I wake up with the knowledge that something is wrong. Rising from the bed, I start to look around the darkened room before realizing it’s Landon who woke me up.
He’s still asleep, but his muscles are tense and straining, his hands into curled into fists by his side. His eyes are tightly closed, and he’s moaning words in his sleep, the sounds barely comprehensible.
“No,” he says, his head moving from side to side. “No, please, let me go,” then a long strained, “Mom.”
I look up at his face, and it’s drawn into a tight mixture of desperation and despair. I have no idea what to do. My only experience of nightmares is the boogeyman my little brother Dylan struggled with for about two months when he was six.
Landon makes another tortured sound and, unsure of what to do, I put my arms around him, stroking his chest as I pray for his nightmare to end. It finally does, his body relaxing as sleep takes over. I stay awake long after, still stroking him lightly, until finally, I fall asleep again.
“WHEN are you coming back?” Laurie mock-wails on the phone. “I just managed to escape from the moms. They were driving me crazy asking-but-not-asking when me and Brett are planning to get married.”
“Hehe.” I laugh gleefully, pleased that I had a valid reason to avoid the Foster family Sunday lunch. Though I’d have liked to see my dad, Dylan, Uncle Taylor, who always proclaims that I’m his favorite niece no matter how many times I remind him that I’m his only niece, and Aunt Jacie, even though she always conspires with my mom as if they’re the twins in the family. “Did they make their signature Foster family everything salad?” I ask Laurie.
“Arghh, don’t remind me. Brett loved it though.” I hear the sound of a kiss. “He says hurry back home, and that you’re not fooling anyone into thinking you’re getting any work done over there.”
“Tell him I said boo.”
She laughs. “I miss you, but don’t hurry back just because of me.”
After we hang up, Landon looks up from whatever he’s reading on his tablet. He looks handsome and well rested, his wavy hair gleaming, making me want to run a hand through the silky strands. “Your cousin?”
“Yup,” I reply. We’re back in the city, on our way back to the hotel after spending the morning exploring the rocky beach, lying in the sun, and making love in the warmth of the patio. I haven’t mentioned his nightmare, and I’m not sure I should. I don’t know what I can do to help, or if I’m even equipped to.
“She must miss you,” he says, still talking about Laurie.
“Nah, she just misses having someone to torture with her teasing.” I chuckle at Landon’s frown. “I’m joking, I miss her too.”
He considers me for a moment. “Maybe I can cheer you up,” he suggests. “How would you like to go to a party tonight?”
“A party?”
“Well, not really a party per se. It’s the opening night gala for the San Francisco Ballet.”
A gala? “Isn’t that a big deal?”
He shrugs. “I wasn’t planning to go, but I thought you might want to. My mother used to be part of the company before she was hired away to New York. I’ve always been a sponsor.”
My first thought is that I have nothing to wear to a high society gala. “Well, thanks for telling me now,” I say, lips pursed, “instead of when I could have actually packed a dress to wear to a ball.”
He smiles at my petulance. “Don’t worry about what to wear—that’s what fairy godmothers are for.”
“If you were the fairy godmother, Cinderella would never have made it to the ball,” I tease. “She wouldn’t even want to, not with the multiple orgasms she’d be getting in the pumpkin carriage.”
“I wouldn’t ruin a children’s fairy tale just for sex,” he replies, chuckling, “but thanks for letting me know you think I’m more desirable than Prince Charming.”
I laugh softly. “I love how humble you are.”
His blue eyes hold mine. “Is that all you love?”
The question is a replay of the one I asked him in an earlier conversation, so I repeat the same words he replied the first time. “You have no idea.”
True to Landon’s promise, there are delivery boxes on my bed when we arrive back at the suite. The larger box contains a dress covered in layers of tissue, another contains underwear, and yet another contains matching shoes which are exactly my size. I pull the dress out of the box, feeling the exquisite material brush against my skin. It’s a deep purple gown made out of the softest, most luxurious silk. Holding it against my body, I walk over to the adjoining dressing room to look in the mirror. It’s gorgeous.
