Authors: Laurelin Paige
“What am I doing here in your office? You dragged me in here, remember?” She walks away from me with a swagger that makes me want to bend her over my knee.
I bite back a smile that I don’t want to give way to. “Don’t be cute. I meant in the building.”
She peers back at me over her shoulder, and I swear to God her expression is screaming Fuck Me. “Maybe I came to see you. I tend to stalk when I feel dismissed by a man.”
Feisty Alayna is quite a turn-on. It’s very inconvenient.
I sigh. “You didn’t come to see me. You arrived on this floor over half an hour ago and are just now coming by my office.”
She spins toward me. “How the fuck do you know everything I do? Jordan? Your security cameras?”
“I’m not going to feel guilty for the lengths I go to in order to protect what’s mine.” I’d do so much more. I’d kill for her if I had to.
I expected my dominating male routine to irritate her. Instead, she licks her lips.
Jesus, I’m half-hard.
I’ve wanted her for days, but now that she’s here, I remember why I can’t have her. It’s not fair. Until I deal with the lie between us, I have to keep my distance.
Which means, I have to get her out of here. “Alayna?”
She tears her eyes from me, leaving me instantly cold. “Yours, huh? Don’t make me laugh.”
“Jesus, how many times do I have to go through this with you?” I can’t keep up with her. She’s hot one minute, cold the next. Much the way I feel, actually.
“I don’t know. Maybe a couple hundred more times. Because I’m obviously not getting it.”
I turn away from her and shove my hand through my hair. I’m torn between screaming some sense into her and ripping off her clothing and claiming her with my cock. Neither would be very productive, though both would feel fucking fantastic.
No. I have to remember my agenda. I turn back to her, hoping I seem more in control. “Why. Are. You. Here?”
“I came to see Norma.” Finally, she’s honest.
“About Gwen?”
She covers her face with her hands in frustration. When she drops them, she says, “About you, you dummy. I don’t give a shit about anything but you.” Her voice is tight. “Jesus, how many times do I have to go through this with you?”
Her admission renews my earlier irritation. “You came to talk to
my
employee about
me
?” Maybe irritation wasn’t a strong enough word. I was fucking pissed.
And yeah, I was mostly pissed at myself. How did I let us get to this? She and I on different sides. We’re supposed to be on the same side. Always.
She throws my own words back at me in defense. “Don’t guilt me for protecting what’s mine.”
It’s then I know she gets it. Or maybe it’s me who finally gets it. She’s fighting for me in the same way that I’m fighting for her. We aren’t
against
each other—we’re
for
each other.
If she’s willing to keep battling after all I’ve put her through, maybe we do have a chance. Maybe Mirabelle’s right. Maybe Alayna can love me anyway.
“I only wanted to see for myself if she was into you,” she says, softer now. “If you had something going with her.” Then she points a finger at me. “And don’t you dare talk to me about trust because you know I get jealous about her, and you aren’t around to help reassure me.”
I lean against the couch and study her. How can I blame her for things I’d do? Things I’ve done? I can’t. “Did you get what you came for?” I ask her.
“I did.”
“And?”
She bites her lip. I’m so jealous of that lip. “She thinks a lot of you. She respects you and admires you, and she recognizes you’re physically attractive—don’t let that go to your head.”
“But…”
“But she’s not into you anymore. I can see it in her eyes.”
Or she discovered Norma’s secret affair with her assistant. Either way, I’m pleased that this jealousy has been nipped in the bud. “Good.” Perhaps it was a good thing she talked to my employee after all. “Then you believe the things I’ve told you.”
“It was never the things you’ve told me that were the issue. It’s the things you haven’t told me.”
“They aren’t your things to know.” It’s not fair, but it’s for her own good. Always for her.
She just doesn’t see it. “What the ever-living fuck? I could say the same thing about you—spying on me, digging into my history before you’d even met me—maybe I think those aren’t your things to know. Still, you did—and do—whatever the hell you want with no regard to boundaries or personal space.”
