64. Weston

Hunter and I are watching the second game of the World Series when the power cuts off. Hunter groans. “Son of a bitch! I’ve got money on this game.”

I’m not surprised—he’s been betting a lot these days. But it’s his money, he’s got plenty of it to burn, and even if he didn’t, he knows I’ve got him. So I don’t have a problem minding my own business.

But right now, “my business” is sitting across the hall, probably scared out of her mind because she hates the dark.

I should go check on her. She hasn’t spoken a word to me in three days, all because I accidentally answered a ringing phone. Granted, it was her phone and it was the one call she’s spent weeks ignoring. But still…

Doesn’t stop me from being worried about her.

Or from wanting to hold her.

I sigh and give the door another look. Then I call my mom.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hey, Mom. You guys have power?”

“Yeah. Are you out? Do you want to come here?”

I chuckle. Leave it to Caroline Scott to jump at any chance to reunite her kids under one roof.

I’d go, if only to finish watching the game—but I can’t stop thinking about the woman across the hall and how anxious she probably is right now.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’m gonna tough it out here.”

“In your penthouse apartment. Really slumming it, I see.”

“That’s me. Bear Grylls, eat your heart out.”

She laughs. “Well, you call me if you need anything. And don’t forget to keep the door to the fridge closed so it stays cool in there.”

“Aye-aye, captain. I’ll keep you posted.” I hang up, then look at the door again. Waiting. Considering. I glance at Hunter. “Mom’s fine. Has power.”

“That’s good.”

I wish Renee would just open the door and walk over. Ask to stay here with us until the power comes back on. But she has almost as much pride as I do.

I sigh. “Shit.”

Hunter snorts. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Romeo—either go over and be with her or find a balloon and blow it up because all that huffing and puffing is turning me on.” Laughing at his own joke, he pours himself another three fingers of whiskey.

“Shut up,” I mutter as I shake my head, although I doubt he can see me in the dark.

He clicks on the flashlight of his cell phone and shines it at me. “Look at you. All puppy-dog-eyed, staring at the door like you’re manifesting for it to open.” He chuckles. “When did you become the most pathetic sad sack in L.A.?”

If we hadn’t been friends our whole lives, I would kick his ass out into the dark streets of Los Angeles and tell him to find his own way home.

“Dude, seriously, you’re embarrassing yourself. Why don’t you just go over there and make sure she’s okay? You know you want to.”

Sometimes, I hate how well he knows me.

“And what are you going to do?”

“Since you didn’t invite me over to watch you two canoodle, I’m going to go into the bedroom, watch some porn on my phone, drink your booze, and go to sleep.” He smiles and stands with the bottle, his glass, and his phone. “Go on. Get out of here.”

I grimace, but he’s right. I should go over and check on Renee. “Don’t jerk off on my sheets, okay?”

Then, without looking back because I know his smug ass will just be giving me the Hyena Hunter grin, I stride for the door.

Out in the hallway, I pause and cock my ear toward PH03. I listen for anything to tell me that Renee is okay, but I hear absolutely nothing from inside Sutton’s apartment, although I know she’s home because I heard her door shut earlier.

It’s eerily silent otherwise. No whine of the fluorescent lights. No rumbling of the elevator.

I knock. “Renee, it’s me. Let me in.”

She doesn’t answer. My heart rate doubles instantly. What if something happened…? I type in the emergency code and thank God it’s battery-powered, because it unlocks and lets me slip in.

The place is shrouded in blackness. “Renee? You okay?” I call out as I flip on the flashlight on my phone.

I can hear her breathing. She’s sitting on the floor with her back against the wall just inside the living room. I crouch in front of her, and when I shine the light in her face, I see her eyes are wide as saucers, absolutely drenched with pure animal fear.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Come here.” She reaches for me and I lift her off the floor and carry her to the couch, where I sit with her on my lap. Her body is trembling against mine and I hold her tight. I want her to feel that someone is here for her.

She’s not here right now. She’s back in that beach house where her parents left her as a little girl. Alone and blinded and terrified beyond all rational thought.

“Hey.” I tilt her chin up and when she looks at me, I kiss her. I want to be gentle with her, kiss her like I’m cherishing the moment, but somehow, I end up with my mouth glued to hers.

Things escalate quickly, which, all things considered, is a little ridiculous. It’s only been three days. My need shouldn’t be so feral, so savage that I’m spreading her out on the floor beneath me so I can open her shirt while I kiss her, so I can yank the cup of her bra down and take one pebbled nipple in my mouth.

But I’m doing all those things.

And she doesn’t seem to mind.

She sighs as I lift the skirt she’s wearing. She wriggles out of her panties and I continue swirling my tongue over her nipple while I use her juices to make her clit wet, flicking it back and forth and savoring every delicious moan she gives up.

She bucks her hips once and then arches her back. “Oh, Weston.” Her fingers curl around my arm and she tries to pull me away, then tries to sit up.

But I pin her right back down. “No, baby. Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

She isn’t scared of the dark anymore—well, she isn’t thinking about it anyway. She’s too busy writhing as she tries to lure my fingers back to her pussy.

“Please, Weston.”

How the hell am I supposed to resist that? Impossible. I kiss her hard as her body spasms and her walls close around my fingers. She kisses and bucks and comes for me.

When her shivers subside, I kiss her again, softer now as I withdraw my hand and shift her so I can hold her.

“I can feel how hard you are.” Her voice is quiet, sexy, and low.

“For you, Princess P. Always for you.’

We should talk about the phone and the call with her mother, but my brain doesn’t fire without blood flow and right now, all my blood flow is concentrated below the belt.

She stands and holds out her hand. When I take it, she pulls me to the guest room and stands inside the door for a second. “Get undressed.” She says it with just enough force for me to look at her. As I yank my shirt over my head, she watches. When I flick the button of my pants open then yank the others apart, she moans. “You’re so fucking hot, Weston. I shouldn’t, but—fuck, I don’t care. I need you.”

When I’m naked in front of her, she unzips her dress and it falls to the floor in a puddle of blue around her ankles. Her bra goes with it.

She comes over and presses up against me, soft and warm and smooth. “Fuck me, please.”

It isn’t the kind of thing she has to tell me twice. I lay her down on the mattress and step back to survey her.

There’s nothing I like better than seeing her laid out on the bed, naked and waiting for me. She reaches for me, pulls me on top of her, and breathes softly in my ear, “I’m not afraid when I’m with you. No need for anything fancy. Just fuck me and tell me I’m not alone.”

She doesn’t have to ask me twice.