After hanging up the dress, I return to my room to find Landon waiting for me at the door. “I’m going to be in the library. I have a long call to make.”
On a Sunday? is my first thought, but I suppose with everything he has to take care of, he probably works every single day. “Thanks for the dress.”
“I should be thanking you. You’ll save me from drowning in socialites, I promise.”
“I can look fierce and glare at any woman who comes within two feet of you.”
“That would be ideal,” he says, his blue eyes serious. “There’re going to be a few people here later to help you get ready.
I grin. “Yay! Pampering!”
He looks amused. “I’ll just hide out in the library ’til they’re gone.”
“You’re scared of makeup brushes and hair styling tools?”
“Not scared.” He pauses. “Just wary of the whole process, although I have no doubt I’ll appreciate the results.”
“You will,” I say confidently.
“As I said, I have no doubt.” He makes no move to go, leaning on the door frame as he looks at me. There’s a strange half-smile on his face. “A week has never seemed so short,” he says finally before leaving me reeling with all the possible implications and interpretations of that simple statement.
LANDON’S few people turn out to be an army of five from the hotel spa. They arrive after I finally finish working on Mark’s comments and sending the second draft of the article to him so he can read it first thing tomorrow morning.
After I take a quick shower, they give me the hair, nail, and makeup treatment. By the time they’re done, I look and feel like a glamorous Hollywood star on the red carpet.
When I’m ready, I leave my room and find Landon waiting in the living room. At the sight of him, my breath catches in my throat.
It’s really unfair for one man to have so much, to look so perfect, to achieve all that he has and still be blessed with such incredible sex appeal. His black tuxedo is perfectly molded to his figure like it was custom made for him—which it probably was. His hair is brushed backward into sleek waves that curl at the ends, but the dark gold strands are already finding their way out of the orderly arrangement. As I enter the room, he turns to look at me, his eyes gleaming with sensual intensity as they travel over my body.
He strides toward me, his movements both sure and graceful. “You look ravishing.” His eyes make no attempt to hide the fact that he’d like to be doing the ravishing.
“I had help.”
He makes a dismissive sound. “No, this is all you.”
My stomach tingling with the compliment, I follow him out of the suite.
There’s a limo downstairs and once we’re inside, he pulls a black velvet box from his inner jacket pocket and opens it to reveal a glittering diamond choker and earrings. The colors are perfect for my gown, and they are beautiful.
“God, it’s perfect,” I whisper.
“I’m glad you think so.” He takes the choker out of the box. “May I?”
“I don’t…” I look from the obviously expensive piece of jewelry to him. “I don’t think I can take this.”
He looks surprised. “Why not? It’s just jewelry.”
“Very expensive jewelry.”
He looks at me. “You wouldn’t feel better about it if it were cheap.”
“That’s not the point.” I pause. “How many women have you given jewelry?”
There’s a short pause before he replies. “A few.”
“Well, this makes me feel like one of ‘your’ women, and I don’t want to feel like I’m being given expensive gifts for spending time with you.”
He grins, his teeth gleaming white in the dimness of the car. “Even if I had any ‘women,’ I’d never consider you as ‘one of them.’ He clasps the choker around my neck, his hands lingering at my nape before he pulls them back and gives me the earrings. “Consider it a loan then, just for tonight. They look wonderful on you.”
The limo drops us off, and we walk up a flight of steps to the entrance of the public building where the pre-performance reception and dinner is being held. There are flashing lights everywhere as cameras go off. We walk into the lobby, where cocktails are being served, and I spot a few famous faces. There are politicians and Hollywood stars liberally sprinkled among the designer-suited moguls, trophy wives dripping with diamonds, and powerful women with the aura of confidence that only comes from facing the world on their own terms. Landon navigates a politely reserved path through them all, stopping for a word here, a handshake there, and a compliment for some of the women.
I’m enjoying myself, sipping my champagne while watching Landon engage in light conversation with a couple he just introduced to me, when a man who, though handsome, looks as if he’s already drunk too much, steps directly into our path.
