Emerging Temptation: A BWWM Romance Limited Edition Collection
Page 87
"So… is this what it's like to be you?" she asked. "There's, like, twenty people on my sidewalk right now, waiting for me to come out to take my picture. They've been out there for hours."
He blinked ruefully, and his eyebrows went up. In the background, she saw rows and rows of books. She wanted to touch those books. Part of her was pleased to see Rick had hidden depths she hadn’t realized before.
"Pretty much," he said with a shrug.
She cut her eyes to her own living room window, where outside the paparazzi were hanging out casually, chatting and shooting the shit. They sure were making themselves at home.
"When do you think I should try to leave?" she asked, turning her attention back to her screen.
He blinked again, frowning slightly. Then winced.
"I feel like you're going to give me some bad news," she said with a sigh.
"If we never saw each other again, as you prefer, they'd stop following you in a couple of weeks," he said. "Probably."
There was something sweet and vulnerable in his eyes. And maybe a little helpless.
"Has it always been like this for you?" she asked. She turned away from the living room window, headed toward her bedroom. She waved off Tandy, who looked as if she wanted to follow, and closed the door behind her. She reclined on her bed, rolled to one side, and propped her head on her hand.
"Yeah, pretty much," he admitted and ran a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. "Since I was a kid, really."
"How old are you?" she asked.
"Twenty-nine," he said. "How about you?"
"Twenty-six," she told him. "Paparazzi have been bothering you for almost thirty years?" With a fingertip, she traced the flower pattern on the quilt her abuelita had made her.
"Pretty much." He gave her another careless shrug. "It got worse when my parents died in that car accident when I was fourteen. More story, I guess."
She thought about how he'd disguised himself the night before. Something suddenly occurred to her, and she sat up straight, moving her legs to sit criss-cross.
"There was a woman in the restroom at IHOP," she told him. "When William took me to the ladies’ room, she was there. She was really friendly. Too friendly. Do you think she might have been a paparazzi?"
"Possibly," he said, shrugging again. "No way to know for sure."
"Well, that really sucks," she said. She thought about not seeing him again, which is what she had insisted she wanted from the beginning, but it was a bit galling to have to stop seeing someone because you're afraid of having your privacy violated.
"I come from a prominent family. It comes with the territory," he said. "I'm just sorry that me trying to do something nice for you turned into this shit show—pardon my language."
His eyes held a soft, tender expression she couldn't identify. There was more to him than she previously realized. He seemed like someone she'd normally want to get to know, if it weren't for his fame and reputation.
"Well, I'm taking some time off work for a while," she said. "I don't take many vacations, so I had a lot of time saved up. I have a wedding to attend in a couple of weeks in Blue Heaven. I was going to go a couple days before, but maybe I'll head out earlier."
"Oh," he said. "Who's getting married? Family member?"
"Yes," she said. "Our mayor and my sister."
He frowned. He'd gotten up and was on the move. He'd left the room with the books and had moved to his kitchen, where he took out the ingredients for a sandwich. She watched him make himself a cheese and turkey on wheat sandwich before he took a big bite.
"Are they friends of your family?" He asked around a mouthful of sandwich.
“Small town" she explained. "Everyone knows everyone else, and we are expected to attend."
They spent some time getting to know each other. Tandy left for work late in the afternoon, and still they chatted.
They talked as Keisha prepared and ate dinner, folded laundry, and puttered around the house. She found him easy to talk to, and they had more in common than she would have thought. She could imagine spending an evening with him, going on a pub crawl, sightseeing, or a simple night of Netflix and chill.
And they could watch old movies together, romantic comedies like Overboard, and Fifty First Dates, and Four Weddings and a Funeral. She kept asking him whether he had other things to do, and he kept insisting he didn't, that he’d rather chat with her. They were still on the phone when Tandy returned from work. She poked her head into Keisha's bedroom door, a quizzical look on her face.
Keisha put the call on mute, as Tandy mouthed "Still talking to Rick?" to which Keisha nodded as Tandy's eyes widened.
"Are you going to fuck him?" Tandy mouthed.
"Mind your own business," Keisha said, rather than mouthed, waving Tandy out of the room and blushing madly. Tandy closed the bedroom door a little too hard, a little too loudly. Keisha pursed her lips and twisted them in a fit of pique.
Rick's face lit with amusement.
"Tandy getting in your business?" he asked.
"Yeah," she replied, rolling her eyes. She lay back on her bed, not thinking about how suggestive it might look to do so. She felt comfortable and loose and was enjoying herself more than she would have thought she would. Rick was a nice guy, actually. Easy to talk to. Fun to hang out with. She wanted to spend more time with him, actually. So, she told him so.
"So...." she started, deciding to take the plunge. "With so much scrutiny on you, how do you get out to have fun?"
"Have fun?" He cocked a teasing eyebrow at her.
"Yeah," she said. "You know. Go out on dates. Socialize?"
"Well..." he said. "Are you asking because you want to date me?"
She ignored his question.
"I imagine it's not easy for you," she went on, thinking of the escapades she'd read about him. The sex tape that had been sold to the press by an old girlfriend. The press stalking anyone he'd expressed any romantic interest at all in. It must be like living in a fish bowl.
