Chapter 3

3

L IZ

Moments earlier

What was that?

I lower my hand and check my phone.

I heard someone's voice just before he hung up on me.

Where was he?

I think it was a man's voice.

Again… Where was he?

Sunk in thought, I stare at my phone before tucking it into my pocket and picking up the pace.

I'm cold.

A shiver zips down my spine as I enter my place.

Luckily, it's warm inside.

That's nice.

It finally feels like home.

I lock the door, remove my shoes and clothes, and set my phone on the kitchen counter before heading to the bedroom.

A smile timidly claims my lips.

Mmm…. David just called.

Was he worried? Did he want to make sure I got home all right? Was he in the mood for a chat? So early in the morning?

Oh, shit…The money.

I spin around––butt naked––and dart to the living room, where I dropped my clothes on the couch.

See what happens when you have no money.

No money, no anxiety.

No caring about where you have plopped your jacket.

Feverishly, I push my hand inside my jacket, grab the cash, and sprint to the bedroom, where I suddenly stop and look around.

The closet is the obvious place to hide it. Under the bed is a classic, but I need a box. And I remember the gift he sent me––the books he bought for me.

I go look for the box around the house. Please tell me I didn't toss it in the garbage.

It was a beautiful box, and I don't remember disposing of it.

I find it in the living room, the books still inside.

I grab them and go back to the bedroom. The books should stay on the coffee table.

But I have a better idea. I slide the bills between the pages of the books.

It takes me a few good minutes to stuff the books with my money.

My money.

Hmmm.

I smile.

It's his money, and I won't touch it.

Honestly, I wouldn't know what to do with it. I'm not used to having that much cash lying around.

‘You could pay off––'

"Shut up," I say firmly to the voice inside my head before sliding the box under my bed and going straight to the bathroom.

A few more minutes pass as I walk into the shower and let the water run over me.

A sense of peace drapes over me when I close my eyes and revisit some of the things that have happened.

Thea is married.I have a new place to live and a new man in my life.

Erase that…

Oh, shit.

My eyes snap open as my hand reaches for the towel.

I forgot about Chloe. I said I'd call her, and that was like an hour ago.

Water clouds my eyes, and I rub it out while struggling to grab the towel when someone hands it to me.

A dark silhouette catches the corner of my eye, and a sharp scream zips out of my chest before the man grabs me, pulls me into the soft wool of his suit jacket, and palms my mouth.

"It's me. Stop screaming," David says firmly, his lips pressed against my ear.

I go quiet, but the adrenaline still soars through me, and I have a hard time stopping myself from panting and shaking.

Slowly, I remove his hand from my mouth and slump into his arms.

I'm so shaken up that I feel like crying.

"How did you get in?" I ask while he runs the towel over my chest and my thighs.

"You left the back door open," he says and lifts his gaze to me. "You need to be more careful with that."

I suck in a short breath.

"Why did you go there?"

"I knocked on the front door, and you didn't answer."

"Did you call?"

"I did call. Yeah…"

"Oh. My phone is in the kitchen," I say, trying to compose myself.

He gives me a soft smile.

"Make sure the back door stays locked at all times, and no key under the potted plant. That makes no sense. Anyone can get in," he says, concern woven in his voice.

I study his face, trying to imagine how he'd feel if something bad happened to me.

"What made you come here?" I ask as I steady myself and breathe normally.

He drops the towel to the side, having a hard time peeling his eyes away from me.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right," he says evenly before checking his watch. "I'm leaving in a couple of hours. I'm flying to New York," he adds, offering me way more information than he has given me before.

Yet the moment is brief.

"I should get going," he says, avoiding my stare while tilting his lips to my cheek.

That can't be all.

So, I grab the lapels of his suit jacket and erase the space between us before pressing myself against his frame.

My eyes seek his, and we eventually connect.

"Why are you here, David?"

He snakes his arm around my waist, holding me with ease while sliding his fingers up my neck.

"I'll be gone for a couple of weeks. Maybe more," he says quietly, and a host of emotions flicker through his eyes.

He seems uncertain about what will happen next, and I'm right there with him, feeling unsure of things, too, only for much different reasons.

"And?"

A soft smile curves his lips.

"I want you to come visit me," he says, and my mouth falls open.

"What…? What are you saying?"

He looks at me thoughtfully.

Torn.

And I realize we're navigating more than uncertain times.

It's too early to say the things that he wants to say.

Visiting him in New York is a big change and a major commitment. He may be paying me, and that may be fun, but I can't drop everything and go.

First off, what kind of fucked up secret is this supposed to be?

There is no way I can explain a trip to New York.

No way.

"I can't do that, and you know it."

He slowly rubs the side of my face with this thumb when I lift my hand and cuff his wrist.

"I can't leave. I go to school and have a job. And I have no reason to fly to New York. I can't justify the trip."

"You don't have to tell anyone. You fly in on Saturday morning or Friday night, whichever works for you, and I'll wait for you in New York. We're going somewhere. I'll find a place. We won't meet up where I stay."

My eyes drill deep into his.