She faces me head on. “And while that’s out there, let me be clear—since you aren’t able to explain things to me, I’m digging on my own.”
Panic streaks down my spine. How much digging until she discovers the truth?
“That’s right. I’ve been through all of the books Celia sent. I’ve been to see Stacy. And Norma. I’m collecting my own facts. Don’t you think it would be better to tell me your secrets than have me find them out on my own?”
“Alayna, stop digging.” I step toward her. She’s a smart woman. If she tries hard enough, she’ll figure it out. And it will destroy her.
“You’re protecting Celia again, aren’t you?”
Is she so blind to not see? “Celia’s not who I’m protecting.”
“Who then? Yourself? Me?”
I’m close now to telling her—telling her everything. Because I hate that she doesn’t understand. How can she not understand how much my past will hurt her? How I want to save her. And, God, I don’t think I can.
She has to go. For her own good. Before she pushes me too far. I grab her at the elbow. “You need to leave, now.”
Alayna winces like she’s just gotten the wind knocked out of her. Like
I’ve
just knocked the wind out of her. It’s unbearable to see her like this, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Shutting me out again. Like you always do. Hiding behind your thick walls.” Her pain is palpable. “What’s the point of me even fighting for you if you’re never, never going to let me in? Who are you protecting, Hudson? Who?”
It’s the end of my rope. I can’t let her believe that I’m not fighting just as hard. For her. “Yes, you, dammit! I’m protecting you. Always you.”
Then, because I can never tell her in words the way I feel, I have to tell her with my body. I crush my lips against hers, tasting her, devouring her. I’m so goddamn desperate for her kiss—because I have to tell her how I feel. Because I need to feel how
she
feels about me.
It’s only meant to be a kiss. Or it’s not meant to be anything because there’s no thought involved. But when she wraps a leg around mine, when she tilts her hips against me, rubbing against my hard cock, then I have no choice but to continue. She’s like a roller coaster ride. Once you get on, you’re there for the whole ride.
And so I ride.
I spin her toward the couch and remove her panties. My fingers stroke inside her cunt. Christ, she’s wet. She’s always so fucking ready for me. I have my pants down and my cock out before I have a chance to second-guess myself. With my fingers gripped around her hips, I thrust in. Hard.
I drive into her, over and over, chasing not only my orgasm but the answers to our shitty situation. Her back is to me, her face hidden. I can’t watch her like this. I close my eyes. It’s reminiscent of so many other fucks with so many random women. This used to be my favorite position. It’s so wrong to be with her this way. But I’m too vulnerable right now. I can’t be with her in any other way without losing every semblance of control.
Except Alayna won’t let me simply use her. She knows what we need better than I do. At least, she does in this moment. Or maybe she’s just stronger than I am, more willing to be that vulnerable, that exposed.
She twists toward me, clutching onto my shirt. At her touch, my eyes pop open. She locks her gaze on mine, and that’s all it takes to bring me back. Back to
her
. I steady my drive, and her pussy clenches around me. Then I’m coming with her, crying her name like it’s an S.O.S. Hoping beyond hope that she can save me. Save us.
I collapse on top of her, holding her, breathing with her in unison. They’re short minutes that pass, every second of them precious. I don’t think I can ever let her go.
Eventually, I try. I step back, pulling out of her. But immediately, she’s in my arms, and my lips are pressed against hers. I hold her in place, our mouths sealed in an immobile kiss. This is it, I know. My decision is about to be made, and even though my stubborn walls won’t let it be made solid with words and declarations, it’s forming in the center of my mind, sitting on the edge of my tongue.
I can’t lose her.
When we break apart, Alayna wraps her hands around my neck, seemingly as desperate to hold onto me as I am to her. “Oh god, I miss you. I miss you so much.”
“
Précieux…mon amour…ma chérie…
” I run my hands down her face, memorizing the touch of her skin, the curve of her jaw. Will this be the last time?
