Mister West Page 4

  “Fornicate?” I stifle a laugh. Fucking hell, this girl. “One minute you’re swearing, and the next you’re using delicate words like you’re a Sunday School teacher. But on that note, you’re right. I talked about ways I wanted to fuck you silly.”

  Her face whips in the direction of Gaston. She’s blushing hard, probably embarrassed as fuck I’m saying what I am to her in front of somebody else. But I don’t care. She’s rattled me, and I wholeheartedly blame her for the blue balls I’ll be succumbing to behind closed doors tonight.

  When she sees how unaffected Gaston is, she leans back into me and angrily whispers, “When you said you wanted to give me a ride, I didn’t think it was code word for being a dick.”

  I chuckle contritely. “A dick? Ivy, I’m going easy on you. If I were anymore of a dick, I’d have called you a tease.”

  Her mouth drops and something like pain shoots through her features. “I’m not a tease!”

  “Is that what you tell yourself?”

  She goes still, her blue eyes widening as she inhales sharply and clasps her hands together. She looks down into her lap, and I notice her chest begins to rise and fall faster. Something’s not right. I’ve touched a nerve. One that tells me I’ve made a grave mistake saying that.

  Shit.

  “Alright,” I quickly amend, pulling apart one of her hands with my own. “You’re not a tease. Forget I said that. That was low of me. I’m a fucking dick, right? You just said that yourself. I’m just… insanely fucking attracted to you, Ivy. In fact, I’m biting my tongue to stop myself from begging you to come to my place, and if there’s one thing you should know, Ivy, I never beg.”

  Once more she trembles, and I catch how conflicted she is. She’s internally battling something big. I can tell. On top of that, her home life isn't going to be easy with a man she's technically not with. I shouldn’t have asked to take her home, but there’s a feeling I’m getting from her that tells me she’d rather be here than with him.

  “You’ve been hurt,” I tell her quietly. I can see the pain lingering in her. I reach over to her face with my other hand and sweep her beautiful hair behind her ear before I can even think to stop myself.

  Her breath catches in her throat and she stares down at my hand over hers. “I would never play with someone's emotions, that's not who I am,” she says quietly. “I’ve been done over by enough people to know better. That isn’t me.”

  Touchy-feely conversation. I shut my eyes for a moment and try to push away the immediate anger I feel toward myself. I’ve done it again. Put myself in a position around a woman capable of getting through to me. Fuckin’ hell, I’m disturbed by the sympathy I feel for her. I shouldn’t care. I should just shrug and go, “Meh, that’s life, sweets. People get done over by just about anybody.” But I don’t. I’m incapable of doing it. I don’t want to be the cause for more hurt.

  Instead, I convince myself that what I’m doing is harmless. I’ll never see her again after this night, so it doesn’t matter that I’m holding her hand to me like this or trying to comfort her. It’s harmless.

  I’m lying to myself, of course.

  “I believe you,” I tell her solemnly. “You don’t look like the kind of girl that would tease or play around. I know that. I got angry.”

  “I’m sorry, Aidan.”

  “Stop apologizing. Like I said, I believe you. The fault is my own, Ivy, for what I said.”

  She looks up at me carefully, trying to discern whether I’m telling the truth or not. It’s like she needs to know I’m not tickling her ear. Then she leans into me, her face stopping inches from mine and whispers, “Just so you know, I’m insanely attracted to you too.”

  My chest tightens and I can’t for the life of me recall the last time a woman had me this intrigued. Not for a very long time, but even then, it was under completely different circumstances.

  Ivy is… raw. There’s something… delicious about her.

  I play off the feeling and smirk down at her. “Of course you’re insanely attracted to me. There’d be something wrong with you if you weren’t.”

  She doesn’t laugh, but she smiles slowly. It barely fills her face, though. She’s too busy watching me with this soul sucking wistfulness.

  I’m in deep fucking trouble with this girl.