“I suppose now you have more reason to be in San Francisco,” he says to Landon, his expression practically dripping with hatred. He turns to look at me, his eyes traveling insolently up and down my body. “Something else you’ve bought, I presume.”
“You need to learn to control your tongue if you don’t want to get your nose broken,” Landon replies, his expression retaining the mask of politeness even though I can hear a dangerous bite in his voice. “You already lost too much to risk losing that pretty face of yours too, haven’t you, Sinclair?”
I recognize the name as the man blanches, involuntarily rubbing the nose in question before turning and walking away. He’s Evans Sinclair, the former owner of the Gold Dust Hotel.
Landon watches his retreating form with hard, uncompromising eyes, and I’m reminded of Jack’s warning about his ruthlessness in business. “Well, that’s one person who doesn’t like you,” I say lightly.
“He happens to be one person whose good opinion I can do without.”
“Hey Red,” a familiar voice says from behind me. I turn around and see Cameron McDaniel’s broad smile and friendly eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re still hanging out with this one.” He nods in Landon’s direction.
I smile back. “I hate to disappoint you, but I am indeed.”
He shakes his head in an exaggerated gesture of mournfulness. “More’s the pity,” he intones.
“Shut up and stop badmouthing me,” Landon says good-naturedly. They grin at each other and do the quick bro-hug thing before Landon turns to the person beside Cameron, a slightly built dark-haired woman whose tummy has a slight roundness that hints at early pregnancy.
“Hey Jules,” he says, kissing her on both cheeks. “How are you?”
“Knocked up.” She sighs and turns to me. “I’m Jules McDaniel, Cameron’s wife.”
“Rachel Foster. I’m here with Landon.”
“Okay.” She takes my hand and turns to her husband and Landon. “Where’s our table, or are you two planning to keep a pregnant woman standing all night?”
It’s almost comic the way her words galvanize them into action. They start off to find the table, engaging the help of an usher, who checks his chart and leads us to a table close to the raised podium, where a slideshow of dancers is showing on a huge screen.
The table is empty except for us. While Cameron is busy pulling out a seat for Jules, two additions show up to join us.
“I’m glad you could make it,” the distinguished older man with short silver hair and sparkling eyes says to Landon before his eyes skip to me. “Please introduce me to your lovely companion.”
Landon introduces us. The man is Nelson Bledsoe, a self-made cosmetics billionaire who made his fortune developing and selling a line of men’s skin and hair care products. He’s also a sponsor of the ballet company. While Landon speaks, the man’s companion, a beautiful dark-haired girl with olive skin, sloe eyes, and a striking red mermaid gown, never takes her eyes off him.
While I’m still wondering if she’s his trophy girlfriend, Nelson turns to Landon. “I’m sure you don’t remember my daughter Davina. You only met her once.”
“At my father’s funeral ten years ago,” Landon says, looking at her. “You’ve changed.”
She smiles. “So have you.”
Something about the exchange puts me on edge. Ten years ago, Landon was nineteen, and since the girl looks at least a few years younger than me, that puts her at about twelve or less, so definitely nothing could have happened between them at the time. Even so, there’s just something about the way she’s looking at him that makes me think maybe she wants a lot more from this reunion than just hello.
“Davina served on the board for the gala this year,” her father says proudly. “She’s now a swan in her own right.”
“In San Francisco at least,” Davina says in a tone that makes me think she’s more interested in conquering the rest of the world.
“Let’s sit.” Nelson pulls out a chair for his daughter while Landon does the same for me, and I can’t help but notice that Davina is on his other side. He says something to her and she smiles, and I feel a thin sliver of jealousy slice its way through my stomach.
This is ridiculous, I tell myself, ignoring the rich sound of Landon’s laughter as he discusses something with Nelson. I have absolutely no reason, no right to be jealous. I turn to Jules on my other side. She’s asking about my gown while looking longingly at the glasses of champagne being consumed around the table. I answer her questions, and while Cameron joins the conversation Landon is having with Nelson, Jules tells me about her work in restaurant management, through which she met her husband.