It can’t be the last time.
“When are you coming home?” she asks, bringing us back to reality, back to the things we have to deal with.
I lean my forehead against hers. I’m exhausted. So tired of this game. “I have to go to L.A. for the weekend.” I check my watch. “I’m set to leave in about twenty minutes, in fact.”
“Part of your big business thing? With Norma?” There’s no hint of jealousy in her question. Just a need to know.
I slide my nose along hers. “Yes, with Norma. And after this, if all goes well, we’ll be done.” I want to invite her to come with me, but it’s too risky. If Celia were to follow us across the country…
No, I have to keep her here. Safe from ruining this deal that’s almost done. Then, after this, after I know I’ve gotten Celia off Alayna’s back. Then…
I can’t even say it in my mind. Because once I voice the decision, I know there’ll be no going back. This first, this deal. And then…that.
With strength I didn’t know I had, I push her away. I dress and face her, my fist on my hip. Already the distance is beginning to span between us, and I think of Mirabelle’s words. The lie that grows and separates and builds walls. I see it. It’s here now between us, forming before my eyes.
And I know I can’t let it grow any wider. I can’t wait any longer to begin. I can’t lose her, and I only have one shot at keeping her. The choice forms into words in my head.
I’ll tell her.
I
have
to tell her. Everything. All of it. Starting with this.
I reach for her, pulling her back to me with all that I am. “God, Alayna, I can’t do this anymore.” It’s a relief saying this. A burden unleashed. “I can’t bear to be apart from you. I miss you so terribly.”
“You do?” She leans back to look into my eyes.
The light. Her brilliant light overtakes me. And now that the decision’s been made, the confessions spill easily. “Of course, I do, precious. You’re my everything. I love you. I love you so much.”
Finally, I’m free.
I didn’t think it was possible, but her light, it grows brighter.
“W-w-what?” She’s unbelieving.
I’m ridiculously in love. “You heard me.”
“I want to hear it again.”
“I love you.” It’s easy now. Like I always knew it would be. It’s only the beginning of my confessions, and the rest will be so much harder. But I won’t think about that now. I’ll let this declaration have its own moment in the sun.
“You love me?”
I brush my lips over hers. “I love you, precious. I’ve always loved you. From the moment I first saw you. I knew before you did, I think.” I tilt her chin to meet my eyes. “But there are things—things in my past—that have kept me from being able to tell you. And now…I have to do this…this thing. Finish this deal. Then, when I get back, we’ll talk.”
“We’ll talk?” She’s glowing. God, how I wish I didn’t have to steal her happiness.
But I’m committed now. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know. And if you still want me, I’ll come home.”
“Yes, I want you home. Of course I do. We belong there together. There’s nothing you could say that would make me stop loving you.
Nothing.
I stick, remember?”
I cling to her words, holding them like a lifeline. “Oh, precious. I hope that’s true.”
“It is.”
But I know she can’t make that promise. I won’t hold her to it.
“Say it again.”
“You’re such a spoiled girl.” I circle my nose around hers. “And I love…spoiling you.”
She smacks me playfully.
“And I love you.” I’ll tell her as many times as she wants to hear it. As many times as she lets me say it. And though this may be the last time I hold her like this, the last time I get to bask in her sun, I know I’ll never stop saying the words that have rested so deeply in me for so long. “I love you, I love you. I love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Before
Therapy, it turned out, was quite helpful. My life didn’t change in the course of a session or two or even five, but little by little I began to understand things about myself that I’d thought could never be understood. And though I still felt primarily numb, I also felt something else. A lightening of sorts. Like the weight on my shoulders had somehow been decreased. I was still skeptical about progress, but I was willing to give it a try.
I managed to avoid Celia for more than a month after I began my rehabilitation. I got pretty good at excuses—business, travel, family obligations. She called and showed up at the loft, and I dodged.
