Authors: M Leighton
No, you horrid ho-bags, my stress response
is
not
intractable irritable bowel!
Thankfully the bathroom is empty, so I get to
clean up my ravaged makeup and tear-streaked face in peace. I run a
few paper towels under the cold water and hold them to my eyes like
compresses, hoping they’ll reduce the swelling. All they manage to
do is make my already-wet lashes clump together.
I shake my head at my reflection. The only
thing I can do at this point is go back out there with my head held
high and a smile on my face, and try to finish the rest of the
night without incident.
”You can do this, Liv. You can do this.”
I almost add
for Nash,
but even in my
head, it sounds stupid and presumptuous. He’s not mine to care for.
No matter how much I wish he was.
I take a deep breath and fling open the door
to head back into the viper den. But I don’t get very far. I stop
dead in my tracks when I see Nash leaning against the wall right
outside the ladies’ room. His legs are crossed casually at the
ankle, as his arms are crossed casually over his chest. His smile
is faint. And sad.
I say nothing. I don’t know what
to
say. I fidget with the little wristlet purse dangling against my
palm.
Finally, he straightens and steps toward me.
He doesn’t stop until he is mere inches from me, forcing me to tilt
my face up just to maintain eye contact.
He brushes his thumb over the ridge of my
cheekbone at the corner of my eye. I wonder briefly if I missed a
streak of mascara.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, closing his eyes
as if in pain. His face is etched with regret and it tugs at my
heart.
“Don’t be. You can’t control other people. I
just hope I haven’t embarrassed you too badly, or ruined any
important business connections you were hoping to make.”
“I don’t care about business connections. Not
at this cost.”
“But you should. That was the whole point of
coming tonight. It shouldn’t be ruined by some random girl that’s
too much of a misfit to bring to functions like this.”
“You’re not the misfit. I am. I’m the one
masquerading as something I’m not,” he says pensively.
“Not being like them is a good thing, but you
have to play by their rules. It’s part of the game. It’s part of
who you are and what you do.”
“It may be part of what I do, but it’s not
part of who I am. I’m not this guy. Not really. This,” he says,
tugging on the lapel of his tux, “serves a purpose. It’s a means to
an end. Nothing more.”
I frown. “A means to what end?”
Nash’s inky eyes bore holes into mine and,
for a second, I think he’s going to tell me something. But then he
changes his mind and smiles another small smile.
“Nothing I want to get into right now. Come
on,” he says, reaching down to take my hand. “Let’s get out of
here.”
Nash leads me to the door and we leave
without a backward glance.
He doesn’t say another word as he helps me
into his car, starts it up and heads toward the Northern edge of
the city. I don’t ask where he’s taking me; I really don’t care.
I’m just glad to be in his presence and away from all those other
people. Anything else is just gravy.
I’m a little surprised when I start seeing
the buildings grow taller as Nash weaves his way through the
streets of downtown. He slows and pulls into a parking garage,
waving a card in front of an electronic eye. A gate lifts and he
drives through. He slides into the first available spot and cuts
the engine.
Still, he doesn’t say a word. He helps me out
of the car and leads me to an elevator.
Still, I don’t ask questions. I’m sort of
excited and very curious to see where he’s taking me. I shouldn’t
be. Because he’s not mine. But I am.
He flashes his card before another red eye
then punches the button for the twenty-fourth floor. The doors
close with a hushed swish. We ride smoothly upward until the doors
open into a luxurious, dimly lit reception area. Directional
lighting sparkles like thousands of diamonds in the gold lettering
that reads
Phillips, Shepherd and Townsend.
We’re at the law firm where he works. With
Marissa. And my uncle. Who’s a partner. He’s the Townsend in
Phillips, Shepherd and Townsend.
I want to ask why we’re here, but again, I
don’t. He takes my hand and tugs, leading me out of the car into
the quiet of the empty office. We make our way across to another,
smaller bank of elevators. We go up two more floors, but when the
doors open this time, it’s to a breathtaking view of the brightly
lit skyline of Atlanta.