"I have my ways," he sighed, his green eyes reflecting disappointment. That gave Keisha a twinge of something she couldn't name.
"You do?" She gave him a flirtatious smile to cover up that twinge.
"Over the years, I've found places where I can just go and be myself," he told her. "For example, my family owns a compound on South Padre Island."
She sat up again. South Padre Island was a well-known vacation spot on the Gulf of Mexico in South Texas.
"Really?" She hadn't been there in ages. Since her college days, in fact.
"We should go," he said. He was back in his library, sitting in a tufted, leather-bound office chair. He leaned forward, manspreading and propping his movie-star cleft chin on his knuckles. The man was photogenic as fuck.
She looked at him sideways, wondering how seriously she should take him.
"We should?" she asked finally.
"We should," he said, giving her a sly, knowing smile. "Immediately. As soon as possible. It would be a good way to get away from the rat race."
She flopped back on her bed, a secretive smile on her face. Keisha wasn't the kind of woman to be coy when it came to men. The truth was, she'd had few situations where being coy with a man would be appropriate.
"No strings attached," he said, his eyes nevertheless conveying pure lust.
Since the bottom had temporarily fallen out of her life, what with her job on hiatus and being besieged in her own home, she felt like she didn't have much to lose by taking off with RA III. Only, he wasn't as superficial as she had first thought.
"Like, right away?" she asked, one eyebrow up.
He leaned in even closer, until his proximity to the lens produced a fish-eye effect on her iPhone screen.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked her, looking very interested.
"Well, it so happens I have some time off work," she told him. "And I have an event in a couple of weeks—the wedding that I told you about. And I don't yet have a plus one."
7
Keisha snuck out of her house by impersonating Tandy, donning one of her cousin's signature hair pieces, sunglasses, and a leopard print trench coat that was too heavy for the weather, but perfect for concealing her old identity. She hustled along the path from her front door to the sidewalk, brushing past the ravenous horde of paparazzi which had lost interest when they noticed it wasn't Keisha, but her flashier cousin.
Sneaking around and eluding the press, turned out to be fun, and so different than her usual persona of Serious Self-Supporting Grad Student. She was buzzing with nervous energy as she waited for Rick's bodyguard William at a mostly deserted diner several blocks away from Rick's high-rise building. A dark SUV idled at the curb.
The door opened a fraction, the glowing ceiling dome casting a wedge of pale light onto the sidewalk. Rick poked his head out, eyes shuttered by the mirrored sunglasses, and crooked a finger to beckon her. Fun Keisha sashayed over, attracted to the luminous light, and climbed in, settling into the plush, velvety upholstery. Rick pushed his sunglasses up and perched them high on his forehead. He got really, really close to her, close enough that they shared breaths when he spoke.
"Nice hairdo," he said, removing the blue wig from Keisha’s head and looking at it as if he held a tarantula. "Tandy's?"
"Tandy's," she confirmed.
The door closed behind her. The vehicle dipped as William got in the front passenger seat, and she lurched against Rick as the SUV pulled away from the curb.
"Sorry," she mumbled, pushing away from him and blushing, but he held her in place, his hands gripping her wrists firmly.
"Careful," he said, his breath fanning her face. Sexual tension snapped, crackled, and popped between them. His scent was a light musk with the tang of a dried sweat just on the right side of smelling good. She wanted to keep smelling him.
They made lingering eye contact and, feeling bold, she said, "What's on the agenda for this getaway?"
"Whatever you want, sweetheart," he said. Their lips brushed when he spoke. He smiled against her lips, and she liked it.
Sensible Keisha would have put distance between this guy who had borrowed, then totaled, his uncle's multi-million-dollar car. Keisha was the opposite of reckless, but Rick was fun, and less of a Rich Asshole than she'd first thought he was.
"I don't care, as long as you squire me to the wedding next week. Until then, I'm all yours." She smiled against his lips.
"And I'm all yours," he returned. He began to tease her with light, feathery kisses, licking her lips, then nibbling the bottom one before gently drawing it into his mouth.
She let him. His lips were soft and warm, and his stubble rasped against her skin deliciously. He was a good kisser, and she was finding she liked that he pushed the envelope a bit with her by stealing kisses. She was excited to be spending time with him and getting the full 1 percent experience.
"I haven't been to South Padre in ages," she said, frowning when she realized with a start that she hadn't had any vacation in ages.
"What's the matter?" He pulled back and looked at her, his green eyes serious.
"Hmm? Nothing, it's just, I don't take a lot of vacations," she said.
"Then it's good that you met me," he said confidently. "All work and no play makes Keisha a very dull girl."
Keisha wore her usual leggings and a t-shirt, and as they talked, Rick's hand traveled over her thigh in stealth mode, giving her subtle squeezes.
He's really good at this seduction business, she thought.
"I doubt very much that you know much about the 'work' part of that statement," she said, trailing a finger down the center of his chest.
He stopped moving and stared at her. "What do you mean?"
Confused, she frowned at him. "I thought you didn't work?"