I hear Landon laugh again, and I turn to look at him, admiring the raw beauty in his profile. At that moment, he looks toward me and catches me staring. His piercing blue eyes hold mine, and he reaches for my hand under the table, squeezing it gently. In that moment, it’s just the two of us; nobody else exists, nobody else matters.
I turn away from his gaze, feeling confused and emotional.
“So Rachel,” Nelson says from across the table with a smile in my direction. “How would you compare the new San Francisco version to Swanson Court in New York?”
“I haven’t visited the New York hotel extensively, but from what I’ve seen, I’d say San Francisco tends more toward modern luxury, while New York is timeless elegance.”
“Well put.” Nelson nods.
“Modern luxury is the exact concept we had in mind for the refurbishment,” Landon adds. “It’s very gratifying that Rachel thinks we succeeded.”
I meet his eyes, and he’s looking at me, a small smile playing on his lips. “Your team did an excellent job bringing out the concept in their design.”
“Landon lives at the Swanson Court,” Davina says pointedly, her eyes on me. “If you haven’t spent a lot of time there, then you two are not very close.”
Oh, we’re close, I want to tell her, just to wipe the smirk from her face, but I resist the urge. “We’re as close as we need to be—I’m only writing a feature on his hotel.”
“Hmm.” She smiles. “Of course.”
“Landon here has a knack for building hotels people can’t resist,” Nelson tells me. “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.”
My interest is piqued. “You knew Landon’s father?”
“Yes, I did,” he says. “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’.”
Landon is still holding my hand, and I feel his fingers stiffen. Then he releases my hand and places his on the table, turning his gaze toward the exhibition of pictures on the large screen. His face is suddenly blank, his expression inscrutable, and I remember the nightmare he had last night. All Nelson’s talk about his parents can only be awakening the painful memories from the day he lost his mother.
Feeling sad for him, I manage to change the subject, steering Nelson to conversations about his company. Food is served by solicitous waiters while the sponsors and chairs give their speeches. Later, we all move to the opera house across the street where the opening night performances will take place.
From the moment the curtain rises the first time to the end of the last performance, the audience is transfixed. I enjoy the performances, thinking how Laurie would have loved to see them. I’m also worried about Landon, seeing how he might be reminded of his mother.
After the last performances, we go back across the street for the after party. Landon leads me to the dance floor, his hand at my waist molding my body to his as he moves in time to the slow ballad a popular singer is belting out from the stage.
I rest my head on his chest, breathing in the seductive scent of his cologne, the expertise with which he moves his body making me think of how well he uses it to give pleasure.
“Enjoying yourself?” He whispers the question into my ear.
I look up at him. “I am.”
He nods and continues to lead me in the dance.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” I ask, still looking at his face.
His smile is sensual. “I have a lot to look forward to.”
The words make me shiver in anticipation. I know exactly what he’s talking about, and I feel the same way.
I take a breath, knowing I should change the subject before the lust that’s suddenly growing in my body takes over me completely.
“When Nelson was talking about your parents earlier…” I start, almost faltering when a frown creases his brow, but I soldier on. “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.”
He sighs. “I wasn’t upset. I would just rather not think about it.”
I nod. “I can imagine.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t. Not really.” He’s looking straight ahead. “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 that they were lies, if he wasn’t right in front of her, she drove herself to jealousy imagining that he was with someone else.”
I’d read the tabloid rumors about Preston Court’s affairs. It would have been so easy for someone to believe them, especially someone who loved him.
“The day we had the accident, some busy body called her about yet another rumor. My father had recently decided to expand the hotels. He was trying to acquire property in L.A. She didn’t wait to hear his side. She took off her ring and left a note then bundled us in the car with all our favorite books and toys, so I knew wherever we were going, we wouldn’t be back for a long time.” He takes a deep breath. “We never found out where she meant to take us. Car crashed. She died. End of story.”