Eventually, I had to face her. Dr. Alberts required it. Or encouraged it, rather. He insisted that as long as I kept the option to “game” open, then I could never completely leave it. He was right, of course. Only problem was that I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to completely leave the game. Actually, I was entirely sure that I
didn’t
want to.
It was at a session in my office that I finally admitted that. “It’s not that I miss playing. Well, not only that I miss playing.” Strangely, I didn’t miss it as much as I had imagined. There were other things, it turned out, that filled my time just as easily. I enjoyed the arts—the symphony, the ballet, the opera. So much so that I arranged a number of scholarship and charitable contributions that benefited these newfound interests. And work was a more than suitable substitute. The manipulative strategies I’d perfected proved useful in the boardroom. It even gave the same rush that I’d found from my experiments.
“Then what is it that keeps you from letting go?” Dr. Alberts’ approach was always kind and understanding. Never pushy or judgmental.
“I don’t know.” I did know. Saying it was difficult. “It’s just…who am I without the game?” It was a silly crisis of identity, really. Everyone knew who Hudson Pierce was. I could do an internet search and find several biographies that summed up my life more succinctly than I could ever hope to. I expected Dr. Alberts to give me his own list of my accomplishments and curriculum vitae.
He didn’t. Instead, he said, “That’s what we have to figure out, Hudson. Luckily, you’re young and healthy. You have plenty of time to figure it out.”
There was something about his words that attracted me. He’d phrased it like a challenge—on purpose, most likely—and that was all it took to catch my attention. I’d never backed away from a challenge. And what a fitting replacement self-discovery was for the experiments of my past. Rather than study the effects of certain situations on others, I could study the effects on myself.
“But,” there was always a
but
with Dr. Alberts, “you will never be able to fully explore the future you if you are still firmly anchored in the past.”
Everything kept me anchored in the past. My mother, who constantly brought up Celia’s pregnancy.My father, who I couldn’t look at without remembering his betrayal to his wife, to me. My sister, who always looked at me with innocent eyes, yet, as it turned out, knew more than anyone about who I truly was.
But that wasn’t what—who—Dr. Alberts was referring to.
“Celia.” It was hard to even say her name anymore. There was no one who anchored me more than her. And, since I was ready to set sail, I had to let her go. “I’ll take care of it.”
It was easier said than done. Though I could clearly define the steps in my mind of what needed to be done, what needed to be said, the truth was that I’d never broken up with anyone. And wasn’t that exactly what this would be? The ultimate breakup? I’d studied breakups with other couples, of course. I’d been the cause of quite a few. I knew what to expect from them—crying, yelling. Sometimes they were less emotional.
But what would it be like with Celia? Would there be a passionate display? If she still felt things as deeply as she once had, she hadn’t shown me for quite some time.
As for me, I’d thought I was immune to the whole feelings thing. Dr. Alberts corrected me there. “If you were truly incapable of affection, then how did your sister manage to convince you to see me? Was it not because of affection for her that you agreed?”
So I wasn’t completely devoid of emotion, though I still believed that the typical levels of love and devotion expressed by most people were not within my reach. And what I felt for Mirabelle…well, she was surely an exception. But there was something between me and Celia. Even if it was simply a shared affinity for the same pastime, it was a strong bond.
“You are connected to her, Hudson.” Without ever meeting her, Dr. Alberts had a fairly clear picture of our relationship just the same. “It may not be the form of love that you imagine when you think of the word, but there is emotional involvement. It will not be easy to cut her from your life. You need to be prepared for that.”
So I prepared as well as I could. I made arrangements to see her through her assistant, and I chose the location. Not the loft—I could never have her in the loft again; I knew that without Dr. Alberts pointing that out. Her apartment was better. I’d been there once or twice, but it was never a point of meeting for us. I set the appointment for seven on a weeknight. Usually when we met, our time was generalized.
“I’ll be there after dinner.”
