Feels Like Falling (Dangerous Love Book 5)

by Elle Keating

  “I think I’ll pass, Tash. But thanks.”

  Tash gave her a pouty face but quickly changed the subject. “Well, this place is gorgeous. I would love to get married here.”

  Peyton chuckled. “Sweetie, you just got finished telling me about the threesome you participated in last night and your sore but sated ass. Are you seriously considering giving all that up?”

  Tasha frowned and looked away. But a second later she shifted her attention back on Peyton and smiled. “One day I’ll settle down. But for now, the Dentons and Jaces of the world better look out. I have more oats to sow!”

  Peyton didn’t bother to bring up the fact that Tasha had, at least for a few seconds anyway, appeared sad. It was obvious why Tasha sought out men and attention every chance she got. Although she had grown up in a famous and wealthy family, Tasha had been neglected by the two people she loved the most and was left in the hands of a string of nannies. Her parents didn’t have the time for their only child. So as she grew older, she determined that she would just get the attention and affection she craved from somewhere else. Maybe one day Tasha would get married and abandon her sex-fueled life. But until then, she would continue to “sow her oats” and fuck to her heart’s content.

  “Well, when you run out of oats, this winery would definitely be a great location to get married. My sister is tying the knot here in six weeks.”

  “Shut the fuck up! Little Lainey is getting married here? Lucky bitch!”

  Tasha and Peyton weren’t BFFs or anything close to it, but they had worked together on many shoots and had crossed paths so often within the past few years that Peyton was at least willing to share a little about herself, like the fact that she had been adopted by Gus and Gina and had a sister who she would do anything for. But at no point did Peyton ever consider telling Tasha about her past, the life she had lived before Gus and Gina had come along. Her past and all the ugliness that surrounded those years needed to remain tucked away and under lock and key.

  “Yep. I’m supposed to be meeting up with the owner at some point this weekend to nail down the wedding details. You haven’t seen him by any chance?” Peyton looked around the large banquet room, the same room that had caused Lainey to almost go into a panic attack. Similar to the night Luke had toured them, the room was elegantly decorated and ready to receive a hundred-plus guests. Tasha and Peyton’s makeshift prep quarters were located in one of the corners of the massive room, but Peyton was still able to get a good look around and determine that Luke was nowhere to be found.

  “Um, if you’re referring to the sexy piece of ass who greeted me just before you arrived this afternoon, then yes.”

  Peyton raised a brow, silently waiting for the nymphomaniac in front of her to continue.

  “Blue eyes, thick brown hair, built like a brick shithouse…would that be the man you’re referring to?” Tasha asked, batting her long ebony lashes.

  For whatever reason, Tasha’s description of Luke, the way she talked about him as if he was fair game, pissed her off. She broke her friend’s gaze and shifted in her seat. The stylist was just about done. Thank God. “Y…yes, that describes him perfectly.” But no matter how agitated she was, her curiosity won out. “Did he mention if he has a girlfriend…a wife?”

  Tasha’s dark brown eyes widened. “Peyton Matthews, are you interested in that sexy winery owner?”

  “Um…no. Just curious.” Peyton smoothed the silk robe over her crossed legs and played with a pull in the material. Was it getting hot in here?

  “Riiiiight,” Tasha said. Peyton didn’t dare look up. “Well, we only spoke for a minute or so. Asked him what celebrity weddings the Lucrezia Winery has hosted and if he would consider fucking me against his massive fermentation tank.”

  Peyton left that stray piece of silk alone and stared at Tasha. “What?”

  Tasha threw her head back and laughed till she cried, which pissed off the woman who was attempting to pin her raven-colored hair into an updo. “Just checking to see if you were listening.” Tasha snorted and dabbed her eyes with her knuckle. When she finally stopped laughing at her own joke, Tasha said, “He didn’t mention a girlfriend or a wife, but I did check to see if he was wearing a wedding ring.”

