Chapter 16

16

L IZ

Later

I park my car in front of my place and head to the entrance.

I've just about had it with parking it down the street and spending ten minutes walking back to my place.

Relieved, I push through the door.

I'm home.

But I'm late.

I need to take a shower and maybe gobble down a peanut butter sandwich.

My mouth waters as I think about it.

Oh, I'm so happy that I'm home.

I shed my clothes, toss on a robe, put on some music, and make a couple of sandwiches with peanut butter, a sliced banana, and grape jelly before leaving them on the counter and rushing to the bathroom.

It's almost nine when I exit the shower. I blow dry my hair and put on some makeup. Not much. Only mascara and some concealer.

I need to eat first.

I'm not that good at phone sex when my stomach growls.

He should call around ten––I think.

He said he'd attend a business dinner, so it depends on when that ends.

Am I a little nervous about these business dinners? Yes, I am. I'm not the most secure person in the world.

On the other hand, I can't afford to obsess over his schedule. We're not that close—or maybe we are.

I laugh.

I have butterflies in my stomach and that hasn't happened in a long while. Probably never, but I don't want to get too technical about it.

I love the feeling, though.

A sweet mix of anticipation, delicious longing, and a slow burning fire waiting to be nourished.

This is probably the best part of any story.

The quivering beginning, the uncertainty, the promise, the fantasy of a magical life shared with another person.

The chase against the clock to establish intimacy, friendship, and familiarity.

All the good ingredients of a solid bond.

Despite being a bleep in an ocean of unpredictability, a spike across a flat line, and an oddity in the end, our story is still entitled to a beautiful life.

Since I keep checking my butt in the mirror, I open my robe, let it slide off my shoulders, and take a few pictures.

‘Look at you. All vixen and shit, ' the voice inside my head mutters.

Oh, I didn't miss this one.

‘Jealous much?'

‘Don't care.'

‘Yeah, sure. Like I believe you.'

A few moments pass as I snap more pictures.

‘And what do you exactly want to accomplish by doing this?' she asks.

"Sometimes things are not about accomplishing anything. I'm just about having fun.'

‘Obviously.'

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.

I ponder whether to get into this with her.

‘Listen. I like this man––'

‘Didn't say a thing.'

‘You clearly don't need to say it. I can see it on your face. You're more judgmental than my mother.'

‘It's my right.'

‘Yeah. Whatever.'

She goes quiet, and I check on her to see if she's all right.

‘You know a day will come when you will need to forget about him,' she says.

‘What are you talking about?'

‘You know exactly what I'm talking about. The man is done. He's had his great love. He's had his toxic marriage. What else do you think he needs?'

I hate to admit it, but she makes sense.

I stay quiet.

‘No more talking?'

‘I'm done with you. I'm going to eat my sandwich.'

‘Bon appétit,' she says facetiously.

‘You can be such a little bitch.'

‘Au revoir.'

"Oh, fuck off," I mutter. "Now she's going all French on me."

I tie my belt, slide my phone into my pocket, and head to the kitchen.

Finally, I feel better.

I make myself a cup of tea, put everything on a tray, and take my peanut butter party to the coffee table in the living room.

Propped against the pillows, with my legs up on the couch, I munch on my sandwich, drink tea, and edit my pictures.

They're cute. And I'm cute. I have a way of looking like I'm fully clothed even when I'm naked.

I hope he'll like them.

Sighing, I check the time. The minutes fly away, and soon, it's ten thirty.

I'm a little worried and anxious about doing anything right now.

So, I snatch up my phone and start toying with the idea of sending him some pictures.

‘You'll look desperate for sex,' the voice inside my head mutters, and I plop the phone down.

She's right again.

I hate it when she's right.

A few more moments pass, and I'm sipping tea and staring at the ceiling when my phone rings.

I jerk up and swing my legs over the edge of the sofa, almost falling to the floor.

Shit.

I flip my phone over, my heart exploding in my chest.

It's Terry. Terry?

Luckily, she's not a fan of video calls.

"Hey. One quick thing," she says. "Danny can take your car to the shop tomorrow morning."

Danny is our fifty–eight–year–old neighbor, and I suspect he has a crush on my mother.