  *

  The car stops in front of a decent looking apartment building. I step out with Ivy and pull out her giant bag from the trunk. I pause momentarily. This is all she came with. No other luggage, just this carry-on. I frown to myself. Did she flee the last time she left from here? And if all she left with was this bag, does that mean she feels she has to return?

  She’s jittery next to me, looking over my shoulder and up at the apartments with weary eyes. I follow her gaze, but the lights are all out in the building.

  Another twist in the gut that something strange is going on.

  She doesn’t want to be here.

  “Let me walk you to the door,” I tell her.

  She focuses back on me and gives me a shy smile. I take her to the entrance door and she pulls out her keys from one of the pockets in her giant purse. I wait for her to unlock the door, holding back the bite of anger I feel that I’m actually going to walk away and never see her again. But she stands there for several moments, staring at the glass door, almost like she’s indecisive about something.

  She might run.

  Please, run.

  “I liked our talk,” she then says quietly.

  “I liked our talk too,” I reply honestly.

  She turns to me, and my eyes have a mind of their own, lapping her body up and down several times. I can’t help it. She’s too beautiful not to appreciate.

  “I want to know your name,” she tells me.

  “It’s irrelevant.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes,” I adamantly tell her, not wanting to discuss it anymore, “it is.”

  She gives me a strange look, probably wondering why I’m so desperate to keep my name from her. I’m not some criminal on the run, and I’m not ashamed of who I am. But my image isn’t necessarily innocent either. Tabloids can be your greatest enemy – I was my own biggest enemy once – and I’m happy she knows nothing about it.

  Truth is, I’m used to being hated. I’m a tech god so I’m the devil incarnated to the public who see me make a fortune a year and think I sit back and watch the money grow without working for it. I’m cut-throat and owning one of the most used payment platforms in the world means I have to fight hard to be at the top. They don’t see the twenty-hour days I put in, or the endless conferences I must be present for, or the amount of traveling I do.

  They don’t see shit. And I’m exhausted by the image, too exhausted to correct it every time. But I live this way because it’s better than who I used to be. I’m putting distance to that shadow, running away from it because if I don’t, it might catch up to me.

  We stare at each other a little while longer. There’s still that want for me radiating out of her. I close the gap between us and settle a hand against her face. She stills at the touch, her eyes meeting mine. There isn’t conflict there like before. She’s in that I-don’t-give-a-fuck state, and I could take advantage of it if I was so inclined to.

  I move a little closer and run my thumb along her soft lips. Her eyes flutter and close, and I’m so close to her, my body is pressed against her. I push her back until she’s against the glass door, and I run my nose along the side of her face, shutting my own eyes as I take all her scent in. Jesus, I’ve never been so close to a woman and not have had my way by now.

  The temptation to push her shorts off and pull my zipper down is strong as a fucking tidal wave. My cock is starving, and I’m pulled in by this girl’s allure. I can fuck her right here. Pick her up, have her legs wrapped around my waist as I plunge myself so deep in her, I can feel her quivering walls around my dick.

  I let out a sharp breath and pull away instead. She opens her eyes as I stop a couple f
eet away from her. I can feel my body quaking, that urge so fucking strong it’s debilitating my senses. I have to get away from her.

  “Tell me one thing,” I say, swallowing back the ache in my being, “what has he done to you?”

  Her eyes are filled with pain as her lips part. “He…he cheated on me.”

  I nod and try to control the anger bubbling within me. “You ever thought of doing that back?”

  “Only once.”

  The way she’s looking at me, I know she’s talking about us. I’m her temptation. I’m what she could use to get back at the asshole who cheated on this beautiful woman. She wouldn't even be cheating on him if we did, and that's a tempting thought.

  But…she’d never live with herself if she did it for that reason.

  “Why are you coming back here?” I find myself asking. He doesn’t deserve you, I want to say, but that sounds so cliché and she must know that already.

  “I…” she pauses and looks down at her feet. “It’s not black and white, Aidan.”