I stare at him, unable to process how painful it must have been. “Landon…”
“Aidan didn’t utter a word for the next five years,” he continues without emotion. “My father was never the same. People like to say he became a recluse, but the truth is, he abandoned me and Aidan in the hotel under the care of the staff and locked himself up in the house in Sand’s Point, trying 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.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, feeling the inadequacy of the words even as I say them. For one person to have so much pain, so many wounds…I can’t even begin to comprehend. An overwhelming instinct to comfort him takes over me, and I tighten my arms around him, holding him close as we dance. He doesn’t pull away, so I lay my head on his shoulder, feeling the reassuring thump of his heartbeat, so close to me.
“I don’t know why I told you all that,” I hear him say. “You shouldn’t think too much about it. It’s all ancient history.”
I look up at him. “But you dream about it.”
He stiffens. “What?”
I take a breath, wondering how he’ll take the knowledge that I witnessed his pain. “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.” I pause. “It’s why you hardly sleep isn’t it? Because you still dream about it.”
He doesn’t answer, but he moves back a little, putting some distance between us.
“Have you talked to anyone about it?” I ask, unwilling to leave the issue.
He considers me for a few moments. “Let it go,” he says finally.
I frown. “I’m just trying to help.”
“I don’t need your help,” he says quietly, “and just to be clear, it’s really none of your business.”
My body stiffens at the words that firmly and resolutely put me in my place. It’s not my business because, regardless of all the time we’ve spent together, I’m still just a girl he’s sleeping with.
I swallow, unwilling to acknowledge the tightness in my stomach, the shard of pain suddenly lodged in my chest. I force a smile to my lips. “You’re right, it isn’t.”
After that, we dance in silence until Nelson cuts in, leaving Landon free to give Jules McDaniel a few twirls on the floor.
I dance with Cameron, and then another man, and yet another, determined to enjoy myself. The singer leaves the stage and a DJ takes over. The tempo of the music picks up and I dance with a white-haired man who twirls me round and round with much too much energy for someone his age.
I can feel Landon’s eyes on me most of the time, but I ignore him. Even when I see the swans converge on him, the beautiful socialites who had chaired the gala, I force myself to look away. I can’t pretend, even to myself, that his words didn’t hurt me. Why do I care so much? So what if he didn’t want to open up to me? It shouldn’t matter, and it wouldn’t if I had just kept my feelings out of our arrangement.
When I get tired, I leave the ballroom to find the ladies room. Facing the large mirror over the sinks, I do the best I can to touch up my makeup before returning to the hall. Almost immediately, I see Landon at one end of the room with Davina Bledsoe, who is obviously flirting with him.
I don’t care. After tonight, he’s free to pursue her to the ends of the earth if that’s what he wants. In fact, I decide, he can start right now if he likes. There’s nothing preventing me from leaving this place. I turn toward the entrance and walk only two steps before someone blocks my way.
It’s the sneering man from earlier. “We didn’t get introduced before,” he says, leaning toward me. “I’m Evans Sinclair.”
I recoil from the heavy smell of alcohol on his breath. “I know.”
“Well then, you have me at a disadvantage. What’s your name?”
I hesitate. “Rachel Foster.”
“So, Rachel Foster. Why don’t we have a little dance, you and I?”
“I’m sorry.” I manage a polite smile. “I’m tired.”
“Come on,” he cajoles. “If you can put it out for Landon then you can do the same for me.”
I look him up and down, annoyance at his rudeness making me want to say something nasty to him, but I control myself. “Go find someone else to insult,” I say dismissively. “You’re only making me bored.”
For a moment, he looks surprised. Then he looks across the room to where Landon is still talking with Davina.
He smirks. “He’s abandoned you already, hasn’t he? And you’re fucking him. Bastard. A few months ago, that was my sister. He’s been fucking her for years, told her he loved her. Then the moment he got her to convince the board of my hotel to make me sell it to him, he dropped her like the hot smelly potato she is. The bitch.”
