SWNOVELS My Rules: Chapter 25
A frown flashes across his brow. “Why?”
“I . . .” My heart is hammering in my chest. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“About?” He raises an impatient eyebrow.
I smirk. God . . . he’s still so gorgeous. “Everything and nothing.”
“I’m very busy, Rebecca. You can’t just turn up here and . . . ,” he says sternly. “I’m out with friends.”
“I know.” I look around as I try to regain my composure. I wasn’t counting on seeing him in the flesh throwing me this much. “Have you got ten minutes to spare to speak to an old friend?”
His eyes flick to the men he was just with.
“Ten minutes.” I hold my two hands up in surrender. “Not a minute over, I promise.”
He exhales, as if I’m the biggest inconvenience. “Fine, just a minute.” He walks over to his friends, who are now sitting at a table, and says something before returning to me. I gesture to the stool beside me. “Take a seat.”
He pulls up a chair and sits down. We stare at each other, and it’s still there.
The stars, the sky, and the moon. Electricity bounces between us.
And now I know that it’s real, because I’ve been with other people, and this wasn’t there with them.
He’s wearing a gray suit and a cream shirt. His hair has a bit of a curl to it, but it’s his beautiful face that I’ve dearly missed.
“What do you want to see me about?” he asks.
“I . . .”
Fuck.
“I wanted to tell you that my divorce has gone through.”
His eyes hold mine.
“And I’m selling the house.”
He stays silent. I know he hasn’t heard this from anyone else, because I purposely haven’t told a soul. I wanted him to hear it from me and me only.
“And . . . that you were right.”
A frown flashes across his face. “About what?”
“Everything.”
He nods softly, as if acknowledging my failures.
“I . . .” I shrug.
“Go on,” he prompts me.
“At the time we were together, I wasn’t emotionally in the right place for our relationship, and you have every right to hate me.”
His eyes drop to my lips and then dart back up to my eyes. “I don’t hate you, Rebecca.”
“I deserve it; it’s okay.” I shrug.
The bartender interrupts us. “What will it be?”
“I’ll have a margarita,” I say. I turn to Blake. “Do you have time for one drink?”
His eyes hold mine.
“As a friend, nothing more.”
“Sure, make that two.”
We fall into an uncomfortable silence.
“I want to apologize for what happened between us,” I tell him.
His eyes hold mine.
“I said some terrible things that I didn’t mean, and . . .” I shrug. “I know why you left.”
He stays silent, as if processing every word I’m saying.
“I’ve spent the last year healing my demons.”
“Demons.” He smirks sarcastically. “Is that what we’re calling them now?”
“Look. You don’t need to be a dick. I came to apologize and to tell you that you are free to move home. I’m leaving the street, and you won’t have to see me again.”
“Good.”
“Good,” I reply.
Ugh . . . still a smart-ass.
“Are you seeing anyone?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he replies flatly.
“Here you are.” The waiter puts the two margaritas down in front of us.
“Thanks.”
“Are you seeing anyone?” he replies as he picks up his cocktail.
“Yeah,” I lie.
Animosity bounces between us.
“Who?” he asks.
“No one special.”
He nods and clinks his glass with mine. We take a sip as we stare at each other.
“You look good.” I smile. “New York suits you.”
“Thanks.” He sips his drink. “I’d tell you that you look good, but you already know that. Did you wear my favorite dress on purpose?”
I smile. “Maybe.”
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I miss you.”
“And you think, what . . . you can just swan in here a year later in a red dress and click your fingers and everything is going to be okay?”
“No.”
“What did you think?”
“I wanted to tell you about my divorce face to face.”
“Why?”
“I needed to see if it was still there between us.”
“And is it?”
“You tell me.”
The air crackles between us like a sonic boom.
“Would you like to go on a date with me sometime?” I ask.
His eyes hold mine. “What kind of date?”
Huh?
He wasn’t supposed to say that. I’ve practiced this conversation a million times over in my head, and he never said that.
“What kind of dates are there?”
“Well, if you came here to fuck me . . .” His eyes dance with defiance. “I wouldn’t say no. But if you came here to ask me to go on a real date, I would say not a chance in hell.”
Ouch . . .
I nod as I swallow the lump in my throat. “Right.”
Short-term pain for long-term gain.
“Then . . . looks like it’s no date.”
His eyes hold mine.
“I can fuck anybody, Blake. I didn’t need to come all the way to New York to do that.”