He'd do anything to score points with her.

"There's no need to. I'll take care of it."

"I know. But he can help you. You have a lot on your plate. I hate seeing you take the bus or depend on other people for a ride."

A pang of guilt swirls in my chest.

What can I say?That I'm a little liar and have a new car in front of my house? That I'm just being inconsiderate about my old car, which I should fix and sell? Although I can't just do that now.

"Okay. Let him take it. I'll pay for his time."

"No need to," she says, a smile lining her voice. "Besides, you don't have money for it."

I feel guilty again.

"I'll pay the mechanic."

"You do that. I'll call you tomorrow to let you know how much it costs."

"Thank you," I say softly when another call flashes across my screen.

It's David video calling me.

"Okay. I gotta go," I say in a hurry. "We'll talk."

We end our conversation, and I accept David's call.

"Hey," he says, holding his phone up.

The lit Manhattan skyline glows in the background.

He's not home––I mean at the hotel––and I have a feeling an apology is about to come my way.

He looks smashing, rocking a designer suit, a crimson tie, and a crisp white shirt.

Yup, he's still at the business dinner.

His eyes rove over my face.

"Hey," I say softly.

"Did I wake you?"

"No."

I smile sweetly.

His concern dissipates, his eyes soft with a smile.

"I was waiting for you," I murmur, leaning my phone against a stack of books on the table and lying to my side, propped on my elbow.

‘You shouldn't have said that.'

The voice inside my head huffs, throwing her arms in the air. I can't argue with her. But I can't ignore how I feel either.

Maybe being sincere will backfire in the end, but for now, it's all I can do.

"I'm sorry," he says, looking down briefly. "I called you to tell you I'd be late."

‘Uh-huh,' Mindy says inside my head.

‘I'm no Mindy.'

‘You will be if you don't shut your pie hole.'

‘You're a hater. You know I'm right.'

‘The man is allowed to be late. He just called me to let me know. That's nice of him.'

‘Hahaha. Look at you being ridiculous. You're all prepped up, killing yourself to look nice for him. And he's late. Who knows what being late means in his world?'

‘I'm done listening to you.'

‘Good. Don't come to me when he puts a hole into your chest filled with crushing pain.'

‘Get lost.'

"All right," I say to David. "Call me when you get home," I say in a clipped voice, ready to end the call.

"Hey. Wait," he says, quickly picking up on the fact that my mood has changed.

He looks away for a second as if glimpsing into the room before shifting his focus to me.

"I'll call you later, yeah? I didn't want to make you wait, but I'm still here, and it takes longer than I thought."

"Okay."

He reads my eyes, a smile curling his lips.

It feels like he doesn't want to let go of me.

"How was your day?"

"Busy," I say, still not talking to him the way I normally would.

"All right," he says, noticing he's on thin ice with me.

Clamor wafts from inside.

"It's a big party?" I murmur.

"Yes. It's one of our annual gatherings."

"Who is "us"?"

"Us, the business partners."

I stay quiet.

"And their significant others," I smile. "And you're single?"

He nods, amused.

"I hope Pam is not there," I toss at him.

"She's not here. I'm here by myself," he says, grinning.

Men.

They can't resist a smidgen of flattery.

"Don't let it go to your head," I say, a hint of humor woven in my voice. "I was simply asking. That's all."

"I wouldn't dare," he jokes, his dimple popping up, and I get smitten with him.

His smile fades as he drinks me in.

"I missed you," he says sincerely, and the pang of honesty dissolves quickly into my awareness, warming my skin.

"You missed this," I say playfully, quietly begging him to say more things like this.

I point to my body, although he can't see a thing.

"I missed that too. We'll take care of that later," he says, his eyes narrowed with a lustful smile.

"All right," I murmur softly, unable to peel my eyes away from him.

"You look beautiful, Elizabeth. As beautiful as you were that night."

That night.

The night he made me come in that rooftop bar, and then he took me to––

"Send me a picture of you," he says as if living in my head and knowing what I have been thinking.

"I will," I say curtly, and the voice in my head finally gives me a thumbs up.

"All right. I'll see you later."