  “Help me understand.”

  “We’ve been through a lot. I’ve been with him for many years. We went through a very difficult time.”

  “That doesn’t excuse his behavior.”

  “I know.”

  “He’ll never win back your trust.”

  Her face darkens. “I know.”

  “Do you love him? Is that why you’re back here?”

  She purses her lips, saying nothing.

  I want to run my finger down her forlorn face, want to tell her to ditch the cheating husband and move the fuck on so I can take her to my place and fuck her to oblivion. They’re selfish thoughts I must gulp down.

  “Part of me doesn’t want to go through those doors,” she says, turning her attention to them. “I don’t want it to be real, Aidan. Because I know what’s going to happen. The cycle resumes and I slowly get eaten up by it. If I had a choice…if I truly had a choice…” she pauses now in thought.

  I watch her intently. “You don’t have a choice, Ivy?”

  Is she stuck?

  “It’s more than that,” she eventually answers. “It’s telling my legs to walk for the final time. It’s…” She lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m not just falling back into it, Aidan. I’m not going to pretend everything is okay again. We’re separated, and that’s not going to change…”

  “Then why are you back?” I repeat.

  “Because…” her voice trails away.

  Because she has nowhere to go? Or is it something else?

  I have to fight the white knight in me I didn’t even know existed. I feel like I could offer her help, but…fuck, I can’t bring myself to do it. There’s something about Ivy that tells me I’m not going to get away from her unscathed.

  Like Ruth said, I must protect myself.

  “What happens if you walk through those doors and you’re done with him for good?” My voice is low, needy. I’m desperate to find out. "What happens to you then?"

  She looks up at me and I’m drowning in her blue eyes. “I don’t know.”

  She. Doesn’t. Know?

  It’s not the answer I want. Not at all.

  “It was nice to meet you, Ivy,” I let out, and the words taste bitter.

  Ivy’s face falls. Disappointment flashes in her eyes, but she knew it was going to come to this. And up until now she had never known otherwise.

  “Well, now that you know my name, you should look me up some time,” she then says without enthusiasm. “You know, to catch up or something.”

  I nod vaguely. I have no intention of doing that. Besides, what does she expect me to catch up with her on? Social media? I don’t do that shit.

  And, once again, I don’t chase.

  “You take care of yourself,” I tell her. “Don’t take shit from anyone.” From him.

  She’s surprised by my words, but I know they’re hitting home. I’m not unfamiliar with the look of hardship. She nods but says nothing.

  I stare at her hard, reserving a spot in my mind for this encounter, for the soft curves of her body, for the beautiful face that looks just as torn apart by this as I do. I log it away, breathe deeply, turn around and walk.

  Breathe, Aidan. The fuck is wrong with you? It’s a fucking woman. Two legs, one pussy, nice tits and… eyes as deep as the ocean. Fuckin’ hell, this is ridiculous. I shake off the feeling and scoff to myself as I get further away, ignoring the way the heat in me dies. She’s just a woman. A pretty little thing that was only capable of getting through to me because I was tired and angry and at my most vulnerable point after a day from hell. There’s nothing interesting about her. There’s nothing about her that should drive me to doing things I promised myself never to do again. I’m not that man.

  I don’t want to be that kind of man again either.

  I get colder and colder as I repeat the words that must ultimately deter me from her.

  Married/Separated/Complicated.

  She’s unavailable, Aidan.

  Ivy Montcalm is off limits.

  A quest that’ll never be completed.

  Five

  Ivy

  3 weeks later

  Is it weird I still think about him? That at least once a day he crosses my thoughts in some way? I don’t even know why I end up thinking about him. I’m only aware of it when I do.

  Sometimes I question my sanity. Surely people don’t walk away from one six-hour flight and reminisce every single day of the conversation they had with a stranger. But it felt more than that to me. It felt like I’d connected. And I guess this is why I’m questioning myself more and more. I shouldn’t be feeling like this. It’s not… It’s not…

  It’s not normal.

