by Kat T. Masen
“Next week?” I ask, forgetting for a moment Wesley’s sitting across from me.
“Yes, sorry, is that okay?” Emerson asks.
“Of course.” I smile, purposely meeting his gaze.
Wesley taps his fingertips on the table, leaning back in his chair with a slightly annoyed glare.
“Thank God.” Emerson smiles with relief. “Vancouver we can bring forward to the following Saturday. Actually, why don’t we go straight from New York? Let’s get it out of the way. I’ll have Logan meet us there.”
“Sounds like a plan—”
“Shoot!” she exclaims, worried. “There’s that meeting in Portland the following week.”
“Don’t worry, I can go. It might work out well. I plan to head back home for two days anyway, so I might swing it afterward if you don’t mind? I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery.”
“My God, no. You’re saving my life right now. Go see your family or boyfriend… what’s his name again?”
I cough, almost choking at her bringing Liam up. “Um… Liam.”
“That’s right.” Charlie smiles, rather cheekily. “How could we forget?”
Wesley slams his fist on the table, eyes blazing right at me. “Are we done discussing Milana’s personal life? I also have better things to do.”
“Like what?” I bite back, folding my arms.
My forwardness throws him a curveball, his expression turning from anger to annoyance in a matter of seconds.
This game we play—it’s deadly.
We’re both driven by jealousy and its ugly traits. It’s almost murderous.
“My personal life, Miss Milenov, remains no one’s business but my own.”
The room goes dead silent.
I want to tell Wesley we’re done, that I can’t continue second-guessing myself and this relationship, and that my heart continues to ache from missing Mama and home. The guilt of hurting Phoebe and Liam lays heavy on my shoulders.
And most importantly—I will never be Emerson.
“I have to go get Lola. We’re done.” Emerson stacks her papers, standing up and waiting for Wesley to respond.
“As done as we can be,” Wesley scoffs.
Charlie rolls her eyes at them both, following Emerson’s lead and saying goodbye, leaving me alone with Wesley.
The wrath of Wesley Rich will come undone. I can smell it in the air. Wesley’s stare is cold, his eyes wide without blinking.
“You’re quiet.”
“I have to go… I have a lot to do.” I stand, gathering my things when Wesley commands I sit.
“What’s wrong? You didn’t want Emerson and me to meet alone, so I thought you’d be happy. More time for you to talk with the girls about your boyfriend back home,” he snaps, insulting me.
This isn’t the time nor the place to have another argument. My head is pounding and on the verge of a migraine with the work that stems from the meeting. Not to mention the emotional game of tennis we watched being played between Wesley and Emerson.
I really want to be alone and call Mama. Speak to her, ease my stress, if only for a few minutes.
“I was put on the spot. I need to go, Wesley.”
“You think I’m stupid?”
“What? No…”
Wesley’s laughter is filled with sarcasm, and his rocking back-and-forth on the chair is starting to irritate me.
“So why don’t I believe your excuse? I don’t have time for games, Milana. Tell me what I did wrong, so I can fix it.”
It’s my turn to laugh, this time unable to hide my annoyance. “Tell you what you did wrong, so you can fix it? Maybe you didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe the problem is me. I said yes to being your girlfriend, and I basically have no damn clue who you are aside from what I’ve read online.” I take a breath, then unleash, “I mean… did you have anything to do with the drowning? What about the old man you hit? Where is he, and why didn’t you serve more time? And that Farrah woman… did you hit her? Who was that the other night who wanted you to fuck her up the ass? God, Wesley… so many questions, and it’s not me to be like this, but I can’t fucking concentrate when I’m around you. Then your cell goes off, and it’s probably women wanting a booty call.” I squeeze my eyebrows together. “God only knows what you do when I’m not around.” I take deep breaths while in mid-panic attack mode. My chest is incredibly tight and unforgiving.
“Shhh… calm down, okay?” He lowers his tone, peeping outside the glass to see if anyone’s walking by. “I can answer all your questions, just not here. If that’s your bottom line if you really want to know everything about who’s sleeping in your bed at night… I will answer your questions.”
“You will?” I ask, maybe too eagerly though relieved as well.
“Yes,” he responds. Though he’s quick to add, “Because then I can ask you questions.”
“Me?”
“I’m not the only mystery, Milana. The only difference is that when I Google Milana Milenov, I get a picture of a girl graduating from Anchorage Business School, and that’s it.”
I smile, finding him kinda cute knowing he Googled me. I finally manage to look him in the eye and allow my body to feel him over me. This force is powerful, everything I felt before this a distant memory.
“Dinner, my place at seven sharp,” he demands with a smirk.
“Deal… but I have a ton of work to do so I can’t stay.”
“No deal. You’re staying over. If you have to go to New York next week, I want you every moment I can have you.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Rich.”
He grins, sexily playing with his jaw. “About that, call me Mr. Rich one more time, and I’ll bend you over right here, right now, and fuck you till you have no choice but to scream Mr. Rich.”
He knows exactly how to get to me.
Wearing a devious grin on his handsome face, he exits the room leaving me alone to think about his powerful proposition.
He did it, again.
