“Ask me how old you are again,” he grumbled. “I think I’d like to change my answer.”
He brushed off crumbs from his shirt as I kept laughing.
But then we both jerked, a knock on the front door catching our attention.
Jack looked to me, a question in his eyes, but I shrugged. I had no idea who would be knocking on my door. He was right, after all. I had no friends.
I walked into the hallway, my bare feet quiet against the hardwood floor.
“Who is it?” I called, leaning up on my tiptoes to see into the peephole.
And my stomach instantly dropped. I fell away from the door, landing back on the heels of my feet.
What the hell?
“Easton?” he called through the door. “It’s Tyler Marek.”
I pinched my eyebrows together and shot up, peeping through the hole again.
How does he know where I live?
He was still dressed in the same suit from today, although his tie was loosened and his hair was wet, probably due to the rain. His head was cast downward as he waited, and I dropped to my feet again, realizing I was breathing a mile a minute.
I couldn’t have a parent from school at my house. What did he think he was doing?
I unlocked the dead bolts and chain but opened the door only enough to fit my body between it and the frame.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded. “This is my home.”
He leaned a hand against the door frame and raised his eyebrows, a cocky smile dancing across his face.
“I made you come on a desk this morning,” he pointed out. “I can’t stop by your house?”
A snort that turned into a quiet laugh escaped from behind me, and I peeked over my shoulder to see my brother leaning against the frame between the living room and the entryway, smiling.
“Is someone here?” Tyler stood up straight, narrowing his eyes on me.
I inhaled a deep breath. “What do you want?” I asked, getting to the point.
He pushed his wet hair back over the top of his forehead and stuck his other hand in his pocket, all of a sudden looking nervous.
He cleared his throat, raising his hesitant gaze up to mine. “I want to apologize.”
I let out a bitter laugh. “Don’t worry, Mr. Marek. This morning is our little secret. Just go away.”
I moved to close the door, but he shot out his hand, keeping it open.
“Easton,” he called out, sounding unusually gentle. “I should never have been rough with you today, and I’m sorry.”
Rough with me?
I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “Why?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you sorry?” I demanded, forgetting my brother standing nearby.
Tyler Marek was never gentle, and I’d never given him the impression that I had a problem with that. Why did he suddenly feel bad?
He opened his mouth, looking like he wasn’t sure what to say. “I…” He cleared his throat again. “I just don’t feel like I’ve treated you as well as you should be treated,” he admitted.
I stood there, frozen in place and staring at him suspiciously. What the hell was going on?
When had I ever given him the impression that I couldn’t take what he dished out? And now he was worried about me?
“All right.” My brother grabbed the door and opened it completely, breaking me out of my daze. “I’m out.” He leaned down to kiss my cheek. “Be safe and…” He looked at Tyler as he slipped past both of us and through the door. “We’ll meet another time.”
He jogged down the steps, his dark green T-shirt slowly turning black in the rain as he ran for his Jeep.
Tyler looked after him and then turned to me, cocking his head. “I’m not a jealous man, but for you I might make an exception.”
Huh?
And then I realized he’d never met my brother. He thought Jack was a lover.
“No need to be jealous,” I reassured him. “You’re the parent of a student and nothing more.”
He looked away, shaking his head at my audacity.
But then his expression cleared and he looked at me pointedly. “Why didn’t you tell me you played tennis professionally?” he asked.
My face fell. “You had me investigated?” I accused.
“No. I know how to Google, thank you,” he retorted. “You’re as much of a mystery as my son, so I looked you up.”
My hand fell off the door handle, and I searched my brain for a way to deter him without making him more curious.
He stepped through the door, and I backed away, letting him in.
“There wasn’t so much on Easton Bradbury, the Loyola student or teacher,” he told me, closing the door behind him. “But there were thousands of hits and pictures on you as an athlete.” He inched closer to me, not giving up. “Tennis player, close family, promising future that crashed and burned when…” He trailed off, and I looked up, seeing the uncertainty in his eyes.
I smoothed my hand down my T-shirt and shorts, steeling my spine.
Now he knew everything. Nearly everything.
There were articles, video footage, interviews… My rise had been highly publicized, and so had my fall.
When my parents and sister died on that rainy night in a vicious accident, I’d lost everything. My routine, the world as I knew it, and my desire to play.
Who was I if I wasn’t the star in their lives, and why the hell did I want to play tennis anymore anyway?
It was my fault they’d been driving that night, and when it was time to get back on the court, my will to play was gone. Even now, on the rare occasion I tried, my game had gone to shit.
My magnificent exit and display of temper were forever digitized. I’d forfeited the match and walked off the court, pushing cameras and microphones out of my face as I left for the last time.
“Easton, I’m sorry.” Marek reached out and touched my cheek
But I pushed his hands away and stepped back. “Stop apologizing.”
How dared he act like I needed to be put back together?
“Don’t handle me, Tyler,” I growled. “I’m tired of everyone hovering and sticking their noses in. You don’t matter,” I shot out bitterly, “so stop trying to push your way in.”