“Sweet.”
“Looks like it.”
He downs the rest of his drink. “I’ll see you later, then.”
“I’m at the Hilton, room 706.”
“And you are telling me this . . . because?” He raises an eyebrow.
“No reason.” I shrug. “Just in case you change your mind.”
“Do you fuck on first dates now?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”
His eyes hold mine. “How many men have you slept with?”
“None that matter.”
“Very amusing, Rebecca, but stop wasting my time.”
“Okay.”
“Happy divorce. Good luck in the new house.”
“Not the way I wanted to celebrate it . . . but whatever.”
“Not my problem.” He stands. “Go find another first date to fuck.” He walks off back to his friends as I stare after him.
Damn it.
That was not the way that was supposed to go down.
Shit . . .
I lie in the dark and glance at the clock: 2:00 a.m. I roll over and punch my pillow.
He’s not coming.
I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course he’s not fucking coming.
He was right. Did I actually think I could show up and he would run into my arms with a declaration of love?
Oh god, I’m so cringey.
Why would I give him my hotel room number? What do I think this is, a James Bond movie or something?
Get it together, Rebecca.
If you want Blake back, you need to work smarter, not harder.
And I do . . . god, I do.
I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am now.
I’m ready for love . . . but I only want it with Blake. He’s the only one that matters.
I toss and turn and punch the pillow again.
I sit in the coffee shop and stare out onto the busy street. New York has an energy like no other place on earth. The smells, the sights, the sounds of the sirens in the distance. And where is everybody rushing to all the time?
Is everyone really this late?
I sip my coffee as I sit in the window that faces onto the street, and although things didn’t turn out how I wanted them to this weekend, I do have a sense of achievement.
I got to tell Blake that I divorced John. I got to tell him that I’m selling my house. He didn’t hear it secondhand from anybody; it came from my lips, and you have no idea how hard it was to keep that secret from the girls. The problem is, when your friends are married to their friends, things get out.
I glance at my watch. It’s 5:00 p.m., and my flight is at 8:00.
My bags are with the concierge at the hotel, and I’ve been lingering around all day waiting for my flight tonight.
I specifically took the late flight in case things went well, and . . . let’s just say I was hoping to spend the day with Blake.
I wasn’t that lucky.
I finish the last of my coffee and make my way back to the hotel.
“Hello, I would like to check out and collect my bags, please,” I tell the girl at reception.
“Of course, what was the name?”
“Rebecca Dalton.”
She types into her computer. “Here it is.”
I slide the key across the counter to her.
“Thank you,” she replies as she takes it. “Do you have the second key?”
“No, there was only one key.”
She frowns as she reads something. “It says here that your husband picked up another key at three this morning?”
What?
He came.
“Oh, I . . .”
I’m lost for words. “I see, I’m . . . he’s already left for work this morning. I thought that he had my key. Sorry, just charge me for the extra key, please.”
“Of course.” She smiles.
I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears. He came and then left without seeing me.
There’s hope.
She rattles on with some kind of conversation, but my mind is far from here.
What do I do?
He wanted to see me, but something stopped him.
“Thank you. Here’s your bag.” She slides my suitcase around the desk.
I stare at it, unsure what my next move is, so excited and panicked that I can’t comprehend what to think. “Thank you.”
I scurry over to the couch in the lobby and take out my phone and call Juliet.
“Hey, babe,” she answers. “How’s your mom’s house?”
“So . . .” I close my eyes, unable to believe what I’m just about to tell her. “Promise me this conversation is going to stay between you and I.”
“What do you mean?”
“What I’m about to tell you . . . you cannot tell Henley, promise me.”
“Of course. What’s wrong?”
“Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“I’m in New York. I came to see Blake.”
“What?” she whispers. “What happened?”
“I bumped into him last night.”
“How did you bump into him?”
“Not so much bumping . . . more like stalking. I followed him from work to a bar in a cab.”
“Rebecca,” she whispers. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I don’t actually know. Anyway, listen. Last night didn’t go as planned, and I just found out that he came to my hotel looking for me at three this morning, and I need you to tell me his address.”
“What?” she gasps. “Three a.m.?”
“Do you have his address?”
“I mean, it’s written down somewhere, but who knows where. And besides, how do I find it without asking Henley where it is?”
“Look. I just need you to find it out for me and call me back, because I’m going to go over there, and he can’t know I’m coming because he won’t be there if I am.”