We finally end our call, and it's like my heart has been disconnected from his.

Man, that hurts.

I fall to my back, my phone clutched against my chest, my mind traveling back in time.

Not long ago––last Saturday––I left that bar with him. The memory puts a smile on my face.

He was so worked up that I thought he'd fuck me in the hallway or a storage room behind a wall of mops and towels.

Our trip was short.

I quickly learned he had a suite ready for us in that hotel. It wasn't ready for me in particular.

That's where he stays when he's in New York.

That is his home.

We took the stairs down a couple of floors before entering a quiet corridor that reminded me of a museum.

A digital code granted us access to his place, and wow… What a place it was.

A huge space encased in glass with minimalist furniture. And when I say minimalist, I mean a large platform bed, a few floor pillows, a state–of–the–art kitchen with steel appliances, and no proof it had ever been used, except for the occasional coffee brewing in the morning or the chilled glass of wine in the evening.

I entered his space in awe.

Do you know how it feels to look at Manhattan from that vantage point and wonder if you'll ever be the same when you go down?

It felt amazing and troubling at the same time.

That's how it felt.

Like he had used some magic and morphed a pumpkin into a princess.I was dressed like one, and he had catered to my needs like I was one.

The voice inside my head became frantic at that point, had a complete nervous breakdown, and screamed at the top of her lungs to watch out.

Alarms went off in my head.

She wanted to put a billboard up in warning, so I knew I was in danger.

The danger being that I might fall for him.

That ship had sailed, the voice inside my head–– Mindy when we aren't on good terms ––would've said had she not been busy pulling her hair out.

I couldn't not inhale and exhale deeply as the lit windows scattered around town hinted at the stories of the people who were just like me, a nobody one day and then a queen or a kind for a night or a fleeting second.

That night, everything was perfect.

He took my hand, walked me to the bed, and peeled my dress off while covering me in kisses.

Every inch of my skin reacted to him with tingles and goosebumps, and I pulled back and sought the comfort of the pillows while he took off his clothes.

He didn't let me languish on the cold sheets, stretching his hand out, pulling me up, and bringing me to the glass wall.

I knew about that scene, and he knew I was aware of it. We didn't lie to ourselves.

In a way, Rain's book had been the outline of our story, the morsel of inspiration that put the idea of him into my head.

I couldn't be mad at her or him because they had that moment back in time.

He had no idea that many years later, he'd lift a young woman up, push her back into the glass wall, enter her to the hilt, and then plunge into her, feeling more than sexual attraction for her.

Rain was afraid––she'd always suffered from acrophobia, a debilitating fear of heights––but I wasn't because, unlike her, I knew a whole lot more about David.

She also didn't benefit from experiencing the warm, human side of him, which he was willing to show me that night.

We kissed while we fucked, and the transition was smooth and easy, from doing naughty things in the bar to me being astonished by his place to him wrapping his arms around me and taking me to the climax again, this time making sure we were experiencing it simultaneously.

I loved how he helped me teeter on the edge before my body gave in, and I enjoyed the delicious trembling that made me a loyal fan of him forever.

We didn't sleep there that night.

But he fucked again after a brief shower.

I loved to roll with him over the cold sheets and get from him more with each stroke.

More attention, more delight.

He loved topping me, entering me, and listening to the short gasps leaving my lips.

He loved seeing me happy, and in return, I loved seeing him satisfied, too.

A long breath enters my lungs as I let that memory drift away and shift my eyes to my phone.

I push up and send him the pictures that I've taken.

Nudes, my hair, my lips.

But never a photograph of my entire body.

I know how these things work.

It's better not to make a name for myself on the Internet in my birthday suit.

You never know when something goes wrong, and my snapshots get into the wrong hands.

You look beautiful, Elizabeth.

The man kills me with his words.

I finish sending him the pictures, envisioning him at the other end of the line, receiving them, and checking them under the table.

Mr. David Moore.

I'm so entangled in him that I'll need scissors and a strong will to remove myself from his soul.

I'm still living that fantasy of him and me and the large bed where he had made me come more than once when a sharp noise tears into the evening air outside.

I flick my eyes to the front door, all tensed up.

"What the…?"

