Landon (Swanson Court Book 4)

by Serena Grey

  “Well put.” Nelson nods.

  “Modern luxury is the exact concept we had in mind for the refurbishment,” I add. “It’s very gratifying that Rachel thinks we succeeded.”

  She meets my eyes and we share a smile. The sadness is gone. “Your team did an excellent job bringing out the concept in their design,” she says, her eyes on mine.

  And I will do an excellent job making you come tonight.

  “Landon lives at the Swanson Court.” Davina’s voice pipes up, interrupting my thoughts. “If you haven’t spent a lot of time there, then you two are not very close.”

  Rachel looks amused. “We’re as close as we need to be,” she replies with a smile. “I’m only writing a feature on his hotel.”

  “Landon here has a knack for building hotels people can’t resist,” Nelson says. “His father would be so proud of him. Preston had all these dreams for expanding the Swanson Court hotels, and Landon is bringing them to life.”

  I try to hide my grimace. There’s nothing I hate more than when people bring up my parents, especially at events like these.

  “You knew Landon’s father?” Rachel asks, curiosity lighting her face.

  Nelson nods. “Yes, I did. Preston and Alicia were close friends of mine, and they were spectacular, I tell you. Alicia was the pride of the New York City Ballet, and Preston…well, he was Preston. I remember when Alicia danced Odette in Swan Lake. It was phenomenal. I believe Gilt Style did a feature on her, called her the Swan of New York.”

  I tune out the conversation, forcing my mind away from the vortex of memories threatening to erupt.

  He also let his work take him away from her again and again until she started to believe rumors he was cheating on her, and then she let her jealousy drive her to her death.

  Nelson doesn’t go close to that part of the story. Nobody ever does. Finally, Rachel changes the subject and I can try to relax again.

  After dinner is served, we move to the opera house across the street for the performances. Even though my mother was a famous dancer, or perhaps because she was, my interest in ballet is mild, but I love watching Rachel’s face. She doesn’t bother to hide her pleasure. There’s no mask of sophistication or forced disinterest. She’s just who she is.

  And it’s particularly charming.

  Later, on the dance floor, we move together to a slow ballad. I close my eyes and let her closeness fill all my senses.

  How will I ever let you go, Rachel?

  As if she can hear my thoughts, she sets her head on my chest, and I pull in a breath.

  “Enjoying yourself?” I ask.

  “I am.” She lifts her head and cocks it to one side. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  My lips curve in a slow smile. “I have a lot to look forward to.” First of which is peeling that dress off her.

  She doesn’t miss my meaning, and her eyes darken. Her tongue flicks over her top lip and I resist the urge to cover her mouth with mine. Her desire sears me, and I want to dive into it headfirst.

  “When Nelson was talking about your parents earlier…” she murmurs. “I just…I read about you on the internet, so obviously, I found some news stories. I noticed that you were upset. I don’t know how it feels to lose someone, but I’m sorry.”

  “I wasn’t upset.” The last thing I want to talk about is my parents. “I would just rather not think about it.”

  “I can imagine.”

  I chuckle bitterly. “You can’t. Not really.” Painful memories from my childhood take over, and everything good about the moment fades away. “They were all in love with her, you know, every single man in their circle—including Nelson Bledsoe—but she was crazy about my father. The rumors made her crazy. No matter how often he told her they were lies, if he wasn’t right in front of her, she drove herself to jealousy imagining he was with someone else.”

  Rachel’s brow furrows. Is she surprised I’m sharing all this with her?

  I continue. “The day we had the accident, some busybody called her about yet another rumor…” It hurts to describe the events of that day, watching my mother crying, getting our things packed, bundling us in the car…

  I want Daddy.

  I hear Aidan’s plaintive voice like the four-year-old version of him is right beside me. I take a deep breath. “We never found out where she meant to take us. Car crashed. She died. End of story.”