  Peyton gave up the I-Don’t-Give-A-Shit façade and asked, “And?”

  “No ring.” Tasha sighed. “But that doesn’t mean shit these days.”

  Tasha was right. A lot of men and women didn’t wear wedding rings. Gina and Gus never wore rings, even though they were in love and happily married for over thirty years.

  “And I don’t think he’s gay,” Tasha said. “In case you were wondering.”

  Peyton hadn’t thought about that.

  The stylists finished and slipped away before Peyton could thank them when Tasha said, “But if I find out that he is, don’t be surprised if you find me weeping in some dark corner. That guy is insanely gorgeous, like panty-melting…”

  “I get the picture,” Peyton said, cutting Tasha off. Peyton didn’t want to hear or watch her friend gush and salivate over the one man she couldn’t stop thinking about. “We better get going before Raf starts his shit.”

  Raf Jones was Hannah Magazine’s top photographer and always assigned to the most important and expensive shoots. He was talented, always getting the shot regardless of lighting or the drama or attitude that models often brought, but he was also a pompous ass. And any minute now, he was about to start barking orders and demanding to know why his models weren’t finished with their hair and makeup.

  “One day I’m going to knee him in the balls through his ridiculous skinny jeans. Just watch me,” Tasha said, glaring at Raf, who was coincidentally wearing jeans so tight she couldn’t imagine that his boys below could breathe. Peyton giggled, knowing that Tasha would keep that vow and that in the future, Raf would be huddled over somewhere clutching his crotch. Tasha flashed her an innocent smile and walked over to the dressing area.

  Peyton was just about to join her friend and get into the wedding dress that was slated for her when she heard someone clear his throat. Her eyes shot over to the mirror, and she found Luke staring back at her. Peyton spun around and met his scorching gaze.

  For the first time in recent memory Peyton felt self-conscious. Although her body was completely covered up by her silk robe, she could feel his eyes peruse and penetrate that thin, slinky fabric. Men had looked at her before and openly gawked at times, but the way Luke stood and stared at her, it felt like he wanted to devour her right there in his main ballroom. Peyton was glad she had opted to wear panties, because if she hadn’t he would have definitely witnessed the evidence of her arousal. What did Tasha say? Panty-melting…

  “Hello, Peyton.” His eyes finally found hers. She secured her robe, ensuring that her breasts weren’t spilling out all over the place. Normally, she wouldn’t give a shit if she suffered a nip slip in front of any member of the crew or to her colleagues because that was the business. There was no time for embarrassment or modesty. You stripped out of one outfit and poured yourself into another without a thought. But right now, she felt as vulnerable and exposed as she did on her first modeling audition. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet up tomorrow to discuss your sister’s wedding? I’ll have the paperwork drawn up for you by then. Will that work?”

  It was while she was fisting her robe and clenching her thighs shut that it dawned on her. How long had Luke been standing there? Did he hear the conversation she had been having with Tasha? No. He didn’t. He couldn’t have.

  Play it off. Just answer the man’s question.

  What was the question?

  Oh yeah. “Uh…tomorrow morning. Yeah, that works for me.”

  He didn’t say anything or smile, only acknowledged her with a quick nod and started to walk away. Peyton exhaled but it was interrupted when he stopped abruptly and faced her.

  “Oh, and Peyton…I’m not gay.” And with those words, he turned and left.

  ***

  Luk
e

  Luke hid in his office for the better part of the day and then when cabin fever set in, he escaped to his fields. He had intended for the fresh winter air to wake him the fuck up and drag him out of the stupor he had been in for the past several hours. But even among his vineyards, one of the few places that he felt at peace, he couldn’t shake Peyton from his mind. There was something about her, something disturbing, something familiar. A gust of wind whipped through the vines and he shivered. And suddenly, as if someone had flipped a switch, his heart began to beat faster and his throat felt as if it was closing up. He concentrated on his breathing, silently demanding his body to take deep breaths and calm down. This was the second panic attack within a week, which was more than a bit concerning now.