I slide off quietly, straighten up, and tiptoe to the door.

Headlights sweep the front of my house as if a giant reflector is pointed at my place.

Please don't tell me I have to deal with more craziness today.

I sneak to the window and peer outside.

A cab is parked behind my ride, and someone with a big flashlight gestures toward my place.

Intermingled voices echo in the air.

"What?"

I run to the other window, unable to see the person behind the flashlight.

"Please don't come here. I'm sure this is not the place you're looking for. It must be a mixup."

Still mumbling words, I refuse to stay glued to the window, so I turn around, pick up my cup of tea, and go to the kitchen to replenish it.

A twinge of frustration pours through my veins.

"I thought this was a quiet neighborhood."

I don't even finish saying that, and someone knocks on the door.

I wish I didn't speak with David moments ago.

For a second there, it would cross my mind that he was at the door.

That's not the case, obviously, so I put on my resting bitch face and get ready to snap at the person molesting my door.

They knock on the door again.

I take a sip of tea, suck in a long breath, and clutch my phone––ready to record everything for the cops later–– before heading to the door.

I don't look outside, so eager to give them a piece of my mind. I open the door, and I'm in for a big surprise.

My anger vanishes as I take in the woman in front of me wearing sweatpants, a wind jacket, winter boots, a cap, and a flashlight in her hand.

"Surprise," she says, and I almost fold into an origami.

"Chloe?"

Our arms open, and she jumps into my hug while I embrace her lightly, unsure what to believe.

She hugs me tightly before we break away from one another.

"Surprise," she says again, and I couldn't agree more.

For the moment, my brain gets flooded with assumptions.

Is she, um… on vacation?

Something bad happened to her?

Something outrageously good?

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" she asks, and I hurry to do that before the moment turns awkward.

"Hey," she says, dropping the backpack on the floor and closing the door behind her while I slide my phone into my pocket.

Oh, fuck.

David.

My brain spins ideas fast.

I look at the backpack.

Is she staying?

"What's up with you?" she says, pulling the cap off and dropping it on her backpack.

"What's up with you?" I toss back at her to buy some time and ponder a good answer.

Her eyes move quickly over my hair and face.

"Are you going somewhere? Expecting someone?"

"No. I surely didn't expect you. Something happened?" I murmur.

"Nothing happened. I'm back. Yay."

Phony enthusiasm threads through her voice.

"Yeah. Yay," I say in a wilted voice. "What do you mean you're back?"

She turns off the flashlight and shoves it into her backpack.

"My plane just landed."

"What about a phone call?" I say, showing her to the kitchen. "Are you hungry?"

"I called you."

"You did?" I ask, glancing at her over my shoulder. "When?"

"An hour or so ago."

I scoop out my phone and take a peek at the screen.

A few notifications alert me to the text messages David has sent me.

I quickly swipe the screen and go to the missed calls.

"Aren't my calls there?"

"I'm sure they are," I say, trying to get to that screen as quickly as possible. "Yes, here they are. I'm sorry I was in the bathroom. You could've texted me."

Her smile goes dry.

"I'm sorry. I didn't think it would be a problem."

I'm seeing her wither in front of me, and I only have myself to blame for it.

"It's not a problem, silly. It's that you scared the shit out of me. I didn't know where the noise came from."

"I asked the driver to bring me here. Can I spend the night here by any chance? I'll sleep on the couch and won't make the slightest noise. I didn't want to go home. I have nothing there. My fridge is empty. There's no food, no drinks. Nothing. I don't even have coffee in the morning and am too tired to go shopping. It's been a long flight."

My heart clenches as I look at her. Her beautiful hair that is usually an explosion of silky rings is now matted, and she has dark circles around her eyes.

"You did the right thing. I'll get you something to eat, and you can take a shower, change into comfortable clothes, and get some sleep. I need to leave early in the morning, though."

"No problem. I'll leave with you."

I invite her to sit at the kitchen table and move to the stove.

"Peanut butter sandwiches? Eggs? Hot chocolate? Tea?"

She smiles.

"All of the above. Can I take a shower first?"

"Yes, sure. Do you want me to bring you some clothes? Your favorite pajamas?"

