by Cecy Robson
Mason makes strangling noises in his attempt to not full out guffaw. Sean doesn’t notice, which shouldn’t surprise anyone. He returns to his stripper safety wear tirade. “Clear helmets,” he insists. “Like dem heels.”
I lift my arms, trying to save Neesa. “Here. Give her to me.”
“I got her,” Mason says, his offer to save the damsel in distress, draining the color from said damsel’s skin.
“She’s my assistant,” I say, trying to spare her.
“She’s his assistant,” Sean agrees.
“For the love of chocolate and strawberries,” Neesa whimpers. “Just put me down. I’m fine. Goodness gracious, I’m fine.”
Maybe she is. I’m not. We step into the sunken living room of the penthouse. A tall, leggy blond rises from the couch like a bright sun in the horizon, disintegrating the darkness and making the clouds her paltry bitches.
Becca Shields steps forward, her killer stilettos crushing what’s left of my heart.
“Hi, Hale,” she says. “I’m at your service.”
Chapter Five
Becca
I was prepared to see Hale. On my grandmother’s grave, I swear I was.
Until I actually saw him.
His hair isn’t as blond as it was when we were young and taking advantage of the sun and surf. The lack of boyish charm is also something new, likely hidden far beneath his pristine suit. Life away from Kiawah hardens and ages you faster than you’re ready. So does life away from those who most love you.
Hale steps through, anger displacing his shock and what remains of the young man I fell in love with.
The sapphire blue skirt suit I’m wearing draws most eyes. Hale’s focus remains fully on my face. I try to smile, but my smile doesn’t come. All the tender thoughts I’m feeling at seeing him are kicked aside by Hale’s sharp tone.
“What the fuck?” he says, his steely gaze meeting Mason’s.
“Hale,” Mason says. “Take it easy.”
“Take it easy? Are kidding me?” Hale asks. “What the hell is she doing here?”
Hale storms forward, stopping inches from me. My breathing has increased for no apparent reason, matching his harsh intakes of breath.
The last time we stood this close, his touch sent sizzles of raw hunger penetrating through my chest. He’s not touching me now. He might as well be, his ultra-masculine presence like liquid fire.
Mason appears, standing between us. I wasn’t aware he’d moved, let alone sensed him cross the room. He warned me Hale wouldn’t take my presence well. He’d insisted we meet downstairs. But downstairs, be it the bar for drinks or for dinner as he suggested, wouldn’t work. It would be too easy for Hale to dismiss me and that’s the last thing I want.
Mason folds his arms over his chest. It’s a protective stance most bouncers take at a bar. But Mason isn’t letting Hale know he’ll fight him if he lays a hand on me. As furious as Hale is, he’d never raise a hand against a woman. Mason is just letting Hale know he supports me, as well as my presence. My, that pushes Hale over the edge.
The menace in his tone . . . Jesus, what’s happened between us? “What are you doing here, Becca June?” Hale asks, his voice low, but no less vicious.
Wow. He had to call me that. I’m not certain it’s because it’s what my daddy used to call me, or because Hale is just that angry. Either way, I stand to my fullest height. It doesn’t help much. Even in these heels and given my tall stature, I’m still shorter than he is. “I’m here to help you,” I say calmly. “Saw the news. Looks like your image could use a little fluffing.”
“Not from you,” he assures me.
My lips press tight as if I’m unaffected, while I swallow back the hurt he causes. I didn’t expect to be forgiven. I also didn’t expect this much anger.
“I called and asked her to be here,” Sean says.
My eyes widen when I realize he’s still carrying Hale’s assistant, Neesa. Sean shuffles forward, not bothering to put her down or even remember that he’s still holding her. “Becca didn’t hesitate and caught the first flight here that she could. She wants to help.”
“I think she’s helped enough,” Hale replies.
“That’s not fair,” I say, my voice reflecting my hurt. I hate that it does. What happened to the woman who high-tailed it from the airport, so she could be here when Hale returned from court? The one hell-bent on not taking “no” for an answer?