Made me go from hating him to wanting him in one single heartbeat.
Inside my office, I fire up my laptop and take a deep breath. My mind’s an unorganized mess, and with everything going on, I need to get into shape and start prioritizing.
So, I spend the next hour syncing my diary with Emerson’s, making calls and confirming all our travel arrangements. Charlie’s already emailed both of us a ton of legal documents that make sense given my limited experience, but nevertheless, this is going to be a long-winded battle.
By the time I peel myself away from my inbox, it’s just after five, and the office is surprisingly vacant. Today felt like the longest day of my life and with my laptop shut down and bag packed, I balance everything in my hands to only have my cell scare the shit out of me as it rings.
My heart races, and without thinking, I answer.
“Hey, it’s me.”
Liam.
The sound of his voice brings back a whole other world. I place my things down, worried I might carelessly fall apart from the tone of his voice.
“Hey.”
Silence falls between us, and not wanting to play on the obvious, I bring in the small-talk to try to repair what I so easily broke. “How have you been?”
“Good, I guess, considering. I’m dating someone.”
“That’s quick.”
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that, and trying to retrace my stupidity, I tell him, “I don’t mean it’s quick, I mean that you…” I roll my eyes at my mumbling and just say, “… never mind.”
It suddenly dawns on me that Phoebe told me Liam was seeing that Sienna girl only a day after he got back. I don’t have the right to question Liam’s fidelity, but his new relationship doesn’t add up either.
“I slept with her while I was still with you. I missed you… not that it matters now. I just needed to tell you that.” The pain in his voice subsides, almost to relief.
There’s a slight ping, a wave of hurt from hearing that. None of it matters
now, though. The damage is done, and the universe plays its part. It’s not my place to reprimand him when I played the same card he did.
“Wesley’s not good for you.”
“Liam, please.”
“Listen to me. Do you remember the time we watched that program on serial manipulators? They had personality disorders, and that dad was jailed for murdering his wife?”
I remember the episode, yet don’t appreciate the link between a murderer and Wesley.
“C’mon, Liam. I know he’s done bad things, but people change.”
“Milly, listen to me. You’re in danger. Please, just walk away from him. It’s not about pride here, I’m genuinely worried.”
I smile into the receiver, ignoring his desperate pleas. Liam always protected me, and his worries are nothing but concern. It’s Liam being Liam.
“I can take care of myself. Listen, I should go. Keep in touch, okay?”
“Milly—”
“Liam, just don’t. Please don’t,” I beg, softly.
With a heavy sigh, he says goodbye, reluctantly, until the sound of my cell beeps informing me the call has ended. I stare at the screen for minutes, sad to say goodbye on such terms and wishing he could just let his anger toward Wesley go.
There isn’t much time to dwell on his words as I make a mad dash for my car, racing home so I can change and head over to Wesley’s.
I can’t wait to see him.
Finally, I will be getting those much-needed answers to the questions that will either make or break our relationship.
Chapter Nineteen
Wesley pulls out all the stops to woo me tonight.
Outside, on the patio, sits a small, round table with two wicker chairs. Two candles sit on the tabletop along with some fancy china, positioned perfectly next to the pool with a view of the city lights. It’s beautiful, romantic, and another side to Wesley Rich that I haven’t seen.
I expect that a maid would serve us, so I’m surprised when I find Wesley in his kitchen, busily marinating the chicken with his bare hands and swaying his hips to a jazz tune that sounds slightly familiar.
“You can cook?”
“I’m not just a pretty face, baby. Pass me the paprika.”
“Is that the red stuff?”
His eyes light up with amusement, accompanied with a mischievous grin. “If you’re planning to be a housewife one day, you need to know your spices.”
“Right.” I throw a piece of cucumber at him, playfully. “That’s so sexist.”
“Why? You’ll look good in a kitchen, wearing an apron, and kids running around you.”
My gaze shifts toward the wine glass sitting in my hand. I swirl the wine, taking a large quantity in as I brush off the ‘kids’ comment. The uneasiness that momentarily graces the pit of my stomach disappears as the wine settles in nicely. With a forced smile, I continue to tease him. “Women around the world will crucify you if they hear that.”
“Well, lucky only the one I care about heard, huh?”
I’m unable to hide the girly giggle that escapes my mouth, enjoying this moment with him. How can a man, barefoot and wearing shorts, be so damn sexy with a raw carcass in his hand?
“Okay, smartass. Seriously, what can I do to help?”
“Get naked.”
“Wesley! I’m serious.”
Moving to the sink, he washes his hands thoroughly before responding. “I’m serious. I haven’t fucked you since this morning. We fight in the boardroom. You call me Mr. Rich twice, and you also mention some other boyfriend you had. Do I need to explain how hard I am right now?”
He moves to me, wrapping his arms around my neck. His hands touch my skin, the cool sensation from the cold water, causing me to shiver slightly. The dress I’m wearing exposes my shoulders, and the fabric is light and flowy. Feeling slightly exposed, my posture caves in to protect myself from the cold.