  Rachel’s eyes are glistening with unshed tears. Somehow, her pain, so many years later, compounds the memories, making them almost unbearable. Her voice breaks on my name. “Landon…”

  “Aidan didn’t utter a word for the next five years,” I shake my head. “My father was never the same. People like to say he became a recluse…” This part hurts even worse because of how much older I was, how much I needed the man who chose instead to drink himself to death. “One winter, he left the house in the middle of the night and went out into the water. By the time they found him in the morning, it was too late. He died of hypothermia, at forty-nine, a few feet away from a warm house.”

  Your father…he’s dead.

  I killed him. I killed him.

  “I’m so sorry,” Rachel says. She’s going to cry, and I feel a pang of regret for causing her any pain at all, even if the pain is on my behalf. Her arms tighten around me, and I want to lose myself in her embrace. I want to believe she will take my pain away, even though I know I don’t deserve that.

  “I don’t know why I told you all that,” I say with a light chuckle. “You shouldn’t think too much about it. It’s all ancient history.”

  She meets my eyes again, and when she speaks, her voice is tender. “But you dream about it.”

  I stop moving. “What?”

  She pulls in a nervous breath, as if she knows I don’t want to share that part of me with anyone. “Last night, you were dreaming, and you said a few things. I didn’t want to wake you because I was afraid you wouldn’t go back to sleep.” She swallows. “It’s why you hardly sleep, isn’t it? Because you still dream about it.”

  I don’t reply.

  “Have you talked to anyone about it?”

  I want to laugh at the ridiculous question, and at how quickly she’s gone from naked sexual desire to wanting to help me, to cure me. “Let it go,” I snap.

  “I’m just trying to help.”

  My temper stretches. “I don’t need your help…and just to be clear, it’s really none of your business.”

  Her eyes cloud with hurt, and immediately, I’m contrite. Then she gives me a tight smile. “You’re right, it isn’t.”

  We talk little for the rest of the dance. When Bledsoe cuts in to dance with her, I take Jules and her belly for a spin then return to our table, chatting with her and Cameron and the people who find reasons to stop by. Throughout, I can see Rachel dancing, laughing, having fun.

  I hurt her, and as much as I regret it. I can’t…won’t open that part of me to anyone, even her.

  And I don’t want her pity.

  I miss the moment Rachel disappears from the dance floor. It makes me nervous, not knowing where she is. I’m trying to find her when Davina Bledsoe waylays me with random questions about moving to New York. I suspect she’s flirting, but because she’s so young, I try not to be cruel in my dismissal. By the time I finally excuse myself, I see Rachel pushing past Evans Sinclair, who’s sneering at her as she marches out of the ballroom.

  Hurrying toward her, I shove Evans out of my way and follow her through the lobby to the main entrance. When I reach her, she’s standing alone under the awning, looking angry and lost.

  “Where’re you going?”

  “What do you care?” she snaps.

  Her tone is unexpectedly irate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You should go back in there,” she says, waving me away. “I’m sure Davina is waiting, and you seemed to enjoy flirting with her.” She gives me an accusing look. “I don’t mind. I just don’t want to sit there and endure being harassed by someo
ne who hates your guts.”

  Damn Sinclair. “What did Sinclair say to you?”

  “Who cares? I’ve already forgotten.” There’s hurt in her eyes when she looks at me. “Like everything else about you, it’s really none of my business.”

  So that’s what she’s mad about. Well, I’m not going to apologize for keeping some things to myself. “Fine,” I tell her. “You want to leave, let’s go.” I call for the limo, and on the drive back to the Rosemont, she remains on her side of the car, silent.

  This is not how I planned our evening, but she has no right to be angry with me for keeping my problems to myself.

  I’m not going to apologize for that.

  Even though, for some reason I can’t explain, I want to. I want to apologize and open myself up to her.

  Which makes no sense. Soon, she’ll walk right out of my life into whatever she has waiting for her.

  In fact, she seems almost ready to do that right now.

  Once we’re inside the suite, she ignores me, heading straight for her room.

  My voice stops her. “Rachel.”

  She turns to face me. “What?”