  Right?

  These three weeks have done nothing to calm down my thoughts. Every time I close my eyes, I see those deep brown eyes and those plump lips pulled up in a smirk. He had the blackest hair, a few inches long, set in the kind of way that won't ever behave no matter how many containers of hair product were used. It contradicted him, the man in that black pinstriped Armani-or-whatever-the-fuck-it-was suit that looked like he had the world beneath his boot. He radiated power and demanded respect, yet he spoke to me in a manner I didn’t anticipate.

  Sexy. Flirty. Sensual.

  He embodied that smoldering, sex charged kind of charm that had never been directed at me. The kind I escaped my world from in books, movies and poetry. The kind my friends and I would kick back and conjure up in our sex-less mediocre lives.

  The snoring coming from the next room reminds me of my current predicament. Derek is deep asleep, and he has no idea that I’m thinking of another man. I wipe away a fallen tear as I turn to my side on the uncomfortable couch. If this were before, I’d have felt so guilty for thinking this way. It would be a thick ball in my chest that would leave me breathless.

  Nowadays, not so much.

  “I’m going to make it up to you,” Derek had said to me the next morning after I’d returned and he found me on the couch, wide awake. “I don’t expect you to jump into this, Ivy, but you’re going to want me when all is said and done. I’ve changed and I’m going to prove it to you. I’m not going to drink, or party, or game. You’re going to see the effort I’m making and we’re going to be okay again. Then we can end this separation bullshit.”

  Were we ever okay, though?

  Giving up on sleep, I climb off the couch and tiptoe to the kitchen. I don’t need to be quiet. Derek can sleep through anything. Still. I do it just to be sure.

  I stand in the kitchen of our tiny one-bedroom unit, staring vacantly ahead at nothing. Time passes, and I can’t grasp it. It seems to be slipping from me. I wait for the weight in my body to leave, but it seems to be anchored somewhere, too stubborn to move. I look around in the silence, at the small bits of furniture. We don’t have much at all, and it doesn’t bother me, but still. I keep thinking to myself: is this what my life has amounted to? I’m twenty-four years old, legally married to a
man that destroyed my trust, and slaving away at a job I’m mentally not there for.

  And having to face all of this, I end up feeling numb. Being with someone you no longer are in love with means shutting down a part of yourself that doesn’t want to confront a failing relationship. To be truthful, it was never going to be a success anyway. Especially when he wasn’t patient during my depression and ended up looking for pleasure somewhere else when he went out. Our past is too dark to move on from, and it’s not weakness saying that. It was explosive and damaging, filled with verbal abuse from both sides.

  Life is fucked. Because you can look at things logically and know how it should be. I could look at my deadening relationship and tell myself to move the fuck on like I tried to when I ran out almost three months ago with nothing but the clothes on my back. But what logic didn’t tell me was how many nights I’d stay awake, remembering the good times, the times Derek lifted me up, the times I sought him out when I needed him the most. The times he had been there. The years we had spent together, from children to adults, changing and clinging to each other when life threw its curveballs. Logic doesn’t always give you the push, or the answers; it just tells you how it should be.

  Separated or not, the tether between us still exists. Rupturing it is a scary thought.

  I rub my eyes, resisting succumbing to the tears behind them. I’m not a crier. I’m just exhausted, and now my mind is too alert for sleep.

  I fill the kettle up and turn it on. As it boils, I pull out a mug and a small packet of soup. When the water is finished, I stir the contents together and sit down at the tiny round table.

  “If you were mine, I’d fuck you in ways you can’t imagine.”

  That man's words won’t leave my head. Every time I think of the low, dark growl in his voice, shivers run down my spine and my core clenches.

  “Once you have a taste of me, you’ll never walk away. That I can guarantee.”

  He was an asshole, really. That kind of arrogance would have put me off – and still would – so why did I find it so hot coming from him?