Wesley positions his body against mine, allowing me to warm up. My body—now accustomed to his body temperature—begins to relax as he cups my face and draws me in, kissing me deeply. I hate that he can do this to me—make everything go away with a simple kiss—and how my body reacts first, not my heart or my head.
“You’re so delicious when you’re angry.” He bites my lower lip between my gasps.
“When was I angry…” I can barely say the words, my whole body ready to combust on the spot.
“You’re always angry with me. That’s why I can’t stop thinking about you… naked… here… ready for me.”
He lifts me onto the counter, moving the food away so he can lay me down. Spreading my legs apart, he watches as my panties are in full view, eyeing them with such desire. He remains quiet, leaning in between my legs and running his nose along the outside of the fabric, my moans echoing loudly in the large kitchen from the anticipation.
“We shouldn’t do this here,” I plead, though unconvincingly.
Wesley’s eyes remain fixated on mine, cursing me with a satisfied grin. He loves to control us—everything from the moment we kiss until the second we finish.
I watch with anticipation and a galloping heartbeat, his head lowering down and settling between my legs. My panties are parted, his fist is clutching them as the tip of his tongue touches my swollen clit. My back arches against the marble, the tips of my fingers gripping the edge for support.
He knows he’s damn good, sticking his tongue in between my creases at a delightful pace. I’m close. Desperate not to give in so early, but that fire in my belly, the one making my head spin, demands that I succumb to the raging orgasm about to take over.
Then—boom.
My body collapses against the countertop with my breaths short and quick. I want to laugh, scream, and tie myself to this man for the rest of my life.
The sound of metal clinks against the concrete floors. I try to pull myself up, but Wesley is pinning me down, sliding himself in me. No questions, no words, his mouth against mine roughly as he thrusts deep into me, trapping my screams amongst his kisses.
His need to make love so raw yet intimate makes me fall for him even harder. I grab onto his hair, running my hands through it and using them to guide his lips to mine, wanting him more and more to the point that I’m willing to sacrifice everything for this moment.
His taste is erotically charged—a mixture of desperation and dominance—two very different things yet everything that turns me on when he’s inside me.
A loud grunt barrels through him as our bodies disconnect, the cool air falling onto my heated skin as he finishes himself on my thigh. Both of us are out of breath, unable to talk as we gulp for air, our chests rising and falling from the intensity of this moment.
He extends his hand, arms flexing and doing that nice thing with his biceps that make them look sexy. Great, you’re getting all turned on again.
“Hungry?”
“Famished,” I tell him as he wipes down my thigh with a tea towel. “Oh, really. Did you have to use that?”
“It’s not like I haven’t…” He purposely cuts himself off, distracting me by handing me a bottle of wine. “How about you head outside, and I’ll finish cooking in here?”
I pretend it doesn’t hurt, knowing that other women have been where I have been. With my confidence in shatters and my silence portraying my humiliation, the cold, hard reality is that this could be a regular occurrence for him.
Keeping my opinion at bay, I make my way outside and stand by the pool’s edge, admiring the view as I did the first night here. What a completely different world I find myself in. I wonder what stronger force brought me here.
How did I end up in a relationship with a man who’s so beautiful inside and out yet so damaged at the same time?
“I know what you’re thinking,” he says softly from the edge of the room. Wesley steps outside, placing a dish on the table. He slides a chair out and gestures for me to sit, placing a napkin on my lap then leaning in to kiss my lips. “That I do this for all women.”
&n
bsp; “I wasn’t thinking that.” I’m not a great liar, though I am happy he doesn’t push me to answer that question again. The warm air caresses my skin, giving me a moment to calm down and try my best to enjoy this moment. He’s gone to all this effort, and my insecurity needs to take a massive raincheck and stop horning in on my quality time with Wesley.
“It’s so beautiful out here. You know, back home, you don’t see lights like that.”
“What do you see?”
I stare into the sky, remembering what it felt like to be home again. I lose myself, smiling as if this is back home. “Mountains, water… nature.”
“You miss it, don’t you?”
I nod, hiding my sadness with a smile. “This meal looks amazing.”
“Spicy, so watch out. A housekeeper I grew up with taught me how to cook it.” He takes a bite, following through with some wine. “So, you have questions…”
I swallow my food and drink the wine, almost in one go, not expecting him to be so forthcoming.
“I can’t think. I don’t know, Wesley. I just don’t know you.”
He pours more wine into my glass then his, taking another drink before clearing his throat. Another drink, and I will be passed out on the floor. I need to pace myself to get through the questions he wants me to ask.
“I was born in Kansas, a small town, but we lived there until I was about four. I don’t remember much, not even my dad.”
“Your dad lives in Kansas?”
“He did when he was alive.”
I reach out to touch his hand, mindful that it must be difficult for him to open up to me. His expression remains fixed, barely asserting an emotion that will tell me how he feels about this happening.
“How did he, um—”
“He fell out of a tree, broke his neck, then went into cardiac arrest.”
A gasp escapes me, and quickly, I cover my mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
“Why? I didn’t know him. Just stuff my mother tells me.”
“The tree, on your chest, is that the tree?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, less enthused.
I don’t understand why he would ink something on his skin, such a powerful image yet he has no recollection of his father nor does it seem like he cares.