“Oh my god.”
“You have to promise not to tell Henley.”
“All right.” She thinks aloud. “Maybe it’s . . . give me a bit to try and find it. I’ll call you back in ten minutes.”
“Okay.” I keep sitting on the foyer couch with my heart in my throat, and a message pings on my phone.
I need you to distract Henley. Can you call him and tell him that your alarm has gone off so he can go over to your house and check things out?
I text back.
Great idea.
I scroll through my numbers until I get to Henley’s name, and I dial his number.
“Hey, Bec,” he answers.
“Hen, hi, I’m so sorry to bother you. I’m at my parents’ this weekend, and my security alarm just picked up something in my house. Can you go over and check on everything for me, please?”
“What did it say?”
I screw up my face as I try to think of the most believable lie that I can. “Just that movement has been detected or something. I’m not sure what it is. I know that Chloe has Daisy, so it’s not Daisy. Maybe just go over and walk around outside for me, if you could?” I shrug as I try to sound serious. “Perhaps take Antony in case there’s something untoward going on.”
“Yeah, sure thing, no worries. It’s probably just a bird or something. I’ll call you in ten.”
“Thanks.”
He hangs up, and my heart beats ferociously. I just hope that Juliet can pull off a miracle.
I wait.
I wait.
And I wait.
Finally a text bounces back.
I’m not sure if this is the right address, but it was in Henley’s contacts.
Hope blooms in my chest.
Thanks, wish me luck.
Good luck baby.
Love you
X
Forty minutes later, I find myself standing at the front of Blake’s building.
He has a doorman.
Shit . . . of course he has a fucking doorman.
What do I do?
Do I just buzz and ask for him to let me up?
I really didn’t want him to know I was coming. I just wanted to knock on his door and surprise him.
If he doesn’t know that I’m coming, then he can’t tell me not to.
I walk in through the grand foyer and look around. “Can I help you?” the doorman asks.
“I’m just waiting for a friend.” I smile.
He nods and goes back to whatever he’s doing at his desk while I take a seat on the fancy leather lounge.
What the hell do I do now?
On his desk I can see a set of keys with a swipe card attached to it. That’s the card I need to get upstairs.
I look left and I look right. How do I get it?
Would he take a bribe?
Shit.
This is a disaster.
A car pulls up into the parking bay outside the building, and as the cabdriver is getting the person’s suitcase out of the trunk, the suitcase bursts open. Books and things go flying everywhere. The doorman runs out through the front doors to help, and my eyes flick to the keys on his desk.
It’s now or never.
I stand and walk straight to the desk and pick up the keys and go to the elevator.
If I’m going to hell, I may as well get arrested while I’m at it too.
I push the button as I look over my shoulder. “Come on.”
I push it again and again. “Hurry up. Hurry up.”
My eyes flick out front to the commotion of the broken bag as people scramble to pick everything up.
The elevator doors finally open, and I dive in and hit the close button. I swipe the card and hit level 7. It lights up.
Success.
My heart is hammering hard in my chest, and I cannot believe I just stole the fucking keys. Maybe I am a Bond girl after all.
The doors open, and I stride down the corridor with purpose. Then I knock hard on his door.
No answer.
I knock hard again. Knock, knock, knock.
Silence.
Damn it, he’s not even home.
The door opens in a rush, and there he stands. The beautiful Blake Grayson in all his glory. He’s wearing gray track pants and a white shirt, and his hair is a disheveled, beautiful mess.
He frowns when he sees me. “Rebecca.”
“Hi, Blake.”
He glances up the hallway. “What are you doing here?”
“Can I come in?”
His eyes hold mine for an extended beat before he moves to the side, granting me access to walk past him into his apartment. My eyes roam around his apartment. It’s dated but nice, nothing like his extravagant house at home.
“I’ll ask you again, Rebecca, what are you doing here?”
“You came to my hotel last night.”
A frown flashes across his face.
“But you didn’t come to my room. Why?”
“I thought better of it.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to see you.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. Why did you come if you didn’t want to see me?”
His fists are clenched at his sides. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters to me, Blake. Why did you come to my hotel?”
“To get closure.”
“On us?”
“What else would I be getting closure on, Rebecca?”
We stare at each other, and it’s the weirdest thing. He’s so familiar, but at the same time, he feels like a stranger.
So much water has passed under the bridge between us that I’m not sure the raft is even still afloat.