“It’s not fair?” Hale counters. “Surprised your fiancé would let you out of his sight? Did you have to ask for permission or did you have to lie about where you were going?”
“I don’t need permission from any man,” I fire back, my temper flaring. “I do what I want, when I want.”
“Unless that man snaps his fingers or makes a fuss.”
“Oh. I see,” Aneesa says, her understanding causing our faces to flush.
Hale walks away, but not before hurling another hostile expression at me.
His anger practically sets the cool space of the open living room aflame. I’m certain he’ll start swearing or demanding I leave. Instead he addresses Neesa. “Bedroom, this way?”
“Yes, Hale,” Neesa replies. At her insistence, Sean sets her down.
If Neesa was hurt, she doesn’t show it then, scrambling after Hale. I follow, too, albeit not as quickly. I need these next few steps to gather my resolve and to rein in the self-assurance that has all but left me.
I’m just barely crossing the threshold of the large suite when Hale tugs off his tie. He tosses it aside. His jacket follows.
They don’t notice me, not that I’m exactly waving a flag.
“Clothes in there?” he asks, motioning to the immense walk-in closet with his chin as he removes his cufflinks.
“Yes. I went to Barneys, Saks, and ultimately, Nordstrom.”
He pauses in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt. “Why so many stores?”
“Because, and I quote, ‘I don’t want any metro-sexual looking pieces of shit, Neesa,’” she counters. “It’s New York, Hale. It’s either high-class or five-dollar T-shirts off the street.”
“All right,” he mutters. “Thanks, sweet thing.”
Sweet thing? I start to worry there’s something between them when he tosses his collared shirt behind him and peels off his undershirt like a seasoned model. He gives no mind to what effect his long lean muscles and bare skin might have on Neesa. My guess is she’s seen him in less before.
A pang of jealousy follows each step I take forward. I can’t be jealous. No. I shouldn’t be jealous. But that’s exactly what I am. It seems I left my pride back in Charlotte with all that pesky confidence I once possessed. I should leave them alone and return to the living room. Yet, here I am, drawing closer to Hale.
I almost kick myself. What the hell is wrong with you, Becca?
Oh, darlin, my obnoxious lady parts reply. Regardless of what he says and how hard you try to deny it, that hunk of man has always been yours.
Sometimes, my lady bits just need to shut up.
I venture further in, head high, attitude out. Hale is down to just his pants. He sets his watch on the bureau beside the cufflinks while Neesa lays out his clothes. Neesa is moving so fast, I barely catch her disappear into the bathroom to start the shower.
Hale uses this moment to lean forward, placing his hands on either side of the dresser. His anger has all but vanished, leaving the weight of his problems to sag his shoulders. As psychotic as it sounds, I want to kiss the spot between his shoulder blades, that small spot that rests behind the heart I’ve always cherished. But the way I feel around him, I wouldn’t want to stop with a kiss.
I’d wrap my arm around his waist, press my cheek against his warm, bare skin. I want to be there for him. In all the ways I should have been so long ago. The way we were meant to be on that beach. On that night that was supposed mean everything, only to become one of the worst times in my life.
Could I comfort him now? With my words? With my body?
Hale lifts his head, the muscles stretching across his back stiffening when he sees me in mirror, just a few paces away. As easily as that, his momentary display of vulnerability abandons him.
I should give him a moment and plenty of space. Yet the best I can do is not to gawk. Hale does pissed-off, broody, hot guy well.
It’s not my fault. I swear it’s not. My womanly desires are fully awake and they don’t seem ready to shut the hell up.
“Don’t you think that’s a little degrading?” I ask. “Asking your PA to draw you a bath?”
It’s pathetic. I know. Right now, it’s all I have.
“It’s a shower,” Hale says, likely wondering how I had the ovaries to come in here. “And it’s something Neesa does all the time.”
“Baby you?” I offer.