"You have thought about everything already."

He smiles.

"Yes, I have. But it's not what you think. It's more like in a spur–of–the moment idea."

"What about my job? We're busy on the weekends, and then taking some time off might get to my mother's ears."

"Find a way…" he says softly. "You'll come back on Sunday."

I wish I could think of something. A way to work it out. Maybe Maggie would agree to me taking some time of or switching shifts with Claire.

Still, it's too risky.

My mother usually invites me over to her house for lunch or dinner.

"All right?" he says, and I forget about arguing against his idea.

"I'll think about it and let you know," I say, not trying to prolong the uncertainty––I truthfully just need to think about it.

A faint smile tugs at his lips.

"Sure…" he murmurs, his eyes dipping to my mouth. "You let me know," he adds and tips his mouth to mine but stalls.

I don't take it as a moment of hesitation. He seems to ponder something else.

Before he says or does anything else, I press my lips to his, and his arm tightens around me.

We kiss, and my resolve dissolves.

"It's not like I don't want to come," I say, becoming soft and vulnerable with every passing moment.

"I know," he says, a warm glint in his eyes.

It seems sincere, honest, truthful. It seems like he really cares about me.

Like he understands the hurdles that I'm facing and how much different my life is from his.

And then I get a hard slap upside the head from the voice inside my head. She scowls at me, saying nothing, and I quickly back away from that moment.

Even if he cares for me right now, that doesn't mean we are truly connecting or anything like that.

He is a busy billionaire, and I am a student working as a sales clerk in a store.

Still, I open my mouth and speak, ignoring the little devil inside my head.

"I wish you didn't have to leave."

The pleasure flooding his eyes is immense, the flattery, the surprise overwhelming. The power he's giving me right now leaves me breathless.

A few simple words from me affect him so much?

His cheeks are flushed, his eyes heavy, and I know he feels good.

He likes this.

Whatever this is.

"I wish that too," he says before leaving a tender kiss on my lips. I wish it could be so much more.

He straightens and has his hand at the root of my neck while struggling to leave.

If he goes now, and I can't fly to New York I wont be seeing him for weeks maybe.

The thought makes me shudder, igniting a reaction in my body.I'm longing for him, a volcano brewing right under his touch.

My blood blasts through my veins, and tingles swirl between my thighs.

There's this facade of calmness, perfect composure, and imperturbable rationality to me, while right beneath my skin, an irrational woman is savagely victimized by her desires, refusing to employ a shred of strategy or play the game because she wants to feed her body instead.

His smile turns into a trap as he looks down and runs his fingers from the apex of my thighs to my breasts.

It's like he knows what happens in my mind, what kind of filthy thoughts spin in my brain, what kind of wicked struggle is gnawing at my edges, and how intensely it can fanthe flames of lust.

His teasing doesn't help in the slightest as he brings his fingers to a nipple and rubs it slowly, pouring a ton of tension into my body.

I wish I could have this man forever.

But my forever is now.

Who knows what will happen in a week? Or the following week? Or the next?

So, without wasting another moment, I bring my hand to his.

He stays silent when I take his hand and walk out with him, leading him to the bedroom.

I only have time to tuck a pillow against the headboard before I turn around, and he's already peeling off his suit jacket and unbuckling his belt.

Without further talking, we know exactly what we're doing.

He lies down and presses his back into the pillow, undoing his shirt and pulling it out of his pants while I work his fly open and slide onto the bed, knees between his legs, head down, the tip of his erection pushing against my mouth.

My hand is locked into a tight fist around his hard–on as my tongue swirls around the chiseled head.

A soft moan leaves his lips, and looking up, I notice that his eyes are closed and he is fully relaxed.

His fingers thread through my hair while I push my mouth down and suck on him.

My mouth waters, my wet arousal dripping, and we don't need much to physically connect again.

There's no need for him to enter me and for me to shudder around him so we can fully enjoy this.

I wish things weren't that obvious, but whatever we had planned to do turned into this.

I'm addicted to him, and he's addicted to me, and the foreplay obviously happened in the bathroom.

And possibly in our heads before he snuck into my house and almost gave me a heart attack.

We are nuts.

His other hand comes to the back of my head while my lips and tongue roll down his flesh, and the warmth and wetness of my mouth make him turn to steel.

I flick my head up and look at him with unfocused eyes when he nudges my legs open, and I straddle him.

He holds his erection up while I slide down and rock my hips, filled to the brim.

His muscular arms drape around me, his hot breaths rolling over my lips as he pulls upright to be closer.

Running my fingers down, I trail his shoulders and stroke his pecs, leaving marks on his skin.

The more I rock my body against his, the closer I get to the peak of pleasure. And when he smoothly runs his hand over my butt, reaches between my legs, and strokes me from behind, a new layer of my pleasure falls over me.

"I'm getting close," I say, and he grabs me hard, rolls me over, tops me quickly, and drives himself into me, picking up the pace and using so much force I come within seconds.

For a few long moments, my bliss gets pierced by his hard, fast thrusts and short breaths as his clipped grunts become music to my ears.