“Blake.” The nerves in my stomach are pumping so hard that I can hardly form a sentence. “I came to New York because I love you. And I want to beg for a second chance.”
“Bec, don’t.”
My eyes search his. “Is there any chance for us at all?”
“No.”
“Not even one percent? Because one percent would be great.”
“I care for you, Rebecca; I’ll always care for you.”
“But you don’t love me anymore?” I whisper.
“Life isn’t as black and white as you would wish sometimes.”
“Blake, I was broken when we were together, and I didn’t know it at the time. I was insecure and blaming myself for so many things that had gone wrong in my life. It wasn’t until you left me that I realized just how dysfunctional I was.”
His eyes hold mine.
“I love you, and I know that you probably don’t even need me anymore or think about me anymore or . . . I just want you to know that . . . you are my grand love,” I whisper. “You were the person that I was supposed to spend my life with. And I know that I’ve ruined it, but I just think you should know that.”
He exhales softly. “Bec,” he whispers.
“You want closure?”
“I need closure.”
“Then kiss me goodbye.”
His eyes search mine.
“Please, Blake, kiss me goodbye just once. You want closure, so then we need to say goodbye to each other, because the way we ended before was just so sudden and so traumatic.”
He nods softly. “It was.”
I step toward him, and he stands his ground.
“All stories have a kiss goodbye, Blake.”
He cups my face with his hand, and he looks so sad as I stare up at him. “Kiss me and make it better,” I murmur.
“It’s only going to make it worse.”
“I’ll worry about that tomorrow.”
In slow motion, he bends, and his lips softly take mine. My eyes close at the intimacy of his touch. We kiss again, and this time, his tongue slowly slides through my lips.
Oh.
I’ve missed this. I’ve missed everything about this.
Our kiss deepens further; it becomes desperate. So much pain between us, and yet this kiss is a beacon of light in a very dark sea.
“Bec,” he murmurs against my lips, “you need to go.”
“I can’t. Don’t you see? We need this. Even if we aren’t going to be together anymore, we need to finish this. Don’t we owe it to ourselves to have one last time?”
He stares at me, and my eyes fill with tears. “I know you don’t feel the same about me as I feel about you,” I whisper. “I don’t deserve for you to. But everything in my soul is telling me that you need this as much as I do.”
“I do,” he whispers.
Our kiss turns desperate as his hands grab my behind and grind me onto his hardened cock. He falls back onto the couch and pulls me over the top of him, my legs straddled over his.
We kiss as if our lives depend on it, hungry and desperate.
A reminder of all that we’ve missed.
He grabs the hem of my dress and pulls it up over my head and throws it to the side. Suddenly I’m in my underwear with my legs spread around his and his hard cock nudging up against my sex.
Yes.
I take his T-shirt over his head, and I’m blessed with the sight of his broad, muscular body.
Oh lord . . . how I’ve missed this.
I slide his tracksuit pants down, and his huge cock springs free. It’s engorged, with a thick vein running down the length of it.
I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
My eyes linger on his manhood, half in disbelief.
You really don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.
I fall to the floor and take him into my mouth; the taste of his salty pre-ejaculate is like honey on my lips. He inhales sharply as his hands tangle in my hair.
I take him deep down my throat. I need him closer.
So much to make up for.
His breathing is ragged, and he shudders as if close. “Get up here,” he growls. “Get the fuck up here on my cock.” He grabs my arms and pulls me up to my position on his lap, my legs spread back around his. Holding his base, he swipes the tip of his cock through my dripping-wet flesh.
Oh.
We stare at each other, arousal and thick want bouncing between us.
“Get on it,” he mouths darkly.
I slide down, but he’s too big; my body meets resistance. He rocks me from side to side to try and loosen me up.
“Oh god,” I moan. “I’ve missed this beautiful cock of yours.”
He smiles darkly, and with his two hands on my hip bones, he slams me down hard, forcing my body to take him all.
I cry out at the possession as his body overtakes every single inch of mine.
My body ripples around his as we stare at each other.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“Don’t.” His eyes flutter shut, as if he’s trying to block me out.
“It’s true.”
Something snaps inside of him, something dark and sinister.
The next thing I know, I’m bent over on my hands and knees on the couch. He slides in deep, unforgiving, forcing me forward until my face crushes into the couch.
Then he’s riding me hard, thick, fast pumps, and I can’t even breathe as the air is knocked out of my lungs.