"Did you read that in the press?" he asked. His green eyes had darkened. He looked offended.
"Well, yeah," she said. When she'd looked him up, he always seemed to be attending fancy dinners and... other things. “I thought you had a trust fund?"
"Don't believe everything you read," he said, stroking her thigh. "My grandparents started the company. Their children expanded the company, but we don't really manufacture things anymore. We mostly do research and development these days, and license the technology. My cousins and I are mostly into charitable causes."
"Really," she said, thinking of the sheer number of charity functions from her research. "I just assumed the charity events you attend were excuses to party."
His mouth twisted, and disappointment flickered in his eyes. The truth was, she hadn't wanted to have anything to do with him because he seemed like a superficial person. She’d had no idea he had a job of any sort. Now she wanted to continue making out, but she could see she had killed the mood.
Shit.
She needed to stop making assumptions about him. She leaned in, stroking his arm. "Tell me all about it."
They spent the rest of the ride talking about Rick's work at his family's foundation, which focused on medical and biological research, but had recently added the First Responder's Widows and Orphans fund. The work he did sounded interesting.
They soon arrived at an airstrip where they climbed aboard a private jet that belonged to the Brantley family. Keisha took in the plush confines of the cabin. She had never before been inside a private plane. Like the SUV, the interior of the aircraft was plush and luxurious. The crew bustled around the cabin, getting ready for the flight, as Rick and Keisha settled themselves into the rather luxurious club-style seats next to each other. He reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. and it felt like their friendship might be back on track.
"The crew sure is fresh for it to be the middle of the night," she said, pleased that Rick seemed to be warming up to her again.
"We have a day crew and a night crew on standby," Rick said nonchalantly.
Well, doesn't everyone? was on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't say it. That would be too snarky. She settled for a neutral, close-lipped smile.
"It's a short flight, but I'm going to grab a catnap," he said. He put his seat back—a seat large and elaborate enough to take up roughly the footprint of a Lazy Boy recliner.
Keisha didn't sleep on planes, but she reclined her seat anyway. Who could sleep on such a short flight? She closed her eyes and relaxed. Just before she nodded off, it occurred to her that she'd left her overnight bag at the diner in Dallas. She had been so excited to meet Rick; she'd completely forgotten it.
The thought should have snapped her awake. Instead, she felt herself drift to sleep in the recliner's richly upholstered embrace.
"You forgot your overnight bag? Sure, you did!" Rick had teased her when they'd landed on South Padre. But it turned out to be fine, because he had every toiletry known to man in the guest house where they stayed.
Visiting tourist traps like South Padre Island was an entirely different experience when done with an heir to a bazillion-dollar family fortune. There was no staying at grubby bargain hotels that smelled like feet and whose bedding would light up like a Christmas tree under the glare of black lights. There was no shopping at the little stores with overpriced, cheaply made t-shirts, coffee mugs, and assorted knick knacks. No dining at chain restaurants with indifferent service and greasy, overcooked food.
Instead, they stayed in a two-bedroom dwelling on stilts, which turned out to be several yurts stuck together. The interior smelled sweet like some kind of freshly cut grass. A brigade of aestheticians, masseurs, and stylists converged upon the surprisingly idyllic yurt complex to deliver beauty, relaxation, and expensive plumage in the form of high-end resort couture.
In between receiving high-end spa treatments, they dined on professionally prepared gourmet meals and did the sorts of things one found in glossy advertisements produced by the tourist bureau. Only ever
y activity was just a little bit better than what an ordinary tourist would be able to access.
They went dolphin-watching, not on a crowded tourist boat, but on the family's 120-foot yacht named Money Business with a marine biologist from Texas A&M at Corpus Christi. They built sandcastles with professional sculptors, took bike tours with Olympic cyclists, went parasailing with certified pilots. They took sunset cruises and dined by candlelight.
They camped on the beach, held bonfires, and toasted gourmet marshmallows.
With every activity, Rick would refer to her forgotten knapsack, and hint that she'd forgotten it on purpose to avoid paying for any of the activities. It turned out that her bag was behind the counter at the diner, having been turned in by one of the waitstaff. William had retrieved it the day after their arrival.
Every night, they parted after lingering, passionate kisses that left her breathless and swooning. His eyes would linger over her, then he'd make a show of walking her to her door, just a few paces from his.
He'd kiss her palm, eyes smoldering on hers. Then he'd say, "Good night," and watch her go into her room. True to his word, he did not push for more.
On her round bed, which was so big she couldn't touch the edges when she splayed her body like a starfish, she'd lay awake, looking up at the thatched, beamed ceiling of the yurt. The beams were like the spokes of a wheel, with a circular skylight in the middle. This skylight served as a frame for the stars above, which were easier to see far away from city lights. The yurt perched on stilts close to the water. The sounds of the surf and the scent of the salted air relaxed her and lulled her to sleep every night.
On the third night, as waves created a soothing vibration of sound, as her body relaxed and her limbs became paralyzed, it occurred to her that he might be waiting for an invitation to her bed. The more thought she gave it, the more she became convinced Rick was waiting for an invitation to come in.
She pondered the idea, then decided what she'd do the next time he said good night.