I gasp. I can’t help it. I’ve never seen such
a beautiful sight. It’s like a postcard. Only real.
I weave my way around groupings of expensive
outdoor furniture until I reach the wall that surrounds the
rooftop. The warm breeze teases the hair at my temples as I look
out at the Bank of America building across the way.
“Up here, people like that don’t exist,” Nash
says quietly as he comes to stand beside me. He’s so close his
shoulder is brushing mine. I fight the urge to lean against
him.
I can feel warmth from his body radiating
toward me, teasing me with its enticing heat. I shiver in
response.
“Are you cold?” he asks, turning toward me to
run the backs of his fingers up and down my upper arm, as if
testing the temperature of my skin. “Here,” he says, taking off his
jacket and draping it over my shoulders. The jacket is warm and
heavy and smells just like Nash, like whatever cologne or soap he
uses. I figure it must be called
delicious,
maybe by Armani
or some other fancy designer. It almost makes my mouth water. “Is
that better?” He wraps his arm around me, too, as if to ensure I
won’t be cold. Of course, I won’t complain. Even if I was sweating,
I wouldn’t complain.
“That’s much better, thank you.”
We stand in silence for so long I finally
begin to get uncomfortable. But just when I start to rack my brain
for things to say, Nash speaks.
And drops a nice little bomb.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN- Nash
“My father’s in prison. For murder.”
Way to just blurt it out there, idiot!
I don’t know why I feel so compelled to tell
Olivia all my dirty little secrets, but I do. Maybe it’s because
she feels like the misfit. I can relate to that. In a world where
appearances and reputation mean everything, I have to work extra
hard to make sure that everything I say and do is above reproach.
It was a nearly impossible feat to overcome, outlive and
outdistance myself from my father and his imprisonment, but I did
it. After years and years of hard work and kissing all the right
asses, I finally did it. And now I’m one step closer to my
goal.
After what feels like a freakin’ eternity of
silence, I look down at her. She’s looking up at me, her lips
slightly parted in shock. Her bright green eyes, dark in the dim
light, are focused sharply on mine. But the thing I notice most
isn’t what’s in them—surprise, disbelief, curiosity, maybe a little
pity—it’s what’s
not.
Judgment. Disdain. Horror. None of the
things I’ve so often seen in people’s eyes when I’ve had to tell
them my story.
Now I want to kiss her even more.
Damn you! You just get more and more
appealing.
“What? No running away, screaming?” I say,
unable to keep the slight trace of bitterness from my voice.
She surprises me with a grin and a dubious
look. “I think we’ve clearly established that I’m nothing like the
people you normally associate with.”
I laugh. And it’s genuine. “Yeah, I guess we
have.”
She turns toward me. The only thing on her
face now is interest. Simple curiosity. I’m glad to see that trace
of pity gone. Of the many things I’d like to have from this girl,
pity is nowhere on the list.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I shrug. “It doesn’t bother me as bad as it
used to. It feels more like part of my past now than anything
else.”
“It must be more than that for you to want to
tell me about it.”
Perceptive. She’s as smart as she is
beautiful. And probably doesn’t think she’s either one.
“Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t even know why I
brought it up.” I look out at the twinkling city lights. Now I feel
like a fool for mentioning it.
“But you did. Now you have to tell me or I’ll
be forced to think you’re cruel and sadistic.”
“Maybe I am.”
She narrows her eyes on me, sizing me up.
“Nah. I don’t believe it. Besides, isn’t there some law against
cruel and unusual punishment? You can’t be a lawyer and be a
law-breaker at the same time.”
I chuckle at her logic. I can’t help but
wonder what she’d think if she knew the truth. “People do it all
the time.”
“But you aren’t ‘people.’ You’re the guy
that’s getting ready to put me out of my misery.”
“Misery, huh?” I ask, quirking one brow at
her.
I know my smile probably gives away the
direction my thoughts have taken, and Olivia manages to surprise me
again when she immediately jumps in to play along.
“Yes, misery,” she agrees with a smile.
“You’re not the kind of guy to leave a girl hanging, are you?”