Good lord, nobody fucks like Blake Grayson.
Nobody.
He lifts one of my legs as he takes me deeper, harder, and faster, and I see all the stars as I scream for mercy.
“Blake,” I whimper.
“This is what you came for, isn’t it?” He continues to give me the beating that my body’s been craving. Our skin slaps together, and he lets out a deep, guttural moan that turns me inside out.
I clutch the lounge as he pumps me one . . . two . . . three times, and my vision blacks out as I come hard and fast.
I cry out as I lose all control.
He holds himself deep, and I feel the telling jerk of his cock as he empties deep inside me.
We pant, gasping for air.
I feel a soft, tender kiss on the back of my shoulder blade. It reminds me of so many happy memories, and I smile into the couch cushion.
“I missed my plane,” I pant.
“Who said I’m finished with you?”
Is there a better place on earth than lying with your head on Blake Grayson’s chest?
No.
No, there is not.
We are naked, our bodies tangled together under the blankets. His lips are pressed against my temple.
It’s late, and I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve made love tonight.
We fucked a few times, but then in the shower it changed. It was like I wore him down, and the longer I was in his arms, the more tender he became.
His fingers run aimlessly through my hair, and I know that he’s as deep in thought as I am.
“God, I missed you,” I murmur softly.
He kisses my temple but doesn’t reply.
“Do you like living in New York?”
“Surprisingly, yes.” I feel him smile against my skin.
“What do you like about it?” I ask.
“The anonymity.”
I smile. “Somehow I don’t think you could be anonymous anywhere you go, Blake.”
It feels like old times between us, the tenderness, the love. The perfect fitting together of our bodies.
He was right. All that time, long ago, he was right—I was always meant to be his. And he was always meant to be mine.
“Good night, Blake,” I whisper into the darkness.
“Good night, Bec.”
For the first time in what feels like forever, wrapped safely in his arms, I drift into a restful sleep.
The scent of cologne wakes me, and I roll over to see Blake fully dressed in his suit. I sit up onto my elbows and look around groggily. “What time is it?” I murmur.
“Time for you to get up.” He adjusts his cuff links. “I’ve booked you on a flight this morning at eleven.”
“Oh.” I frown. I fiddle with the blankets as I think out loud. “Maybe I could stay for a few extra days?”
His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “No, I think you should get going.”
“Blake, I could move here. I mean, I know it’s not perfect for Daisy, but I could walk her three times a day, and maybe I could do some online tutoring from home, and . . . ?”
He comes in, sits on the side of the bed, and tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear.
“Bec, you need to go home.”
“But when will I see you again?”
“Remember what this was . . .”
I cut him off. “I don’t want closure. I want this to be a new beginning.”
“Bec, I . . .”
“If I could take back that day, Blake, I would give anything to be able to do that. You and me, we’re too perfect together.”
“Rebecca.” He sighs.
“I ruined our relationship because I wasn’t past my hurt, and now you’re going to do the same thing.”
His eyes hold mine.
“You love me. I know you love me.”
“I do.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I’m not where you left me. I’ve moved on.”
My eyes search his. “You’ve met someone else?”
“Yes.”
My heart free-falls from my chest.
“Who is she?”
“She’s my boss.”
I sit up, outraged. “So you slept with me last night knowing that you are with somebody else?”
“I slept with you last night to get the closure we both needed. Just like we discussed we were going to do. Do not fucking turn this back on me. You knew exactly what you were getting.”
I jump out of bed in outrage. “You have a girlfriend?”
He goes back to adjusting his cuff links. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
I feel sick to my stomach.
“You cheated on her . . . with me?”
“Spare me the angelic act.” He rolls his eyes as if I’m a major inconvenience. “Don’t act like you didn’t love every fucking second of it.”
I open my mouth to say something, and he cuts me off.
“If I had told you last night, it wouldn’t have mattered one iota . . . you were here for one thing and one thing only . . . and you got it.”
What?
“Who even are you?” I whisper.
His cold eyes meet mine. “I’m exactly who you always thought I was.” He holds his hands out in a dramatic fashion. “The player who cheats.” He gives me a sarcastic smile. “Be careful what you wish for, Rebecca.”
Touché.
His silhouette blurs.
“Fuck you,” I whisper.
“You already did that . . . now go home.” He walks out of the room, and moments later, I hear the door close behind him.
I drop my head into my hands. Fuck.