He has a hateful expression on his face as he speaks, his anger coming off him in waves. I’m suddenly afraid he might hurt me, just to spite Landon. I want to tell him it wouldn’t be worth it, because Landon obviously does not give a damn about me.
“I don’t know why you’re telling me this,” I say in a measured tone. “It’s none of my business.”
“You’re a coward as well as a whore, aren’t you? You can’t even face the truth about the man you’re fucking.”
“I don’t know who you think you are, but don’t ever insult me again.” I push past him, dodging the hand he holds out to restrain me. What a douchebag!
I stalk to the entrance. The photographers are gone, and without the crush of people and cars from earlier, it feels cold and windy. I’m about to retrieve my phone from my purse and try to find a way to get a cab when Landon appears beside me.
“Where’re you going?”
“What do you care?” I snap without looking at him.
There’s a short pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You should go back in there. I’m sure Davina is waiting, and you seemed to enjoy flirting with her. I don’t mind. I just don’t want to sit there and endure being harassed by someone who hates your guts.”
His jaw tightens. “What did Sinclair say to you?”
“Who cares? I’ve already forgotten.” I look up at his eyes. “Like everything else about you, it’s really none of my business.”
His face turns to granite. “Fine,” he says. “You want to leave, let’s go.” He brings out his phone to call the chauffeur, and the limo arrives almost immediately. I get in, staying on my side of the car and looking determinedly out of the window. Tomorrow, I’ll be back home, I keep telling myself, and then I can put him—all this—behind me. I’ll never have to see him again.
The thought of never seeing him again hurts so much, my eyes start to ache with unshed tears.
At the Rosemont, I leave him in the car and hurry through the lobby, getting to the elevator before he catches up with me. When he joins me, I move as far away from him as I can, keeping my eyes on the display panel. I can feel his eyes on me, but I ignore him.
As soon as the elevator doors open to the suite, I start to walk toward my room.
“Rachel.” His voice makes me stop in my tracks.
Slowly, I turn to face him. “What?”
He sighs. “Look, whatever Sinclair said to you…I’m sorry. I’m the one he hates, not you, and he really doesn’t matter.”
“Yeah…and neither do I, or this…whatever it is we’re doing. It doesn’t matter, because by tomorrow, we’ll be back home and it’ll be over.” I sigh. “Which is for the best anyway.”
He is silent for a long moment. “If you’re so eager for it to end,” he says finally, his voice cold, “we don’t have to wait ’til tomorrow.”
“Is that what you want?” I demand. “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?”
“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.”
I asked because I care. I really care, and to hear him dismiss it as pity is hurtful.
He’s not done. “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,” I retort, angry at myself because he was right—I was jealous. “Why would I be? You’re just some guy I’m having sex with, for now.”
His jaw tightens and I falter. The words are so far off from what I really feel that I almost take them back, but my resentment wins and I don’t.
“Thanks for clearing that up,” he says quietly.
I fold my arms, stubbornly meeting the anger in his eyes. “It should never have been in doubt.”
“Of course not.” His movements are jerky as he starts to loosen his tie. “After all, only a few days ago, you were entertaining your ex-boyfriend. 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,” I spit at him.
His face hardens. “Then you must be a glutton for punishment,” he says scornfully. “Why don’t you go to him now? Pack your bags, the 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?”
The things he’s saying, the disdain in his voice… I swallow my hurt. “Fuck you, Landon.” Turning on my heel, I start to leave, but he stops me with a hand at my waist, pulling me against his body.
“I have and I will,” he says through gritted teeth. “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.”
With his proximity and his words, my body has already turned to liquid desire, but I’d rather die than give in to him. “Why are you so concerned about him?” I ask heatedly. “Why do you care so much?”
“Why?” He threads his fingers in my hair and lifts my face to his. With his other hand, he gathers my dress up, his fingers finding their way between my legs. “Because right now, you’re mine.”
He starts to stroke me through my panties, the sensual gleam in his eyes telling me he’s aware of how wet I already am, how much I want him, even now. His fingers move and my hips grind involuntarily. “I’m not yours,” I spit at him.