I charged into the living room, but he grabbed my arm and swung me back around, pulling me to him. I crashed against his chest, the rain on his clothes like ice against my arms and legs, and my breath caught.
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I don’t matter. I don’t matter so much that there was no way in hell you could say no to me today,” he charged. “And I’d be willing to bet I’m the first man you can’t say no to, because it’s the same way for me.”
He bent his head down to mine, our noses brushing. “You’re strong and proud, resilient and capable. I can see that.” His voice was thick, like he was feeling more than he was saying. “I value those qualities in a person, Easton. You don’t give anyone an inch, and it’s like looking into a mirror, because it’s the same independence I value.” He looked at me like a dare and wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me closer and whispering, “And when I touch you, I can’t explain what I feel, but I know you’re feeling me, too.”
I closed my eyes, inhaling his sweet scent of cologne and leather – probably from his car – and even the cold rain on his clothes couldn’t cool me down now.
I let my head fall to the side against his chest as I spoke, closing my eyes. “Everyone watched me all the time.” I trembled. “The cameras, the crowd, my parents… Everything I did was under a microscope.”
I slipped my arms inside his jacket and wrapped them around his waist.
“If my lips were tight, then I was angry,” I told him, reminiscing about the commentators’ assumptions as they watched me on the court. “If I hesitated, I was scared. If I didn’t smile at the camera, I was a spoilsport…”
I dipped my nose into his shirt, inhaling a long breath before I looked up at
him. “Everything was judged.” I shrugged. “And when my parents and younger sister died in a car accident, it only got worse. Everyone was in my face.”
I pulled away, turning around and crossing my arms over my chest.
“So I started over,” I told him. “Jack and I moved to New Orleans, went to college, and let the past go.”
I turned and locked eyes with him. The room looked so small with him in it, and I realized that he was the first person, other than my brother, who’d been in my apartment. Droplets of rain spilled down his temple and neck, and I licked my lips, trying to keep the libido that was beginning to heat low in my stomach chained.
I cleared my throat. “But after five years, my brother still tries to hold my hand. He still worries about me. Am I happy? Do I smile enough?” I approached Tyler, dropping my arms to my sides. “He forgets that I’m a grown woman.”
I slipped my hand against his, resting it there lightly. “But you don’t,” I whispered, seeing his fist curl, holding mine inside it.
“I didn’t know,” he said softly, his breath fanning across my forehead. “I should’ve treated you —”
I cut him off, looking up. “I like how you are with me. You’re not careful with me. You see more of me than anybody else does.”
I pressed my body against his, arching up on my toes and leaning toward his lips. His breath hitched, and I slipped my hands inside his jacket again and gripped his waist.
“Don’t be careful with me, Tyler,” I whispered, catching his bottom lip, sucking it quickly and then letting it go. “Please,” I pleaded.
And he groaned, closing his eyes and diving in.
He held me to his body and captured my mouth, moving over my lips slow but hard. He tasted cool and fresh, like water, but then he pulled away and dove for my neck.
I gasped, his hot breath on my skin causing chills to spread over my body as he kissed and bit me gently.
“Don’t be careful,” I reminded him in a whimper as I reached up and circled his neck with my arms, holding him to me.
He picked me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, kissing him with full force on the mouth.
“Your clothes are all wet,” I rushed out between kisses, breathless. “Get them off.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, nibbling at my mouth.
“Do what?” I played, licking and biting his jaw, hearing him suck in a breath. “Fuck like animals in my bed upstairs?”
His fingers dug into the skin of my ass, and I went to town with my tongue. I attacked his neck, his jaw, and his lips, squeezing my thighs around him.
“Fuck.” He stilled, holding me tight. “Just wait. Hold on,” he gasped, dropping me back down to my feet and letting me go.
“What’s wrong?” My voice trembled. I was so fucking turned on, and he’d just stopped.
His shoulders slumped slightly, and his face was twisted as he breathed in and out. “Shit, that’s painful,” he cursed, the bulge in his pants hard and ready.
What was he waiting for?
“What’s wrong? Is it Christian?” I asked gently, feeling guilty.
He shook his head. “No,” he choked out. “He’s away for a couple of days.” He jerked his chin to the stairs. “Go get dressed.”
“Why?”
I curled my toes into the floor, my clit pounding like my heartbeat during a run. I didn’t want to leave. What the hell?
“Now,” he ordered, his voice hard and pissed off. “I’m taking you to dinner. Go get dressed.”
TEN
TYLER
I
knew her kind.
It was like looking in a mirror, and I had no doubt that everything she’d told me was true. She was too brave to lie.
But I also knew she was trying to distract me. She didn’t want to open up too much or take off the mask.
Easton Bradbury was a survivor, and she’d ride me to kingdom come if it would get me to stop asking questions.
I’d love every minute, but I didn’t like how she kept me at arm’s length.
I’d always set the boundaries, not the other way around.