Although she seems sweet and innocent and
shy, at times she seems ready to participate in a much more
intimate and dangerous game. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about
games or misery or anything else concerning Olivia Townsend.
But damn if I’m not!
Dark and dirty things come to mind, things
like how much pleasure I’d get from putting her in misery. But not
the bad kind of misery. No, I want Olivia in the kind of misery
that makes her sweat and writhe, and then beg me to come inside
her.
I feel the need to resituate inside my pants
and I remind myself that I’m drifting onto dangerous ground. My
mind understands that, but looking down into Olivia’s face, at her
sparkling eyes and lush lips, I can’t for the life of me get that
through to any other body parts.
“Only if that’s what she likes,” I say,
reaching out to pick up a long black lock of hair from Olivia’s
shoulder. The strand feels like silk between my fingers. So does
her skin against the back of my hand. “What do you like,
Olivia?”
I think I see her chest rise as she catches
her breath. Maybe she’ll be the one to throw on the brakes. God
knows I’m not going to. I might regret it later, but right now I’m
not thinking about anything but what it would be like to see Olivia
without that red dress.
Her eyebrow arches. I don’t know if it’s
really in acceptance of my challenge or if that’s just what I’m
hoping. But then she licks her lips and drops her chin a little,
looking up at me from beneath her lashes.
She’s coy. But not on purpose. It’s just the
way she is. And it’s an even bigger turn on.
“You mean you don’t know? I figured a
four-star General would know all sorts of things the rest of us
didn’t.”
“Maybe I just like to do my own recon.”
“And what does that consist of?”
I know I should stop while I still can. Only
I can’t.
“I like to use all my senses to get a good
lay of the land.”
“Lay of the land?” she asks, the corners of
her mouth dimpling.
“Of course,” I reply. “So I can plan my
attack.”
“Recon? For an attack? Do tell.”
“First I start with touch.” I reach out and
brush one dimple with my fingertip then slowly drag it inward,
across her pouty bottom lip. “Touch is invaluable. The texture of
the terrain tells me how…aggressive my attack needs to be. Some
places require a much more delicate approach than others.”
“I see,” she says softly, her warm breath
tickling my finger. “What else?”
“Smell,” I say, sliding my hand into her hair
to hold it back as I bury my face in the lightly scented skin of
her neck. “A certain scent can tell me if I’m heading in the right
direction. Something sweet. Something…musky,” I murmur.
I hear her gasp when I gently bite the flesh
beneath her ear. “And hearing,” I whisper. “Sometimes the softest
sounds, even a moan can tell me a great deal about how close I am
to my attaining my goal.”
I feel her hands latch onto my forearms. Her
fingernails are biting into my skin through my shirt. All I can
think about is how I want to feel them on the skin of my back
instead.
Her breath is coming fast and shallow in my
ear. “What else?” she pants.
I lean back and look down into her face. Her
lids are heavy over her dazzling eyes and her cheeks are flushed
with everything that’s happening between us. She doesn’t want to
stop either. There’s no doubt in my mind.
“Taste.”
Her eyes flicker to my mouth and back again.
“And what do you taste?”
“Everything. I want to taste everything.”
If I ever stood a chance of resisting her, it
evaporates the instant she leans into me. So does every last ounce
of finesse that I’m normally capable of. The kiss that should’ve
started out slow starts out like a forest fire. The first taste of
her tongue consumes me.
And I’m lost.
My hands are in her hair and my mouth is
devouring hers. I give no thought to where I am or the girlfriend
whose father I work for. I can’t think past how badly I want to be
inside the tight, hot body of the girl in my arms.
But why? Why do I want her so bad?
No answer comes to mind. All thought seems to
shut down when she wraps her arms around me and I feel those
fingernails dig in.
I groan into her mouth and I hear her purr in
response. I tug on her hair, maybe a little more roughly than I
intend, and her kiss turns ravenous. She leans into me, like she
can’t get close enough. I turn her around and press her back to the
wall. My body is plastered to her length. I can feel every hard
inch of me sinking into every soft inch of her. It’s the clothes
between us that brings me up from the kiss.