“Aren’t you?” He pulls the crotch of my panties aside, his fingers moving over my wet sex. “You’re so turned on,” he continues before plunging his fingers inside me, making me gasp in shock and pleasure. With his other hand, he unzips my dress, freeing the bodice enough to pull it down along with my strapless bra. My breasts are heaving, the pink tips fully extended. A sound escapes him, the mixture of aggravation and arousal equal to what I’m feeling. “Does he make you feel like this?” Landon continues, his fingers driving me crazy. “Does he make you so hungry to fuck even when you know you should be angry?”
I can’t think past his fingers inside me, his hot mouth as he bends to take a nipple between his lips, but I’m not ready to let go of my anger. “Maybe he does,” I taunt. “Maybe I’m thinking about him right now.”
His hand stiffens, and I feel his fingers press deeply inside me, until I can feel his knuckles pressing against the wet surface of my sex. Involuntarily, my hips roll, rubbing my body against his hand.
“You don’t mean that,” he cautions.
“Don’t I?” I force a breathless laugh. “Maybe you think you’re the only one who’s allowed to be an ass.”
He releases me, his fingers pulling out of me as he lets my dress fall back to the ground. I sway slightly, unable to balance on my feet, and my hand reaches out to steady myself on the back of the sofa. My body is pulsing, inches away from coming, my exposed breasts aching with each heavy breath I take.
His face is tight with control. I can see the hard ridge of his erection in his pants, but he makes no move toward me. He’s really going to leave me like this.
Furiously, I reach behind me and pull down the zipper of my dress all the way, tearing it off and bundling it a huge ball before I throw it at Landon’s face. “Fuck you.” I hurl the words at him.
He advances toward me, his movement lightning quick. One moment he’s standing in front of me, the next I’m bent over the back of the sofa. “I already said I was going to.” His whisper is rough against my ear.
I hear his buckle and the ripping of fabric as he tears off my panties. The next moment he’s probing my wet sex with his cock, giving me no warning before he plunges deep inside.
There’s no gentleness in what he’s doing, and it’s exactly what I need. He fucks me hard, pulling my arms up and pinning my wrists together. With each thrust, my nipples rub roughly on the leather of the sofa. I feel helpless, boneless, as if nothing matters but his cock inside me, stretching me, stroking me, setting me on hot, sweet fire.
He bends over me, reaching for my hair and turning my head to the side.
“Look at me,” he commands.
I do as he says, crying out with each hard thrust. His face is drawn into an expression of stark arousal. “I want you to be sure who’s fucking you right now,” he says, his voice rough as he pumps hard into me.
My eyes glaze and I let out a long moan. “Don’t stop,” I beg.
He releases my hair and squeezes one of my breasts. “You like it, don’t you?”
My hips are shaking. “I love it,” I moan, close to coming.
“Fuck! Rachel,” he groans loudly, growing harder inside me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
The helpless arousal in his voice sends me over the edge. I cry out, my legs giving way as I come. He continues to pound into me, his hand tightening on my breast and a deep growl tearing from his lips as he explodes inside me.
He buries his face in my hair. “Rachel.” He says my name as if it’s a prayer. “God, Rachel, you have no idea how you make me feel…no idea how crazy you make me.”
My brain is foggy, unable to focus, but his words penetrate my clouded mind. How I make him feel?
He pulls me up, gathering me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I lost my head for a moment, but 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…” He searches for the right word.
I remember what I felt earlier, when he was talking with Davina Bledsoe, and I turn my face to look up at him. “Jealous? Possessive?”
He chuckles. “Crazy…enraged?”
I sigh, confusion and sadness taking over me. He hurt me by dismissing me when I asked about his dreams, and he hurt me again by throwing Jack in my face. I hurt him, too, by taunting him with Jack—but we shouldn’t have been able to hurt each other. The whole idea of our arrangement had been the sex.
I take a shuddering breath. “Landon,” I start softly, “you weren’t…we weren’t supposed to feel anything at all.”