  Back in his freshman year of college when he had first started having them, his attacks were almost a daily occurrence. They had become so debilitating, preventing him from going to class at times and even doing something so simple as meeting up with friends for a beer, that he had finally decided to contact the therapist he used to see when he was a child and then later as a teenager. It had taken a lot for him to make that call, to tell his therapist, whom he had come to trust, that he wasn’t cured after all and that he still needed help. He had made an appointment with the man who knew all his secrets, all the ugliness, for the following day. But an hour before his scheduled appointment, Luke had received a call from a receptionist in his therapist’s office and was told that the man who had helped him fight his darkness had died earlier that morning from a heart attack. The receptionist had tried to connect him with another therapist, but Luke couldn’t imagine starting over with someone new. It had been hard enough the first time around.

  So he had been on his own ever since, self-medicating his panic attacks with a variety of remedies. His plan of attack back then had been to identify why he could function one minute and the next, feel like the walls were closing in to the point where he struggled to breathe. He needed to nail down his triggers. It didn’t take him long to figure out what exactly set him off and why his panic attacks chose to rear their ugly heads years after the trauma that had sent him to his therapist in the first place. As many college freshmen experienced, he had been getting a taste of what true freedom felt like. No longer under his parents’ roof, he could drink, date and come and go as he pleased. And he had done a lot of coming and going with many women on campus during the first few months that year. But his conscience had gotten the best of him and the panic attacks began.

  Although some of the women he had slept with voiced that they were cool with fucking without strings, there had been many women who had grown attached and wanted more than he could give. They had wanted intimacy and that was just something he knew he could never allow himself to experience. Because being intimate meant allowing someone to see what was in one’s head, and no one needed to be subjected to the heinous thoughts he harbored.

  He would never be able to give a woman what she truly wanted: a man who would love her, take care of her, fucking hold her after sex. He wasn’t built for that. But he was still a man and he had needs. So, he had done the only thing he could do to ensure that he didn’t hurt women. He had sought relief from professionals, where there was zero chance that the women he fucked would demand intimacy. His panic attacks had lessened when he figured out that it was best to avoid sex with women who were not prostitutes, but they did not go away completely. It wasn’t until years later, when Ashton Coe walked into his life, that his panic attacks faded from existence.

  But here he was, standing in his vineyard in the throes of his second panic attack in a matter of days. In hindsight, he could explain the first one away. Morgan, a woman he considered his sister, was almost killed. He had almost lost someone he loved. But this second panic attack? He had no idea.

  Luke bent over and rested his hands on his knees and gulped oxygen into his lungs. It helped somewhat, but he knew his body. He had not stopped the attack. All he had done was hold it off for a little bit. It was still coming. He forced himself to remember everything that he had tried all those years ago and instantly fell to the ground. He lay on his back and stretched out his arms and legs. For whatever reason, this had helped before. But like a runaway train, the attack moved incessantly forward and just as he was about to get back on his feet, Peyton’s face, those haunting blue-green eyes, flashed through his mind.

  He needed to see her.

  Luke picked himself off the ground and ran across his fields. He didn’t stop running until he entered the ballroom. He came to a halt the second he saw her. Peyton was standing in the middle of the room in a wedding dress that was made for her body and her body alone. And the way her hair was swept away from her face, displaying the curve of her neck and soft, silky skin made him want to fall to his knees and worship this woman. The photographer called her name and he watched her turn and smile for the camera. But her gaze drifted past the man with the enormous lens and landed on him.

  He was out of breath, his shirt clinging to his sweaty chest. His disheveled appearance didn’t seem to register with her. She didn’t appear to get lost in his panting or the fact that he looked like a hot mess because she never took her eyes off his. And that is when he felt it. Relief. That panic attack that had come on so quickly had strongly dissipated the moment they locked eyes.

