. That’s stupid and paranoid. A real estate business isn’t something you keep secret.
Warmth radiates from his body. I breathe him in. The scent of him reminds me of sweet summer days, free of the driving sleet that fall can dump on the city. It’s perfect. Who wouldn’t want to stay here with him?
“What’s on your mind?” In the new dark of the living area, I can still see him, but his features are dark.
“We should get out of here.” The words spill out of me one after the other. “We could get your car, pack a few things—or pack nothing, I don’t care—and drive out of the city.” I leap up from the sofa and go to the picture window. With the curtains thrown back, the orange light from the city spills in, giving the room an otherworldly glow. “The traffic’s nonexistent. We could be gone in a flash.”
I turn back to face him. He’s looking at me, eyebrows slightly raised, slumped against the sofa. My heart sinks at his expression. I’m not one for feeling ashamed of my ideas, but a hot embarrassment floods my cheeks.
“That’s what we should do?” His tone is mild. It reminds me of the way he spoke to Kinsey.
There’s a falling feeling down in my gut, and it’s cold. “Yes.” I know this will be good for him. It’s almost always good for me. “That’s what we should do.” I move back to the sofa and take his hand. “Let’s go. It’ll be great. You won’t feel—”
“God, Annabel,” he huffs. “Do you ever come up with anything else? Is there another idea up your sleeve aside from running away?” He drops my hand and runs it through his hair. “I have responsibilities I need to balance. I’m not interested in fleeing the city every time you get bored.”
It hurts so much, and so suddenly, that I gasp out loud.
I don’t know where to go or what to do. I don’t have a snappy comeback. I don’t have anything. All I can do is whirl away from him and head toward the bedroom. My clothes—the rest of my clothes. I don’t care if the apartment is still a wreck. I’m not staying here.
“Jesus,” he says under his breath. Before I can get to the bedroom door, the laptop is hitting the carpet with a soft thud. “Annabel. Wait.” I’m scrambling blindly for my clothing down by the bed. “Please.”
I turn to brush past Beau, and he catches me in his arms and holds me tight. I’m not going to cry. Not now, not ever. “What do you want?” The words are choked, but I won’t let a single tear wet my cheek. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I know,” he murmurs into my hair. “I know. Please . . . Annabel, I didn’t mean it. Let me make it up to you.” Then he kisses me, and God help me, I’m falling for him all over again despite the ache in my chest. “Let me make it up to you,” he says again.
“This once,” I whisper. It’s late. I’m tired. And I want him. I want him anyway. I let him take me to bed.
Chapter Thirty
Beau
West’s message comes in while I’m on the way to the Pearl to pick up Annabel.
Dinner. 9 o’clock. Be there!
My head is still throbbing from last night. There is no way I’m going to participate in anything West is arranging. Opening night is in a week, and whatever he’s got planned, he can do it himself.
Last night was a disaster.
The entire thing was my fault. I never should have been up that late. I never should have been trying to do important work in the middle of the night after an intense few hours in bed with Annabel. It was stupid. More than that, it was reckless. Edgar needs to be able to count on my decisions. That’s why he chooses to keep working with me in the first place. I’ve made a name for myself when it comes to being trustworthy and reliable. Sending him stuff I’ve worked up in the middle of the night does not fall into that category.
Snapping at Annabel was the true low point of the night. Perhaps even the low point of my life. Many women have been put off because I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve. The one time I let myself react, it was ugly.
I lean against the back seat of the car and read West’s message again. It’s an invitation to write him back, to be in the conversation with him. Otherwise he would have included the location of this so-called dinner.
Can’t tonight. Plans are set in stone. I’ll see you opening night.
It’s as direct as I can possibly be.
West still has something more to say about it. The thought that he’s typing a message right now exhausts me.
Did you forget???
Forget what? I loathe missing plans I’ve already committed to. I rack my brain, trying to remember if there was something I’d scheduled with West. Nothing comes to mind.
I told you about this. At your office. The other day.
A comment late in the conversation. It comes back to me now, and faint guilt flickers to life inside my chest. But dinner with West is dinner with West. There will be a thousand chances to have dinner with the Overton group. A million chances.
With Annabel, I’ve got this one.
The look on her face after I was such an ass to her is seared into my memory. My heart thumps painfully against my ribs as if it’s developed
sharp edges. It’s awful. I was awful.
So, yes, I already have dinner plans. With her, alone, at my penthouse.
My apologies . . . another time.
Seriously?? You never miss these.
Another time.
My message will probably send ripples all through our group. I’m notoriously committed to our plans.
I still am. Right now I care about my plans with Annabel more. I cannot break her heart. Things are so good between us—they were—that it would be the world’s biggest shame to have it dissolve into nothing because I didn’t know when to quit.
*****
Annabel fidgets across from me at the table for two arranged in front of my picture window.
She’s wearing white today. It’s the same kind of T-shirt she usually wears, in pristine white. It’s stunning and unsettling at the same time. I’ve never seen her wear this color before.
I’ve never seen her so uncomfortable in her own skin.
She lifts the silverware from the linen tablecloth and puts it back down again, eyes focused somewhere out over the city. None of this seems to make an impression on her.
“I can send them all away,” I tell her softly when the waiter is finished filling our wineglasses and has disappeared into the kitchen.
She turns her gaze on me like she’s surprised to find me still here. “You don’t have to do that,” she says with a smile. “This is lovely.”
I’ve hired one of the top-tier chefs in New York City to come to my penthouse and cook a four-course meal for two. I’ve hired waitstaff to assist him. I toyed with the idea of hiring a stylist to bring clothing choices for Annabel but decided at the last minute that she doesn’t need to do anything differently to make me want to spend time with her. I want that, powerfully and completely.
“Sweetheart,” I say, reaching for her hand. “I’m sorry.”
She laughs out loud, but there’s a note of sadness in the sound. “There’s nothing to apologize for.”