She’d gone upstairs, without argument surprisingly, and came back down dressed in a pleated black miniskirt.
It was sexy but tasteful. Her top was off-white and off the shoulder, and it felt like water when I placed my hand on her back and guided her to the car, beneath an umbrella I’d found right beside her door.
Every bar in the Vieux Carre was open, and the streets were flooded with people, despite the heavy rain.
The French Quarter was the highest point in New Orleans, so it rarely flooded, not that flooding would stop the residents. The electric charge in the air only incited the already thick lust for life that flowed in their veins.
Just give them an excuse and there was a party.
Patrick dropped us off at Père Antoine on Royal Street, a block off Bourbon, and I rushed her inside, doing a piss-poor job of not ogling her beautiful legs, decorated with drops of rain, as she followed the hostess to a table and I followed behind.
I sipped my Jameson neat and watched her trail her fingers along the edge of the tablecloth in front of her, her lips moving slightly. The cloth was white with small flowers sewn into the design.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She looked up, her eyes wide.
“I…” She closed her mouth and then opened it again. “I was counting,” she admitted. “It’s kind of a habit I’ve been working on stopping, but sometimes I still find myself doing it.”
“What do you count?”
Her head turned, her eyes scanning the room as she spoke, as if she was afraid to look at me. “I count my steps as I walk sometimes.” She looked down, smoothing her clothes as she went on. “My strokes when I brush my teeth. The number of turns when I use a faucet. Everything has to be an even number.”
I set my drink down. “What if it only takes three turns to get your desired temperature with the faucet?”
She glanced up. “Then I do shorter turns to get to four,” she shot back, a hint of a smile on her face.
I narrowed my eyes, studying her.
She blushed, looking embarrassed as she leaned her elbows on the table and took a drink of her gin and tonic.
Why couldn’t I get a reading on her?
Her face was oval shaped with high cheekbones, and she had big blue eyes that always seemed covered by some kind of filter. I couldn’t look at her and tell what she was thinking.
Her top lip curved downward, making her bottom lip look pouty, both the color of a sullied pink that I wanted to feed on.
Her shoulders were squared, and her jaw was strong, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes, and her breathing was shaky.
So much like a strong woman, but the vulnerability and temper were that of someone who worked very hard to never really face the world.
She wanted me but acted like I could easily be replaced.
I thought about her when we were apart, and I wanted to know that she thought about me too.
“So why do you do it?” I pressed.
She shook her head, shrugging slightly. “It’s soothing, I guess,” she placated.
“Have you talked to anyone about it?”
She met my eyes, holding the glass in her hand as she leaned on the table. “I have. Sporadically,” she added. “Most people like me function just fine, and when I’m busy, I forget about it. But at certain times” – she paused, watching me – “I regress.”
Certain times? Did I make her nervous?
“It just makes me feel better,” she explained. “And sometimes, it’s just a habit.”
I nodded, understanding. “So you count things. What’s your favorite number?”
“Eight.”
I laughed a little. “Didn’t have to think about that, huh?”
She blushed, giving me a timid smile.
Licking her lips, she reached for the container of sweeteners and pulled some out,
setting them side by side on the table.
“Can’t have two,” she told me, looking at me with amusement as she explained, “because if they separate, then they’re alone.” She slid the packets apart, proving her point.
Then she grabbed two more, lining them up with the others. “Can’t have four, because even if there’s two in each group, it’s still only one couple in each group.”
Her voice turned playful, and she seemed to relax as she got caught up in explaining her secret obsession.
She took out more packets, making two groups of three. “And you can’t have six, because if you separate them into two groups of three like this, then there’s three in each group, and that’s an odd number.”
Her eyes widened, looking like that would be the worst thing ever, and I laughed.
She took out two more packets, making two groups of four each. Eight packets total.
“Eight is perfect.” She grinned, fingering the packets to make sure they were straight. “Two groups. Four in each group making two couples in each group.”
And she looked up, nodding once as if everything were perfect with the world.
I couldn’t help it. My lips curled into a smile because she was the fucking epitome of intriguing. So sexy, but if you blinked too long, she was transformed and you realized everything you thought you knew about her barely touched the surface.
She hooded her eyes and looked away, smiling to herself. “I’m crazy,” she admitted. “That’s what you’re thinking.”
I let my eyes rake down her bare neck to where her shirt fell off her shoulder. The hardened point of her nipple poked through the thin fabric, and I knew she wasn’t wearing a bra.
The shirt was the only barrier, and that turned me on more than the idea of her naked did.
I raised my eyes to her. “I’m thinking you’re beautiful,” I said in a low voice. “And if you need everything in eights, it could be a long night.”
She held my eyes, not moving, but I could see the excitement trying to break out across her face. Her hitched breathing, her stillness… I loved that I’d shut her up for once. She was fun, and I enjoyed peeling away her layers.
The waiter came over, setting down the crawfish étouffée for Easton and my blackened catfish and left to get us another round of drinks.