“Finish your thought, little Kat.”
I didn't press the matter. She was already going to completely hate what I was about to say. I didn't need her fuming over something else entirely.
“I believe that, tonight, you should go out and find someone to hook up with.”
She stared at me, her mouth dropped open in surprise. “While I do not judge you, Katka,” she said. “You know I do not sleep with strangers on a whim.”
“Not a whim,” I corrected. “On purpose. First, you are wound so tightly that it is a wonder you have not cracked.” She didn't appear to appreciate my assessment, but I continued anyway, “You need to relieve stress.”
“I am perfectly capable of doing that on my own,” she muttered, her cheeks turning pink.
“Not as well as a man can,” I said. “Well, a good man,” I amended. “It does not matter. Even if the man is bad in bed, the encounter will still accomplish the most important purpose.”
“And what is that?” she asked skeptically.
“It will show Blayne that your marriage is nothing but business and you do not desire to sleep with him and that you don’t care who he sleeps with either. This will be proof that your needs are being met elsewhere and your heart is not involved.”
“He already knows that this is business,” she said.
“Then why has he been pursuing you?”
She swore softly in Czech and I knew she would agree to do as I suggested. She might not believe me, but I knew that Blayne seeing her come back to the apartment after a satisfying sexual experience would convince him that he should no longer make passes at her.
I pushed aside the guilt I felt. I wasn't ruining her marriage, I told myself. This was what was best for everyone involved and had nothing to do with my own feelings on the subject. Blayne was no good for my sister…or me.
Chapter 6
Livie
As much as I hated my sister's suggestion, I thought there might be a chance she was right. And, no matter how small, I owed it to myself to try it out. The idea of going to some random club or bar and finding a guy to take back home to have sex with didn't particularly appeal to me, but it did seem like the easiest solution to the sex problem. It absolutely would prove a point.
I laughed as I walked to the bus stop. Sex problem. That wasn't a phrase that was generally a part of my thought process. In fact, sex wasn't something I thought of much at all. At least it hadn't been, until recently. Being apart from Blayne on our honeymoon had kept me from thinking about it, more or less. The only time the subject had come up had been when people had heard we were on our honeymoon. But then we'd come back to Philadelphia and he'd started with this whole strange thing about us sleeping together.
After that, I'd started thinking about sex more than usual. More specifically, sex with Blayne. It was no longer only annoyance at the deceit or whatever it was Blayne was trying to pull. No, his insistence that we'd had sex made me wonder what sex with him would be like. And it happened at the weirdest moments. It would probably be normal to fantasize about him late at night, when I was ready to fall asleep. But I'd be in the middle of sketching out a new design when I'd started thinking about what I'd like to design for Blayne to wear. Something that would show off his body... until I tore everything off of him and threw him down on the bed...
Fuck.
That was exactly the problem I'd been having. One thought, no matter how innocent, would start a toppling effect where things became non-innocent fast. I wasn't even entirely sure if I wanted to have an affair to show Blayne I wasn't interested in him, or if I was hoping it would stop the repetitive thoughts of sex and help me regain focus. I was all for a healthy sex life, but it was getting in the way of my work, and that was exactly what I didn't want. If I had wanted to put my career second to sex, I would've done so through a relationship rather than fantasies about a virtual stranger.
The penthouse was empty when I got there, but that didn't surprise me. Part of Blayne's agreement with his father had involved employment. I knew Blayne was now working at one of his family's businesses, but I didn't know which one. He hadn't seemed happy about the situation and I hadn't wanted to pry. He did, however, maintain regular hours now, which meant he wouldn't be back for at least another few hours. If I was going to do this, I didn't want to explain what I planned to do. Not because I thought it was any of his business or because I believed he would be upset with my intentions, but rather because I didn't enjoy discussing my personal life with anyone, much less talking about sex with someone I’d only known a few weeks.
I tried to work for the next couple hours, but my lunch with Katka hadn't made things better. If anything, they were worse. I kept worrying about tonight, about where I would go and what I would do. Where was the best place to meet someone? What kind of man did I want to meet? Businessman? Graduate student? Did I really care about what he did or did I simply want to do something I'd never done before and focus on appearance? I didn't like to think of myself as a superficial person, but if I was going to have a one-night stand, I had to admit I was leaning toward physical attraction rather than the type of person he was. I wasn't planning on staying around afterwards or spending more time with him.
Finally, as afternoon turned to evening and it neared the time when Blayne would normally arrive home, I made my decision. I would take my sister's advice and go out.
I approached my attire the same way I did anything else, with logic rather than what I thought looked 'sexy’. My first choice had been skinny jeans, but then I realized that if I did pick someone up, shimmying out of those jeans to have sex, then having to put them back on would be more difficult than something that required less maneuvering. I traded those out for an easy access skirt, and then set to work finding a blouse that would match and be visually appealing.
By the time I finished, I was sure Blayne would be home, but he wasn't in the living room or kitchen when I walked by. I hurried out and, a few minutes later, was in front of the building, looking for a cab. While I had never minded taking the bus to and from work before, I had to admit that I enjoyed the luxury of taking a cab, especially on a cold February evening.