Or,
“I’ll stop by on my way to the gym.”
These changes to our typical behavior would throw her off, give me the upper hand. Before we were even face-to-face, I’d already set the environment to work specifically in my favor.
It didn’t escape me that I was, yet again, manipulating the situation. Funny that I was supposed to be in recovery from that very thing. This time, however, I was pretty sure Dr. Alberts wouldn’t disapprove.
I arrived late. On purpose.
“Hey, stranger.” Celia’s greeting felt strained as she seemed to debate whether to hug me or not, evidence that my setup was going as planned. In the end, we didn’t embrace. She swept her arm in invitation. “Come on in.”
I stepped into her air-conditioned space and then stopped. Problem with dealing with Celia on new ground was that it was new to me as well. My eyes darted around her immaculate apartment. I hadn’t thought about it before, but her Gramercy Park location wasn’t cheap, and she lived in a building with all the amenities. Her interior design salary didn’t pull in enough to pay the premium price. She was obviously digging into her trust fund. Or getting help elsewhere. Briefly, I wondered if she was scamming people on the side.
Then I dismissed the thought. It wasn’t my business. Not anymore.
“Well, are we just going to stand here twiddling our thumbs or would you like to take a seat?” She smiled, but her hands fiddled nervously with the edge of her blouse.
“Sit, of course.” I started toward her living room.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“Sure.” I paused. “Actually, I’ll get it.” Her bar was off the dining room—this I remembered from previous visits. I grabbed a glass from her dish rack.
“I don’t have any Scotch,” Celia called from the other room. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” I opened the cabinet and studied her inventory. Bourbon and vodka sat front and center—my mother’s liquors of choice. Something about that thought reminded me that I needed my wits about me that night. I closed the cupboard, filled my glass with ice, and poured some bottled water. Then I joined Celia in the living room.
She was already sitting on her chaise, spread out to look casual, but her body language said she was anything but. I took a long swallow of my water before taking a seat across from her on the loveseat.
“So.” She wrung her hands as she spoke. “What’s up? I mean, I know something has to be up. You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, and all this tonight is just…weird. You’re trying to throw me off balance. It’s working. So what is it?”
I chuckled. Of course she’d see through me. Wouldn’t I have seen through her?
Though I hadn’t planned to dive right in, Celia’s point-blank questioning of my agenda gave me no choice. “I came to tell you…I need to tell you…” J
ust spit it out.
“I’m not playing anymore.”
It was Celia’s turn to laugh. “Of course you aren’t. We haven’t seen each other in forever. How could you possibly be playing? I’m sure it’s driving you crazy. You’re such a junkie for this stuff. Don’t worry. I have several possible scenarios just waiting for you to choose one. We’ll get you back in.”
She’d relaxed, her usual demeanor returning as she ticked off situations on her fingers. “There’s a new neighbor on the seventh floor. He’s seeing two women, neither know about each other. He’s serious about both. We could introduce them. Or you could try to seduce one. Or both. Or I could jump in as a third woman.”
Her enthusiasm was contagious. The longer I let her babble on, the worse it was for me. I had to correct her misunderstanding. “Celia, I mean—”
She ignored me, speaking over me. “If that doesn’t sound appealing, then I have another. I met a pair of newlyweds at the MoMA show last week. I know, we’ve done the newlywed thing, but I thought it might be fun for old time’s sake.”
“I’m out, Celia. I’m not playing anymore.”
“Or wait!” Now it was apparent that she did understand me after all. She just didn’t want to. “Andrea Parish has a wedding shower coming up. It’s co-ed. I’m sure there’s something we could—”
“Celia, stop.”
She did, her face falling as she turned to meet my eyes.
“I’m done. I’m not playing the game. Ever.” My voice threatened to catch, but I managed to cover it. “It’s over.” I finished my water, wishing that I’d chosen the vodka instead.