  “Look, whatever Sinclair said to you…I’m sorry. I’m the one he hates, not you, and he really doesn’t matter.”

  That’s not the apology she wants, and I know it. She glares at me. “Yeah…and neither do I, neither does this…whatever it is we’re doing. It doesn’t matter, because soon, we’ll be back home and it’ll be over. Which is for the best, anyway.”

  My temper snaps. “If you’re so eager for it to end, we don’t have to wait until tomorrow.”

  “Is that what you want?” Her eyes flash with anger. “Is that why you told me so bluntly how your nightmares are none of my business and then spent the rest of the night flirting with every single socialite in San Francisco?”

  I take a patient breath. “First of all, yes, I believe my nightmares are my problem. I’ve dealt with them for twenty years, and to answer your question, I have spoken with people—therapists, doctors, you name it—and they haven’t helped at all. I didn’t ask for your pity, Rachel, and I don’t need it.” She flinches at my words, but I continue. “And I wasn’t flirting with anyone, so there’s no reason for you to be jealous.”

  “There’s no reason for me to be jealous,” she throws back at me. “Why would I be? You’re just some guy I’m having sex with, for now.”

  Something freezes inside me. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

  She shrugs. “It should never have been in doubt,” she shoots back.

  “Of course not.” I’m pissed now, angry and jealous, irrationally afraid of losing her and knowing I already have, knowing I never actually had her. “After all, only a few days ago, you were entertaining your ex-boyfriend.” The words are bitter on my tongue. “Were you ironing out your issues? Deciding you’d made a mistake agreeing to come here with me? Arranging how to get back together once this pesky little situation with me was out of the way?”

  “Maybe we were.”

  “Then you must be a glutton for punishment,” I say cruelly. “Why don’t you go to him now? Pack your bags. My plane will take you to join him wherever he is. You might have to compete with another woman for his attention, but it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”

  Her eyes fill. “Fuck you, Landon,” she hisses then starts to walk away.

  I can’t—won’t let her go. With one hand around her waist, I pull her back to me, molding her body to mine.

  “I have and I will.” There’s a desperate madness to my actions. I should let her go. I know I should, but I can’t, not when I know how little time we have. “You’re not going anywhere, Rachel. You’re going to stay here and I’m going to make you come, over and over, with my hands and my mouth, and then I’ll fuck you properly just to remind you that when you’re with me, there’s no room for him.”

  “Why are you so concerned about him?” Her voice is tinged with frustration and anger, and the first signs of arousal. “Why do you care so much?”

  “Why?” I lift her face to mine so she can see the determination in my eyes. With my free hand, I gather her dress up and slide my fingers between her thighs. “Because right now, you’re mine.”

  Her legs spread for me. In this one thing, we speak the exact same language. I stroke her through her panties and her hips grind softly.

  “I’m not yours,” she hisses through her teeth.

  “Aren’t you?” Moving the lace aside, I slide my fingers slide between her smooth folds. “You’re so turned on,” I whisper. For me. All for me. I push my fingers into her, and she makes a soft sound of pleasure.

  Impatiently, I unfasten her dress and tug it down with my free hand. Her strapless bra follows, and her breasts spring free. At the sight of her hard, pink nipples, acute desire almost blinds me.

  Her slick muscles clasp hotly around my fingers, demanding more. “Does he make you feel like this?” I take her nipple in my mouth and she lets out a moan. “Does he make you so hungry to fuck even when you know you should be angry?”

  “Maybe he does.” Her voice is breathless. “Maybe I’m thinking about him right now.”

  She’s lying. I can see that, but the knowledge doesn’t stop the possessive anger from rising inside me.

  “You don’t mean that.” My voice is a warning.

  “Don’t I?” Her mocking laughter rings in my ears. “Maybe you think you’re the only one who’s allowed to be an ass.”

  A measure of sanity returns. I release her and put some distance between us. She hates me now, and she has every right to. Even I hate myself for ruining any chance we may have had for something more than a temporary week of meaningless sex.