I hadn't been sure where I was going until I got into the cab and gave the address. Unlike my sister, I did not spend time involved in Philadelphia's club scene. I knew some of the names, of course, from having referred customers to one place or another, depending on where I had worked, but my personal experiences had been limited to bars and restaurants. I think I'd been to one or two in the past three years, but only with Katka at my side. I was a confident person in most areas of my life, but in a situation like this, I was going to err on the side of being comfortable. Or, at least as comfortable as possible. That meant heading toward familiar ground.
I hadn't been back to Frankie's since the night I'd quit. Now, I was walking in as a patron, not an employee and I had to admit it felt good. Aside from knowing that I could afford to get a drink and not have to worry about how much it cost, I also knew that I wouldn't have to put up with the wandering hands and leering looks from men. Oh, I was sure there would be men like that, but my job would not be in jeopardy if I slapped someone for being overly friendly.
It was odd, I thought how people looked at me differently when I wasn't behind the bar. It might also have been that I was dressed much fancier than when I'd worked there or that the woman I assumed was my replacement was a busty brunette wearing a tight and low-cut shirt that was garnering a lot of attention.
There was another funny thing. I recognized the man who was also behind the bar but when I approached him, his expression showed no recognition. I wasn't surprised though, because I wasn't entirely sure what his name was either. Brent or Brett. We hadn't worked together that often, and we'd barely spoken when we had. It wasn't like we'd been rude to each other, but I'd always kept to myself while he enjoyed interacting with the customers.
I ordered beer and took a seat at the bar. I scanned the crowd, wondering ho
w long it would be until someone approached or if I would have to initiate things. I didn't like doing that, but that was mostly because I didn't like the impression it gave about me, and since I wasn't looking for a relationship, it didn't really matter. Time was more important at the moment. I didn't want to be up too late.
I didn't have to wait long. A stocky man with a full beard sauntered over to me, beer sloshing in his glass. I smelled the man before he was close enough for me to hear him and knew there was no way I was going home with him.
“Hey, there, pretty lady,” he slurred.
I gave him a polite but cold smile. “I am not interested.”
“Come on,” he wheedled. “I got money.”
I rolled my eyes. I couldn't even count the number of times I had men thinking I was a prostitute simply because of my accent. They were a whole different kind of bigot.
“Move along,” I said.
“Bitch,” he muttered. But, he went on, looking for another woman he could harass.
“Some people just don't know when someone's out of their league.”
I turned to see a new man sitting on the bar stool next to me. He was attractive, though not as much as Blayne. I mentally shook myself and pushed thoughts of Blayne out of my head. I didn't want to think about how his sandy brown hair and dark gray eyes were different from the golden blond hair and chocolate brown eyes of the man smiling at me.
“Hi.” He gave me a dazzling smile. “I'm Paul.”
“Elizabeth.” I surprised myself by giving an Americanized version of my name. It wasn't an exact translation, but it was close enough. I had used the name before when someone would ask for a name and I didn't feel comfortable giving it. I wasn't sure why it came out this time, but I didn't try to correct myself. It didn't really matter. He probably wouldn't call me by a name anyway. Even in my limited experience, I knew most hook ups stuck with easy things to remember like “baby” or “babe” so they didn't accidentally use the wrong name.
“That's a great accent you have there, Elizabeth,” he said, leaning closer. “Where are you from?”
I'd forgotten how much I detested small talk in situations such as this. If I was truly trying to get to know someone, I didn't mind asking and answering questions, but I didn't see the point if we weren't going to see each other again. I supposed it was a way people had of making themselves feel more human. A fledgling attempt to make a connection with the person they were trying to bed.
I wondered if he'd be offended if I skipped all of this and asked if he just wanted to go back to his place. Based on the way he kept trying to look down my shirt, I didn't think he'd mind, but that made me reconsider the wisdom of going home with him. I definitely wasn't taking him back to the penthouse. I could only imagine trying to explain that situation. That left a hotel room or his place. I doubted he'd be willing to spring for a room we'd only be using for a short while.
I silently cursed my tendency to second guess myself when I hadn't spent my usual amount of time preparing and analyzing every aspect of the decision.
“Or we could skip all of this and just head back to my place.”
I almost sighed with relief. I should've been anticipating it, eager even, for a good lay. Instead, I was feeling like it was something I had to get over. I nodded and he grinned at me. He held out his hand. I looked at it for a second, considering, and then took it. His hand was warm, not altogether unpleasant, but there was nothing more than that.
We walked out of the bar together. The air outside was cold and I hoped he lived close. I wasn't exactly in a sexual mood and the chill wasn't helping. As we reached the crosswalk, we stopped and waited for the light to change.
“You know, Elizabeth,” he said as he pulled me to him. “You look good enough to eat.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a way that I instantly found annoying.
Then his mouth was coming down on mine. His lips were cold and far too soft. I tried to ignore that and lean into the kiss...
I couldn't do this.
“I am sorry,” I gasped as I pushed him away. “I must go.”