  “That’s it, everyone. We start at nine tomorrow morning. Do not be late.”

  And with the photographer’s curt announcement, the room sprang to life and the crew members hustled every which way. Tasha came out of nowhere and grabbed Peyton by the hand, forcing her to break eye contact with him. By now his breathing was almost back to normal, making him appear not as crazed, and he discreetly followed Peyton and Tasha to the prep area. He was close enough to hear Tasha asking Peyton if she wanted to go out later that night. Peyton seemed reluctant, claiming she was tired and that she’d rather just go home and rent a movie, but Tasha wouldn’t give up. Peyton finally relented and agreed, but not before asking where her sex-crazed friend would be taking her. His heart stopped the second tonight’s destination flowed past Tasha’s lips.

  Chapter Seven

  Peyton

  “Relax, honey, I’ve got us covered.” Tasha plopped her oversized purse onto her lap and pulled out what appeared to be face masks. “It’s masquerade night. With these babies no one will recognize us, and for once we can blend in and not worry about seeing ourselves on social media tomorrow morning when we wake up.”

  Peyton was still not thrilled about going out tonight, but hearing that she wouldn’t have to play duck and cover from paparazzi or fans put her more at ease. Maybe a few drinks out with friends, listening to music, and a little dancing would take her mind off things—aka Luke McGinnis—for a few hours. She needed a distraction, something, anything to rid her thoughts of him. She couldn’t forget how he looked in that ballroom. He had been breathing rapidly as if he had just finished working out and sweating profusely. But it was the way his eyes bore into hers, that haunting image she couldn’t erase. Desire and lust resonated in his gaze, but it was the need she’d seen and what she could only describe as raw desperation.

  Peyton took a mask from Tasha and asked, “Are these from your private collection?” Tasha winked at her before she adjusted her mask. Peyton, the two male models they had worked with today, and Raf’s two female assistants followed suit as their limo pulled up in front of Club Eden. “Maybe we should have called a cab. Showing up here in a limo, well, doesn’t that defeat the purpose of trying to be incognito?”

  “We’ll just say we’re part of a bachelorette party or something. Problem solved,” Tasha said.

  Their small group piled out of the limo and followed Tasha’s lead. She led them past the line that had formed outside and approached a Hulk-like man, minus the green complexion, standing in front of a separate entrance. Tasha fished a card out of her wallet and handed it to Hulk. He nodded, opened the door and gestured for them to enter. Once inside they w
ere promptly greeted by a woman who simultaneously gave off a sweet, sex-kitten vibe. She wore a short black skirt and a lacy bodice that accentuated her breasts. But with her long wavy brown hair and natural beauty, she could also successfully pull off the girl-next-door look with relative ease. “Hi, I’m Robin. I’ll be checking you in this evening. I’ll need to see ID. But first, I must ask you to take off your masks.”

  Peyton looked over at Tasha, but Robin read her quickly. “You don’t need to worry. We will ensure your anonymity while you’re here. If anyone discovers your name, it’s because you yourself gave it out. Our members’ and their guests’ privacy is of the utmost importance. But this is an adults-only establishment and that is why I need you to remove your masks and check IDs. It will only take a minute, and no one will intrude. Only one party is allowed to check in at a time.”

  Where the hell were they? Anonymity? Members?

  Peyton watched Tasha and the others remove their masks. Did anyone else find this strange? Or was it just her? But maybe going out to a bar that respected one’s privacy wasn’t so bad. How often did she get the chance to let loose for a night without the fear of someone recognizing her or worse, snapping a picture with their phone and posting it all over the internet? Next to never. Peyton was the last one in line and reluctantly took off her mask and handed her license to Robin. “We want you to have fun tonight, Peyton. Try to relax and let everything that may be troubling you melt away for a few hours,” Robin said, handing back her ID. Did Robin know who she was? If she did, she either didn’t care or was trained not to acknowledge it. Which was refreshing and perfectly fine with Peyton.