“No.” There’s no hint of humor in Hale’s response. But there is something else. “She takes care of me, Becca. Like a real friend would.”
Neesa exits the bathroom, her hurried steps slowing as she nears. Her expression softens, demonstrating a caring demeanor she didn’t reveal until now. “Hale’s offered to get us matching tattoos,” she says, pursing her lips when Hale winks.
“How else does a big shot say Happy Birthday?” Hale asks, acting as if I’m not standing there.
“I don’t know. A paid vacation. A shopping spree. Candy. Maybe flowers?” Neesa offers.
“Nah. Navy ships across our chests it is.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Unless I can talk you into a World’s Greatest Boss banner dangling over a life-sized image of me giving the thumbs up.”
Neesa makes a face. “I’ll take the navy ship.” She places her hands on her hips, attempting to appear as if she’s had it with Hale, despite the lingering concern in her tone. “Is there anything else?”
Hale analyzes her closely, noting the misery she attempts to hide behind her no-nonsense persona. He seems prepared to offer words of comfort and support, something to assure her that he and the company will be all right.
I don’t know Neesa, and in many ways, I don’t feel like I know Hale any more. But I can read others well enough to know what these two are thinking. Hale wants to assure her he won’t fail and that he’ll take care of her. He doesn’t realize Neesa isn’t worried about her future. She’s worried about Hale.
“Food,” Hale replies. “You know what I like.” He whips off his belt, smirking in her direction. “That is, if you and Mason don’t already have dinner plans.”
As easy as the strike of a match, Neesa’s genuine affection for him morphs to annoyance. You might call it one of Hale’s superpowers.
“Sometimes, I really hate you,” Neesa tells him.
“And?”
“And you’re an asshole,” Neesa finishes, storming out the door.
“Is that a no to food?” Hale calls after her.
He chokes back a laugh when she flips him off. I turn to him, playing with the necklace I’m wearing. It’s the only thing I can do that makes me appear somewhat relaxed. It’s something I really need now.
Since I haven’t seen enough of his muscles today, he gives me yet another show. An eight-pack of abs stretch and protrude as he bends forward to tug off his shoes and socks and, because that’s still not enough, his arms bulge from the effort.
He makes quick work of disrobing.
He looks good.
Really good.
Why does he have to look so good?
No offense, God, but couldn’t You have made him bald? Maybe had tufts of hair growing out of his ears? What about love handles? I could use some love handles on this man right about now.
In one slick motion, Hale rips off his pants and flings them onto the bed. I jump as if stung. “What are you doing?”
Hale tilts his chin, as if realizing I’m standing here and that, yes, that is my jaw scraping along the floor.
The floor of his bedroom.
Watching him get naked.
Seriously. Why does he have to look this good?
He frowns, affronted. But as his features relax, his mood changes.
Slowly, oh-so slowly, he slides his palm down his chest, over the center of his pecks and further down to his belly, his fingers skimming the small hairs below his navel, and lower yet. His voice is gruff, his words as tangible as rough stone dragging across my skin. It’s similar to how he first addressed me, except, instead of anger, there’s something else. A very naughty something else.
“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Doesn’t this look familiar?”
I’m gifted with spinning lies into gold bricks heavy enough to stone him to death. You’d never know it then. “You mean like when we were lifeguards and you wore swim trunks?” I want to kick myself and send me back to preschool. This is the best I can come up with? “Sure. I suppose.”
“No,” he replies in that same gravelly voice, sin dripping like droplets of rain from his tongue. “You’ve seen me in less. A lot less.”
And felt even more, he implies.
Muscle memory. I believe that’s what it’s called. When your body remembers what to do by acting and feeling, ingraining the motion with the moment and searing the experience into your thoughts. I only intimately touched Hale once. It doesn’t matter. It was long enough to brand it into my thoughts and get me through those lonely nights. His hardness, his long rigid length, and the silky skin filled my hands. I remember. I only wish I could forget.