I hurried down the sidewalk before he could try to stop me, heading for the cab sitting at the corner. I ignored him calling after me, but cast a glance back at him when I was safely in the cab. Paul was still standing on the sidewalk, an incredulous look on his face, hands partway in the air like he was trying to figure out what had just happened.
Him and me both.
Katka had meant well and I had thought I could follow through, but now I knew I couldn't. When I did find someone I wanted to have a fling with, it would need to happen naturally. I couldn't force it. All I really wanted to do now was go home.
Maybe a hot bath and a little relaxation time would do me just as much good.
Chapter 7
Blayne
Livie was avoiding me.
I tried telling myself that I was just being paranoid. Our schedules weren't the same and it wasn't like we had a reason to get things synced up. If we'd been a real married couple, we would've made an effort to see each other. That wasn’t the case. We weren't in a true relationship, so there was no reason for me to think it was weird that I hadn't seen her since the night we'd had sex in the living room.
Right?
It had been easier for me to concentrate at work after that night because I'd been sure things were fine. I didn't start to worry until I got home Wednesday night and Livie wasn't there. At first, I thought she'd just eaten in her room again, burying herself in work. But when I knocked on the door to ask if she wanted to share a bottle of wine I'd just happened to pick up after work, there'd been no answer. Naturally, I'd been worried, so I'd opened the door and found her room empty.
I'd told myself I didn't need to be concerned. She was an adult. She knew how to take care of herself. Hell, we'd met because she'd taken care of me. She didn't need anyone to look out for her, especially not me. I'd never looked out for anyone but myself, and that clearly hadn’t worked out well.
As I sat down on the couch and stared aimlessly at the television, I told myself that's what I wanted to do to relax. Glancing at my phone every few minutes was just natural. So was looking at the door during every commercial break. I wasn't thinking about where Livie was or what she was doing. I wasn't concerned that something may have happened to her, or that she'd decided the other night had been a mistake too. I refused to consider she didn't want to risk it ever again and was out looking for another place to live.
I ran my hand through my hair and sighed. For the first time in weeks, I wished I had something stronger than beer. And maybe something else to take the edge off. I pulled up the contacts list on my phone. I hadn't talked to some of my friends since before my wedding, making me question if they'd ever been my friends at all. I knew that if I said the right words, they'd be here in a moment. They'd bring the good stuff and then I wouldn't be worried about Livie – or anything – at all.
It was tempting. So tempting. But if my father found out, it'd fuck up everything. I didn't doubt he had people watching the building for my friends, so the chances of him finding out were pretty good. He was dead serious when he said I would be under his radar. He would be looking for me to fuck up, would probably gloat about it too. But it wasn't the thought of losing my inheritance that stopped me. Instead, it wondered what I would do if I were high and Livie called, in trouble.
The realization hit me hard and I was still trying to figure it out when the door opened. A wave of relief washed over me as I turned and saw Livie walk in. I stood, unable to stop the way my stomach tightened at the sight of her.
She wasn't dressed in a sexy little number like she had been at the club that night, but what she was wearing was different than her usual professional attire. The skirt showed off quite a bit of those long legs and it was a testament to their perfection that it took me nearly a full thirty seconds to notice how her blouse showed off her tits. Considering how gorgeous her breasts were, both clothed and unclothed, I was surprised I ma
naged to look away from them at all.
“Where have you been?” The question came out more harshly than I'd intended and I tried to backpedal. “I was worried about you. You weren't here when I got home.”
She raised an eyebrow at me but didn't seem annoyed by my question. “I was out.”
“Out where?” Okay, maybe I should've left well enough alone, but I was curious now. I wanted to know where she'd gone. Who she'd been with. Why.
Her expression tightened and she squared her shoulders as she walked into the living room. “I do not believe that is any of your business.”
“I'm your husband.” Wow, I just kept saying even dumber things.
She actually smirked at that. “We do not behave as husband and wife.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. I wasn't sure why her statement annoyed me, but it did. “But we both agreed there were going to be rules about how we did things. We've both got a lot at stake here. Me mostly, but if my money goes, I can't pay you either.”
She gave me a puzzled look. “Rules?”
I sighed. Did she have memory issues? Then again, she might be a master manipulator underneath that cool, beautiful façade. If she admitted to knowing about the club and our discussion about rules, then she’d have to admit to knowing what happened afterwards. Clever girl. I decided to humor her.
“We agreed we'd be discreet in our 'infidelities’, remember.” I made air quotes with my fingers and then gestured to her outfit. “That doesn't exactly look discreet.” As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn't. Her clothes may not have been business attire, but they were far from the skimpy outfits most women wore to clubs.
She tilted her head, her expression a strange combination of confused and annoyed. “I was not aware that I needed to ask your permission to go about my personal business. If you wish to discuss boundaries regarding what we need to share with each other, that is fine, but asking for permission is out of the question.”
Shit. I hadn't meant it like that. At least not consciously. Subconsciously, however, was a different story. I wasn't going to lie and say I liked not knowing where she'd been, but I hadn't wanted her to think I was going all caveman on her either. I rubbed my hand across my chin.