"Pajamas would be good. Thank you."

I help her get settled before cooking for her, so when she steps out of the bathroom, the kitchen table is full of food and drinks.

Moments before, I had the chance to send David a message and warn him that I was no longer alone.

It broke my heart because I really wanted to have those moments with him this evening.

I thought our previous conversation had laid the foundation for a great session of phone sex.

I was also fooling myself a little.

I just wanted to talk to him and not feel like there was so much distance between us.

Unfortunately, my plans changed, and he hasn't texted me back.

I don't know what that means.

Is he still there at that business dinner? Does he have plans for the rest of the evening? Is he not interested in talking to me if we can't have the privacy that we need?

I wish I knew why he hadn't texted me back.

It might be that he hasn't seen my message.

The last time I checked, it looked that way, but I know a message can be seen on the screen without sliding into the chat room.

Can he be mad that Chloe has ruined his plans?

I doubt it.

He's not the type of insecure man who melts into a puddle of juvenile anger every time things dare not go his way.

I don't know what it is, but not hearing from him puts so many dark thoughts in my head.

I'm happy Chloe is here, and she's finally getting to the part where she's telling me that she's decided to take a gap year.

Because I opted against it, she thought it would be a great opportunity for her to come back and just take it easy for a while.

That doesn't sound like Chloe that I know, and I'm sure there's a hidden reason for her change of heart, but tonight is not the time to delve into that.

So, all right.

She's back, and I'm happy, although this would complicate things for David and me.

I don't even want to think about it.

For now, we are best friends again, as if she's never left and we've never drifted apart.And I have never changed and started a secret affair.

The hot chocolate and sandwiches are delicious, and she seems in a much better mood than she was when I talked to her last time on the phone.

Our communication was so stilted, and I let her down so many times because I couldn't talk to her.

And now she's here wearing a cute pajama set with a small print pattern––two baby bears and a ball.

She has a hot chocolate mustache, and we laugh every time she tells me stories from abroad.

She had a nice time in Spain––I have no doubt about that––but I can tell she had been lonely, and I begin to wonder… How long will we be able to live like this and ignore the loneliness creeping into our lives?

How long before we realize we need to create our ownlittle lives within the bigger life so we won't feel lonely again?

And who will we invite into those special lives we will design with passion and self–love?

It's past midnight when we clean up the kitchen, turn on the lights, and go to sleep. I give her a couple of soft pillows, a sheet, and a duvet.

She tucks herself in, and I watch her fall asleep while I linger a little longer.

Now that she's here, my place feels more welcoming and cozy––warmer.

It's a nice feeling, I have to say, and it brings back that sentiment of being adrift.

I tip my gaze to my phone and stare blankly at the screen, not knowing what to do.

I know he's in a different time zone in New York––it's much earlier over there––but he's received my message.

Whether he read it or not is a different story.

I take my phone to bed and get ready to slide under the covers when it vibrates quietly, and his name flashes across the screen.

I almost feel the prickle of tears in my eyes.

Happy tears.

Swiftly, I toss my robe on and move away from my bed, heading straight to the back door.

Exiting the house, I answer his call before hugging my robe closer and sitting in the old rocker chair on the porch, eager to talk to him.

End of Book three

I hope you've enjoyed David's story so far.

The story concludes with David's Love (Night of the Kings 22).

It will be in store soon.

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If you enjoy Steamy Romance featuring swoon worthy billionaires, check out my other series.

The Night of the Kings, Night of the Diamonds, Shades of Love, Love Your Enemy, House of Lions, and Golden Heir Series, and also the Kiss Duet.

Do you have a penchant for powerful mobsters, check out The Forbidden Husband Duet, and The Lost Story Duet.

Are you interested in an intriguing billionaire romantic suspense/domestic thriller, check out The Love is War Complete Series.

Looking for a satisfying steamy standalone romance?

Check out The Last Good Man (Cashmere and Ink)

A delicious polyamory romance?

Check out the Wild Heart Series.

A bit of darkness?

You may enjoy the Dark Heart Series.

And last but not least, take a look at the Steel Series, a spicy, emotional rockstar romance.

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Happy reading!