My skin prickles heat. I’m blushing. I know I am. But I’m not alone. Hale watches me closely, his jaw tightening.
Hale’s face is a deep shade of red. But he isn’t embarrassed. No. He’s something more.
“What are you doing here, Becca?” he asks. “What do you want?”
You, I almost say. I want you back. I want us back. I don’t want you to keep hating me.
My thoughts war with each other, scrambling the words that race through my head. Hale, Mason, Sean, Trin, and I. We were so close. Inseparable. Until my friendship with Hale became something more and ended up hurting us all.
“I want to help you,” I manage.
“I think your fiancé might have a problem with that.” He peels off his underwear and marches away.
He’s trying to hurt and embarrass me and he manages both just fine. I wrench away in the direction of the living room. I don’t get far, barely making it to the door leading out of the suite. Without any trace of remorse, I glance over my shoulder, watching his rock-hard cheeks clench and unclench as he walks toward the bathroom.
What am I going to do? I can’t leave now. That ass is practically begging me to take a swat.
“I’m not engaged.”
Hale freezes.
“It’s over,” I say, tripping over the words to the point that I almost spill the truth.
I want to admit that Denver and I were never real. That it was all part of my job. It’s what I think I need to do so Hale will trust me. But the anger and resentment Hale unleashed like a storm remains. As much as I want to trust him with the truth, now is not the time to come clean.
He glances over his shoulder, frowning. I expect him to accuse me of lying or demand that I give him some privacy. Instead, he walks toward the sound of the running water, not bothering to shut the clear glass doors leading into an ultra-modern bathroom.
I follow, drawn to him, barely noticing my steps until mere feet separate us.
The bathroom isn’t like those you find in a regular hotel, even in some of the five-star hotels New York is famous for. This is an extreme penthouse in a building that caters to the wealthy and the famous. The ceiling is clear glass, permitting the sunshine through and the lingering clouds to float over a masterpiece resembling an Asian-inspired garden.
Wood printed tile surround a sunken Jacuzzi and makes up half the open room, fooling the eye to believe I’m in an outdoor terrace surrounded by stacked stone walls. I step onto the roun
d pavers pressed into a gravel path leading to the open shower.
Instead of glass walls like the exterior, exotic plants surround the shower, barely concealing Hale’s wet body and the steam rising from his skin. This is a fantasy. My fantasy of what my night with Hale should have been, instead of what it became.
Reason abandons me. The pull of Hale tempting me to strip and join him.
I can feel the warmth of his body as I wrap my arms around him. I can taste the water slicking my lips as I kiss and nibble his throat. I can sense the gentle stream of the rain shower drenching my hair and skin as my hands wander.
Would he let me touch him? Like he did so long ago? I’m not sure. But I owe Hale better than that.
I’m sorry I hurt you, I want to say.
I’m sorry that I wasn’t stronger.
Things went too far.
I should have stopped them.
I should have stopped him.
I should have let you love me . . .
The apology that has gone too long without saying grows more burdensome, years of guilt making it heavier and impossible to say. “I’m sorry,” doesn’t feel like enough. I need to show him and to prove how sorry I am.
I lean against the pillar and cross my arms. The steam will wreak havoc on my hair. I let it. I have something more important to do.
“I want to help you,” I say. “Will you let me?”
When he doesn’t answer, I look up, watching as he soaps his hard body in slow, lazy circles. He doesn’t miss a bulge. He doesn’t miss much of anything.
Hale’s no longer that young guy who made me laugh. He no longer carries that playfulness in his gaze that would always make me smile. He’s all man and muscle and, my, so angry.
His voice cuts through the steam in a vicious swipe. “No.”
“What?” I demand, my temper rising.
A stream of water flies in an arc with how fast he whips his head in my direction. “I don’t trust you. Damn it, Becks. I can’t trust you.”
Hurt dissolves my anger, softening my voice. “Why? We used to tell each other everything.”