  She’s glaring at me, making no move to cover her naked breasts, which are heaving with every furious breath. She’s flushed with a mixture of anger and arousal, but I can’t touch her, not now. Not after everything we’ve said to each other.

  With a few jerky movements, she tears off her dress, bundling it into a huge ball before hurling it at my face.

  “Fuck you,” she spits.

  Something snaps inside me, and I know without a doubt that I will regret whatever I do from here on, but there’s only one way this argument can end, and I’m sure we both know it. Barely thinking, I grab hold of her waist and bend her over the back of the sofa. “I already said I was going to,” I snarl, close to her ear.

  It only takes me a moment to free my cock, and then I’m entering her. Her body opens smoothly to give me access. I don’t try to be gentle. It’s not what I need, and it’s not what she wants either.

  I fuck her hard, and her moans stoke the fire of lust, anger, and frustration that’s already burning inside me. My fingers twine in her hair, and I nudge her head to face me.

  “Look at me,” I growl. “I want you to be sure who’s fucking you right now.”

  A soft cry escapes her parted lips. Her eyes glaze further with each thrust of my hips. I’m done fighting, and so is she, and I can feel it when she surrenders.

  Her voice is a soft moan. “Don’t stop.”

  Like I could. When I’m with her, I can barely function. All I want is to lose myself in her body.

  I run my hands down her back, cupping one of her breasts, squeezing. “You like it.” My voice is a plea. “Don’t you?”

  “I love it.”

  My fingers dig into her skin. I lose control over my movements as I plunge deep inside her, over and over. Pleasure seizes my brain. I hear her scream out her climax. I feel her body pulsing around me, tight and sweet, and I surrender everything just as the world explodes.

  I don’t want to let her go. I hold her trembling body close to mine, burying my face in her hair. I feel humble. I want to cry, to beg. Surely, it’s only an effect of the sex. It must be.

  “Rachel. God, Rachel.” Her name is a plea on my lips. “You have no idea how you make me feel…no idea how crazy you make me.” The memory of all the rough words I said to her ea
rlier makes me cringe. That’s not a part of me I ever want her to see. “I’m sorry.”

  Her eyes meet mine, wary and hurt, but she doesn’t reply.

  “I lost my head for a moment.” I’m trying to explain the inexcusable. This fight should never have happened. I close my eyes. “Thinking about you with him…remembering you two having that cozy moment at the lounge the day I returned from New York…it makes me feel…” I search for the right words.

  Her eyes close, and she places her head on my chest. I breathe. When she faces me again, there’s a light of understanding in her gaze. “Jealous? Possessive?” She supplies the words I’m seeking.

  “Crazy…enraged?” I add with a bitter chuckle.

  She rests her head on my chest again, breathing slowly. I stroke her naked back, tempted to pretend everything is all right and our arrangement hasn’t turned out to be a disaster.

  “Landon.” She meets my eyes again. “You weren’t…we weren’t supposed to feel anything at all.”

  “No.” I take a deep breath. “We weren’t.”

  I don’t want to let her go, but after a few moments, she pulls away. She’s naked, with only her bra hanging below her breasts. Without thinking, I unfasten it and let it join her dress on the floor.

  We both stand in silence facing each other. There are things I want to say, but I don’t know how.

  I don’t want us to end like this.

  Neither does she.

  She comes to me and links her arms around my neck. There is a determination in her eyes, and tenderness. She pulls my face down toward hers, bringing her lips to mine.

  Ah, Rachel.

  My arms tighten around her.

  She’s mine.

  For now.

  Carrying her to her room, I make love to her with a gentleness that comes from deep inside, with a desire I can’t articulate. Later, I wait until she’s asleep then I leave, saying a silent goodbye to our time together, and to her.

  Chapter 14

  “I’m calling to see how you are. Friends do that, you know. Check on each other occasionally.”

  “Hmm.” I’m in my office in New York, listening to Ava’s voice on speaker, but my attention is on the black velvet box on my desk, containing the jewelry I gave Rachel in San Francisco, which she just had delivered to my office.