Roxy took my breath away. She always had. I’d given some thought to how I’d handle things if I were to somehow see her again, but not in a long time. I hadn’t considered it that likely. Yet I didn’t think I could have prepared for the moment I’d just had with her. It felt surreal, as if it was only a figment of my imagination.
“Goddamn, I don’t recall her being that hot last time I saw her,” Trevor intoned behind me, and I seriously contemplated knocking him on his ass.
Had he always been this abrasive and uncouth? How had he and I been so close growing up if every other word out of his big mouth made me want to sock him in the gut?
Or had I transformed so much in the past few years that I’d outgrown him?
The problem was, Roxy was hot. I loathed admitting to myself that I agreed with Trevor’s assessment of her, but he had a point. As gloriously beautiful as Roxy had been when we were kids, I couldn’t deny that she’d become even more alluring. Even sexier than I remembered.
The last time I’d seen her, she was eighteen and slender. Well, skinny might have been a better descriptor. Her mother’s lack of ability to keep the same job two months in a row meant that often she hadn’t had enough food to eat.
I’d taken care of that as much as I could once we started going out. I’d have our family chef prepare a lunch large enough for two every day, then we’d sneak off somewhere and I’d feed it to her piece by piece while nibbling on her neck.
As long as I distracted her, her Southern girl pride wouldn’t rise up to indignantly remind me she didn’t need anyone’s charity. As long as I distracted her, especially in that manner, I could get away with nearly anything.
Her dark chestnut hair was longer than it used to be, falling in shiny waves all the way to her waist. Her seafoam eyes had grayish half-moons beneath them, which was worrying. She’d worn a simple black t-shirt and denim shorts that hit her mid-thigh, showing enough leg to make me notice how pale she was – in the past, she spent as much time in the sun as possible, bronzing her skin and leaving tan lines that drove me insane.
Except for these few aberrations, everything else about this version of Roxy had done nothing but draw me to her. She’d gained a curviness to her physique, a voluptuousness that enticed me more than I cared to admit. Her breasts and hips had become noticeably plumper and softer.
They looked so enticing, in fact, that I was grateful that I hadn’t unbuttoned my suit jacket despite the sweltering heat. The extra layer of fabric helped to conceal my body’s visible reaction to her.
That was something else I was reacclimating to, the ridiculously high temperatures and humidity. After those years in the cool fogginess of England, being back in Louisiana was like diving headfirst into a sauna. It made breathing harder and perspiring a certainty. Though I could blame both of those on laying eyes on Roxy again, too.
Even nearly five years later, my desire for her hadn’t diminished. Not even a little. I recollected all too clearly what it had been like to hold her, to touch her, to be inside her. The passage of time hadn’t dulled my memory of her calling out my name when she climaxed in my arms. I didn’t think anything but a full lobotomy could ever make me forget.
So the question was, what should I do about it? Should I seek her out and get to know her again? Our meeting was so unexpected that I hadn’t asked her three quarters of the questions I’d wanted to. Why had she shut me out of her life? How could she have fallen out of love with me so easily? Had there been extenuating circumstances for her blocking me like I was an aggravating telemarketer or had she merely grown sick of me?
My mind and heart had circled around these inquiries on and off for four and a half years. I deserved answers. And if I developed a plan to seek her out, I could have them. It might hurt to know she’d cast me aside like week-old garbage, but I’d convinced myself long ago that knowing was better than not knowing.
Once I knew, I could at least stop my incessant speculation. I could let her go rather than feel like a serrated knife was slicing into my chest every time I thought about her.
That was my theory, anyway.
I couldn’t help being bothered by the fact that she appeared to work here at the club. She hadn’t been dressed like a server or bartender, so that left me with a disturbing option I’d rather not think about. I had no idea what had happened in the time I’d been away, but if Roxy had stooped to selling her body, I didn’t think I could handle it.
Shit, I knew I couldn’t handle it.
Even the idea of it made me furious. I couldn’t do anything about her dating other men or being in other relationships, but if she’d decided the best way to make a living was to lay back and spread her legs, I’d feel compelled to do something about it. Maybe it was no longer my concern or even my business, but it didn’t feel that way. In my heart of hearts, Roxy would forever be mine, and I couldn’t let her risk herself like that.
If some john harmed her or God forbid, killed her – which I knew happened all the damn time in that line of work – I couldn’t live with it. I’d never get over it. Not ever.
Hell, I hadn’t gotten over her yet, and that was before I realized what she’d become.
Well, might’ve become. I couldn’t be sure that she’d taken on the guise of a streetwalker. I needed to speak with her. Make certain she was alright. If it turned out that she wasn’t what I suspected, I could butt out after that. I’d respect her wishes, even though it would suck super hard to have her drift back into my life again, only for her to traipse right back out of it.
Things between us felt unfinished because they were. But I could take care of that. If we met and hashed things out, answered each other’s queries unflinchingly, then we’d probably feel better. I knew I would feel better. Getting to the bottom of the truth was always the way to go. Right?
“Hey, Houston to Jaxson Liddell. Do we have a problem?” Christ, Trevor was such a goober.
“What do you want, Trevor?”
“Just checking to see if you’re still alive inside that husk of yours. You’ve been ogling that closed door for the past five minutes.”
He must’ve been exaggerating. I didn’t do things like that. Waste time lost in my thoughts like that. Or at least, I hadn’t in a long time. Not in four and a half years, in fact. Christ, just one brief moment with Roxy had me turned upside down.
“Do me a favor, will you? Go find the driver in the parking area and have him pull the car around.”
Trevor threw a look at me that was half-smirk and half-incredulity. “Can’t you just call him and have him show up at the front door?”
Yes, but I wanted Trevor out of my hair. I was going to make a call I didn’t need him overhearing. Instead of answering, I tilted my chin down and narrowed my gaze at him, communicating in no uncertain terms that he needed to get lost. Did he actually want me to say the words? After a short standoff, he ultimately took the hint. Finally.
He stalked off, huffing and sounding put out, but I didn’t care. I pulled out my cell and the number handwritten on a business card. The card was of excellent stock, thick and feathered along the edges but blank other than the markings. The Wish Maker was an odd duck. I dialed it, requesting an appointment for today. I wasn’t willing to wait more than a few hours.
I felt like I’d waited long enough.
When I entered the same quasi-office I’d gone into less than an hour before, I stalked in like a military commander. Unlike the last occasion we’d met, this time I knew precisely what I wanted, and I didn’t plan to be the teeniest bit squirrely about it, either.
The Wish Maker lifted her senior citizen gaze to mine, but I didn’t give her the opportunity to speak.
“Get rid of the dating profile I gave you before. I know precisely who I want.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t move a muscle. For the first time, I noticed a four-legged cane setting off to the side and pondered whether it was just for show. I couldn’t tell. I decided then and there to never sit down to a poker game with this woman. She was impossible to read. But then, I wasn’t here to read her. I was here to make a demand.
“Who is it, then?”
“Roxanne Miller.”