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"So, this is what you’ve been planning?" I glare at Harry. He loosens the tie he’s wearing around his neck—the one that makes him look like an overweight, about-to-have-a-coronary banker—and hunches his shoulders.
"I wanted to get you to meet him, and I knew you’d never agree." His chin quivers.
I scowl at him. "No way am I going to stay here and wait for thatstronzoto arrive. Also, I’m sure he’s late on purpose."
The hair on the back of my neck rises. I ignore it.
Harry blinks and mops his brow. "No, no, there was turbulence, and they had to take another route from New Zealand—a longer route—and stop to refuel, which is why he’s running late, and—"
"The fuck I care. You can tell him to go stick his excuses where the sun don’t shine."
"You can tell me yourself." That deep, dark voice of his shivers down my spine and coils in my lower belly. Shit, I should have left before he came. I should have run out as soon as Harry told me why he’d asked me to his office.And shown him how much of a coward you are? He has no more influence on you. You’re single, carefree, living your own life—and trying to resurrect a career threatening to unravel as quickly as it shot me to the top.
Posts on my social media platform are no longer getting the kind of reach they enjoyed when I first starting posting. My last popular post was the one when I told the world I was breaking up with Declan. A lot of people left comments showing how upset they were. I also had those who supported me.
And then, the fan clubs turned on me, blaming me for the demise of the relationship. Apparently, I didn’t have time for him. I was too career focused. I turned down his offer to marry me. Ha! The speculation doing the rounds was crazy. Maybe, eventually, he'll get around to announcing his engagement and that will take the blame off of me. Then again, maybe not.
That post continues to accumulate comments, but after that day, the downloads of my songs plummeted. I lost followers on my social media platforms, and the promoters of the tour decided they didn’t want to bet on me again. Even the label, which had released my first album, the one that had netted them millions, decided to scrap plans for my next one.
Unfortunately, by the time the recording label and Harry had pocketed their percentage, there was barely enough left to cover my travel costs... And perhaps, buy a small condo. Not a single-family house, but a condo. Thankfully, I made enough from the record deal to retain my security team.
I suppose, if I really wanted to, I could have moved out, but it seemed more prudent to bank the money I made for the future. Besides, Declan is never around, so I have the house to myself. And since he hasn’t been in touch with me, I assumed he’d given up on me. Unlike the paps, who continue to follow me around. Only, they keep asking me where Declan is. Apparently, they're only interested in shooting pictures of the two of us.
The only consolation is, according to Giorgina, Declan isn’t faring better.
A thousand goosebumps erupt on my skin as I feel him move closer, then I hear his voice, "You okay, Rabbit?"
A shudder ladders up my spine. My throat closes, my pulse flutters. His footsteps come closer, and I slowly turn to find he’s standing in front of me. His blue eyes snap on mine with the force of a gale wind. Tiny embers spark in parts of me that only he knows so well.
He rakes his gaze down my face, my chest, to the hem of my dress which ends mid-thigh, then the strip of skin bared above my over-the-knee boots which have become my trademark, down to my feet balanced on eight-inch-heels, then back up to my now flushed features. And the embers blaze into a fire that envelops all of me.
I take in his broad shoulders that stretch his sweatshirt. The sleeves are tight around his biceps and molded to his chest. In contrast, his waist is narrower. His jeans cling to his powerful thighs which flex as he walks in my direction. He seems to have grown broader since I last saw him. And hotter. The days’ old growth on his chin only adds to that bad boy look of his. He’s pushed up his sleeves and the sight of those veiny forearms of his sends lust shooting through my veins. Sweat beads my forehead.
I draw in a breath, and my lungs fill with the scent of him. He’s sucked up all the oxygen in the room. My heart seems to hit my toes, then bounce back up to my throat. It only serves to remind me that someone carved out the space in my chest and turned me into a hollow shell of the woman I once was. Him. His presence makes me wish I could retake my heart and fill up the emptiness, even though I know that's impossible. I draw in a breath, trying to find my balance.Merda!I forgot the effect this man’s presence has on me. No, I lie.
I haven’t forgotten anything. I’ve merely managed to avoid facing the fact that every second of every day that I’ve spent away from him, thoughts of him have been a canvas against which I’ve lived my life. During the day, I’ve ensured I’ve been too busy to allow him any space in my mind. But in that time between night and day, when dawn hasn’t yet broken over the horizon, when I’ve tossed and turned, and tried to quell the aching emptiness between my legs, when my chest feels like it’s been stripped of the ability to feel, to hold a beating heart in it again, when despite my wanting to sleep, my eyelids have refused to stay shut, I’ve given up pretending I don't miss him and reached for the toy that has granted me only temporary relief.
It’s never enough. Nothing can substitute for the stretch of my pussy as it fits around his cock, the feel of his skin on mine as we slide against one another, his breath intertwined with mine as he stares into my eyes, his lips grazing my cheek as he shares my breath and sucks on my tongue, and his heart beating against mine as I clutch him to me. Which is when I give up, sexually frustrated and unable to sleep, and walk down to the tiny gym in my basement and attempt to run from that scene of him with that woman which is seared into my brain.
"Where is she?" I glance around him. "Where is your fiancée?"
His jaw tightens.
"She’s not here."
I roll my eyes, then scoff. "Shouldn’t she be with you, supporting you, and all that? In fact, I haven’t seen a picture of the two of you together yet on your social media or in the press. I’d have thought you’d want to announce it to the press."
A slow smile curves his lips. "You been stalking my social media, Rabbit?"
My cheeks burn. I shouldn’t have said that. I should have shut the hell up. But as always, when I’m around him, the connection between my brain and my mouth seems to be tenuous, at best. I flip my hair over my shoulder. "I’ve been too busy for that."
"Really? Despite the last leg of your tour being canceled. Not to mention, your label dropped you. In fact, you don’t know how you’re going to find the money to launch your next record. Am I right?"
I pale. “Why are you being such acarogna? What’s wrong with you?”
I have the satisfaction of seeing him glance away.
“Besides, aren't you the one who’s run into funding difficulties,again,with your movie?"