Her eyes fell to the floor for the slightest moment. Then she recovered. “What happened? Is there a lawsuit? We always knew that was a possibility.”
I shook my head. “There’s no lawsuit. I’m just…I’m done.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She narrowed her brows skeptically. “Are you trying to pull my leg? I don’t fall for your shit anymore, you know.”
While I’d known delivering this news to Celia would be difficult, I’d thought the hardest part would be convincing her I was happy with my decision, not that I meant it in the first place. “I’m not pulling your leg, Celia. I’m not making this up. I’m done with the game. I’m no longer playing. I know this seems to be coming out of the blue, but I’m serious about this. No more experiments. No game. Done.”
She tilted her head and studied me. “You can’t be done. You said you’d never be done.”
“I’d said that; you’re right. But I was wrong. I’ve changed my mind.” It occurred to me to bring up Mirabelle, but then I realized that there wasn’t any way I could explain how my sister had influenced me. Even if I could come up with the words, Celia wouldn’t understand. I barely understood.
She came near to assuming on her own, though. “Is this because of your mother? Jack?”
“No. Not because of Sophia. Definitely not because of Jack.”
Celia stood and began pacing. “Where the hell is this coming from, then? If not your family, did you meet Jesus or something?”
I chuckled again. “No.” Though ethics were beginning to take more of an interest for me than they had before. The rights and wrongs of things I’d done. It was starting to matter. “This is me, Celia. All me.”
She swung to face me. “Bullshit. This isn’t you. The
game
is you.”
“Not anymore.”
“Always! You can’t even make it through a dinner without coming up with at least one play.”
I shot up from my seat. “And that’s exactly the problem. The game has become my whole life. To the point that I’ve begun to ruin the few things around me that aren’t the game. And still it isn’t enough. It’s never enough. I need something else. Something more fulfilling, less consuming. More honest.”
“Like what?
Love
? Because I swear to God if that’s what you mean…” She didn’t have to finish her thought. I got it. After I’d turned her off to that particular emotion, it would be the ultimate betrayal to leave her for that.
“Not love. Of course not love.” Yet, wasn’t that exactly what I was leaving for? Love for Mirabelle? It wasn’t romantic love, though, and that’s what Celia was referring to. “You know I’m incapable of that, Celia. Just…there has to be something else. If I knew what that something was, I’d tell you. But I don’t know. Yet.”
“Because there is nothing else.”
I’d believed that. Part of me still did. But I’d been listening to new voices recently—Dr. Alberts, Mirabelle—and they said differently. “How do we know that, Celia? Have we looked?”
She scoffed at me. “I don’t need to look.”
“Then how do you know?”
“Because you told me!”
“Only because you begged me to teach you!” This wasn’t the course I’d planned to take with Celia. Chasing the blame, passing the buck—it wouldn’t get us anywhere.
I ran a hand through my hair and blew out a stream of hot air. When I spoke again, I was calmer, more even. “Look, you chose this. I never did. I thought it was my only option, but I see now that it wasn’t. So I’m trying to choose something different.” My pride made me say more than I should. “I stood by you when you made this choice, and now it’s your turn to stand by me.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled me with a look that could kill. “If we’re scoring points then we need to go back much further, Hudson. Your game against me that summer was what began this in the first place.”
I didn’t have ammunition against that. There was no denying that I’d been the one to put the current course of her life in motion. And while I’d had little guilt about the things I’d done to other people, I was beginning to. Therapy was working already. Or messing with my mind. I didn’t know. Whatever it was, there was specific remorse concerning Celia. Was it because I was connected to her as Dr. Alberts suggested? Did I love her? Maybe I did in some way. Maybe I always had.
I sat heavily on the arm of the sofa. “You’re right, Ceely. I did begin this. I wish I knew what to do now to end it.”
She shook her head, her short ponytail bobbing with the movement. The look on her face said she was readying for another attack. But when she spoke, her voice was weak and resigned. “I don’t want to end it. I’m not ready.”