“No,” he agrees quietly. “We weren’t.”
He’s still holding me, and in the warmth of his arms, I start to wonder what kind of chance we have after tonight. I was the one who insisted our arrangement would only last for a week, but he’d agreed, which had to mean it was what he wanted too…or did it?
I pull back from his arms. I’m naked, with only my bra hanging somewhere around my middle. He unhooks it, dropping it to the ground. It’s so clear in my mind that I don’t want this to be the end. I want to tell him I want us to keep seeing each other, but I’m afraid. The last time I opened up to a guy emotionally, he threw my feelings back in my face.
Looking up at Landon, I know that if he ever rejects me, I won’t be able to bear it.
I link my arms around his neck. If this is going to be our final night together, I want to make the most of it. Pulling his face toward mine, I start to kiss him. His hands tighten on my back, his fingers flexing as he pulls me flush against him.
He lifts me off my feet, still kissing me as he carries me into my room, where he makes short work of his remaining clothes.
“I’m addicted to your body,” he says almost reverently, tracing his fingers over my arms. “I can’t get enough of you.”
I sigh and pull his face down so I can kiss him again. My whole body is trembling, not just from arousal, but because I feel so emotional, on the verge of tears. I feel as if I’m breaking, and I just want him to touch me, to make me forget that the thought of losing him is driving me crazy.
He lays me on the bed, his mouth tracing a path from my lips to my breasts. He takes a nipple in his mouth, sucking deeply while simultaneously slipping a finger between my legs, spreading my wet lips, and sliding a finger over my clit. Of their own accord, my legs spread wider, opening up to him, and I hear him moan against my breast.
He looks up. “I love how ready you always are, how wet.” His voice is a seductive whisper as he continues to play with my clit. His eyes are looking deep into mine, inviting me to drown in their depths as his fingers work between my legs, driving me to another round of sweet, helpless pleasure.
“Yes,” I moan, moving my hips. He lowers his head back to my breasts, moving his mouth from one swollen nipple to the other, grazing the aching skin with his teeth.
He plunges his fingers inside me then pulls them out slowly. my body clenches around them, aching for more. I feel his erection against my leg and almost come just from the thought of him inside me again.
Removing his fingers from between my legs, he moves lower on the bed, stroking the insides of my thighs lightly before wrapping his hands around them and holding them apart while he bends his head to stroke me with his tongue.
I almost explode from pleasure. His tongue moves in sure flicks, licking my clit then sucking deeply. Heat spreads like flames through my body, incoherent pleas escaping my lips as I beg him never to stop. When his fingers join his tongue, I feel as if I’m hovering on the point of madness. My fingers grip the sheets. My hips buck uncontrollably against his mouth, a tight scream escaping me as I lose myself in a bone-shaking climax.
He lifts his head, watching my face as I recover. I rise from the bed, getting on my knees as I push him to lie on his back. His cock is erect, facing upward like a thick, hard mast. Bracing my hands on his chest, I straddle him, slowly lowering my body until he’s completely sheathed inside me.
His hips grind up into me, a small groan escaping his lips. “You feel so good,” he says.
His hand grips my hip as I move up then slide back down. His lips open. “Fuck,” he breathes.
My body clenches around him as I ride him again. Sweat beads on my skin, and his low grunts blend with my soft moans. He grips my waist, holding me still as he braces his back on the bed, pounding his hips up at me. He’s fucking me so hard, so fast, making me a helpless mass of warm, hot pleasure. My body starts to pulse uncontrollably, and then I’m exploding, spiraling into a sea of nothing but pure ecstasy.
His hands tighten around my waist, his hips pumping as he thrusts deep into me with an explosive groan. The movement lifts my knees off the bed, and I feel the warmth as he spurts his pleasure inside me. I fall onto his chest and his arms cover me, holding me to him. I’m almost drifting to sleep when he moves, laying me on my side and pulling the covers over me. Then he picks up his clothes from the floor, putting on his pants before he leaves the room, and me.