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LILY
Devon was a nice guy. He was a slightly older, more mature version of the boys I’d dated throughout high school and college. Earnest, kind, with a broad, open face that made you feel like you could trust anything he said. I used to be a sucker for that. He held doors open for me and carried my lunch tray. He told me he was from the Midwest. He thought one day he’d move back. This place wasn’t really for him. He was thirty-one, which would have seemed like a vast age difference if I hadn’t lost my virginity to a forty-year-old last night. Now it seemed too young. And he was too earnest. Every kind thing he did made me miss Con’s brusque nature. The contrast between his abrasive public self and the tenderness beneath that so few people got to see. Still, I asked Devon if he wanted to get a drink after work.
I felt guilty. I’d found the nicest guy in LA, and I was using him. It was working though. I saw how Con stopped dead when he saw us sitting together in the cafeteria. Later, in his office, his gaze had scorched mine. He was jealous. And if he was jealous, that meant he cared.
At the end of the workday, Devon came up to get me. When he came down the hall from the elevator bank and saw me, he smiled at me then back at Con, who was still at his desk. I didn’t dare turn to see the look on Con’s face as I stood up and grabbed my purse, but I saw Devon’s smile falter.
My stomach swooped pleasantly. I wished it was because of the way Devon’s golden brown eyes settled on mine appreciatively, but it was a direct result of the anger I sensed simmering in the man behind me. I didn’t understand myself anymore. The nicest man in LA was holding out his arm for mine, and I wanted to go back to the asshole who had slept with me and then re-homed me like a puppy he’d adopted then decided he didn’t have enough time for.
“Where do you want to go?” Devon asked as we waited for the elevator.
For a second, I was speechless, thinking he’d read my mind. Where did I want to go? Back to Con, but how did he know? But before I could make a fool of myself, Devon went on, “If you want to go somewhere that we can grab dinner at after, I know a good place.”
Of course that was what he meant. Disappointment and relief churned in my stomach. “I’d love dinner,” I lied.
* * *
We went to an all-American place that served burgers and malts and hot, crinkly, crispy French fries that tasted like being back in Ohio. It was a world away from the intimidating steakhouse that Con had taken me to for lunch. I liked it better. I would have loved it if it had been Con sitting across from me instead of Devon.
Devon walked me back to my building after dinner. I didn’t invite him up, and he didn’t seem to expect it. He didn’t mention going out again either. I wasn’t surprised. I’d tried to keep up my facade, but I hadn’t been successful. It wasn’t in me to play these games. Not with Devon, who didn’t deserve them. Not even with Con, who absolutely deserved to be played. But not by me. I deserved a man who didn’t need games.
It felt good to realize that as I rode the elevator up to the thirtieth floor. Empowering. But then I remembered that it didn’t matter what I deserved–what I wanted was Con. My head was aching with the pressure of all my conflicting desires by the time I let myself into Halley’s condo. It was just now getting dark outside, but all I wanted to do was go to bed.
I dropped my purse by the front door and didn’t even bother to turn on the lights as I made my way down the narrow hall, past the kitchen. I was thinking about climbing into bed, sliding between the cool sheets, and pulling the blanket over my head when suddenly, the living room light snapped on.
I froze mid-stride. My first instinct was to scream, but my heart had slammed up into my throat at the click of the rotary switch. It was throbbing there, cutting off my breath, as warm, rosy light spilled through the room. There was a man sitting beside it. Incongruously tall, lean, and masculine against the fluffy white chair. He rose, his face a tightly controlled mask.
“Con,” I breathed, my heart slipping back into place. It was still pounding like crazy, and a hundred different emotions circulated through my bloodstream. Lingering fear, relief, and excitement led the pack. “You scared me.”
He looked indifferent, as though it didn’t matter that he’d nearly given me a heart attack. “You’re back early.” He crossed the room, slowly closing up the space between us.
I took a small step back. It was funny how I was always seeing new sides to Con. I’d thought I’d seen him mad before, but I realized those had all been more pallid versions of his anger. This was what he looked like when he was mad. It wasn’t when his brows were slanted together, or his mouth was a flat line or even when he was blowing out his breath in aggravation. It was this eerily calm, impeccably controlled man I saw before me. This was his anger. I should have been afraid, but somehow, I was only compelled. I had a feeling that I was seeing something that very, very few people had ever gotten to see. This was how storm chasers must feel when a tornado touched down in front of them. More exhilarated than terrified, accepting the clear and present danger because the payoff was worth it.
“It was just dinner,” I said, bumping against the edge of the island. “Nothing more.”
Con’s lips curved upward, but it couldn’t have been called a smile by any stretch of the imagination. It was the opposite of a smile. A black hole into which all light was crushed. “Lucky for him.” He took another step closer.
I shifted back, but there was nowhere left to go. When his arms locked onto the counter on either side of mine, caging me in, I didn’t even try to escape. I lifted my chin instead. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”
“You’re my business, Lily.”
Though his face was just above mine, his voice somehow sounded disembodied. His broad shoulders blocked the light of the lamp. I could smell the faint musk of his cologne. He was so close I could see his heartbeat pulsing in the hollow of his throat. I tipped my head back and met his eyes. Dark, boring down into mine. I was heady from his nearness, still dizzy from the shock of him being here. My knees felt weak, but I wasn’t going to give in this easily.
“Either I’m your business, or I’m a mistake,” I said quietly. “I’m not going to be both.”
The cords of muscle in his arms, visible beneath his rolled-up sleeves, tensed as he tightened his grip on the counter. “What else could this be?” he asked harshly. “You’re–”
“I know all the reasons,” I interrupted, deflecting the pain that threatened to skewer my heart all over again, the way it had this morning. “But it doesn’t feel like a mistake to me.” I wanted to be strong, but I knew my gaze had become imploring. I reached up and touched his face, wishing that terrible mask would crack. “Does it really feel like one to you?”
Con jerked away from the gentle pressure of my fingers on his jawline. Tears leapt into my eyes. “I guess so,” I whispered and tried to push out of the cage of his arms. His arms were like iron bars though, and the more I struggled, the harder he pressed me back against the bar until I was trapped, pinned there like a butterfly. Even through the pain in my heart, my body registered how good his felt against mine. Reacted. His was reacting too. I felt his hard on against my hip, heard his breathing change. He locked his arms around me and held me hard against him, trying to subdue my attempt to struggle away.
“Maybe you’re not my mistake,” he said, his hands tangling in my hair at the base of my neck. He pulled my head back, his dark eyes devouring every inch of my face, my throat, lingering at the place where my breasts were pressed against his hard chest. “But I’m yours. I’m too old for you. Not good for you. I can’t offer you a future.”
“I don’t care,” I whispered.
My words seemed to release something in him. They ended his struggle. Before the last one was even out of my mouth, his was crushing down on mine. Relief swept through me. It was like I’d been holding my breath for hours, my lungs about to burst, and now sweet oxygen was filling my lungs. I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted to feel him everywhere, his skin against mine, his hair twined in my fingers. I needed him to fill me the way he had last night. He deepened the kiss, his tongue thrusting against mine, and I could taste his desperation. Knew he felt the same way.
I clawed at the buttons of his shirt until he pushed my ineffectual hands away and undid the buttons himself. Then he broke our kiss to reach down and grab the hem of my black dress, yanking it up to my waist, and then over my head. I’d spent a small fortune on the embroidered black bra with strategically sheer lace and the matching v-string that I was wearing, but he barely seemed to notice them. His eyes burned into mine as he stripped off the rest of his clothes and stood before me, hard and naked. A sculpted figure in the lamp light. My breath caught. Even though I’d seen him like this just this morning, his size still unnerved me. Heat rushed to pool between my legs, my body assuring me I could take his.
