Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) Page 7

  I’ll keep you safe, Tori. I won’t ever let anyone hurt you. You will never have to worry about that kind of stuff from me.

  No. He’s right. I wouldn’t. Because I’d be his little trophy wife. Locked away in some fancy house with no real friends, only the awful girls from the country club to keep my mind off going mad. I don’t even know girls from a country club, but I’m assuming they’d all be good little Stepford Wives as well.

  I’d rather die than live that life.

  Die.

  Chapter Twelve - Weston

  God, why do I let her get to me so badly? Why do I care that she thinks I’m some privileged rich bastard who needs to get his way at every turn in order to be happy?

  I’m not like that.

  I sigh as I pull open cupboards looking for a pot to boil the lobster in. There’s no oven here, otherwise I’d just broil it. I find one in the last cupboard and drop it into the stainless-steel sink with a loud clang, then watch it fill up with water as I study the cuts on my hand from the lobster’s spines.

  The pain that comes with my prize feels good. It takes me back to all those summers I spent on the boat. I was only a little kid when I started harvesting lobsters and I didn’t have a boat. No one hires a kid that age to help with their business. So I caught my own lobsters. I got busted for selling them the second summer. I didn’t know it was illegal. I didn’t even have a permit that first summer. I didn’t know anything about harvesting lobsters. I just got lucky.

  But the second summer I got caught and had to appear in court. My father was pissed off. But the judge liked my entrepreneurial spirit and told me to go find a guy named Rusty down on the docks near my house.

  So I did. And I got hired. I was in charge of icing the lobsters once they were caught. I’d take the catch and dump it in the huge chests filled with ice water, dunking them until they stopped moving.

  My hands were filled with the little pricks from spines that summer. Someone gave me a pair of gloves a few weeks in, but by then I’d learned how to avoid the spines and I didn’t care for the gloves in the hot summer sun.

  I liked that job. I liked the way it made me feel. Like I was independent. Like I was in control of my future. I still like work for those two reasons.

  I spent seven summers working on that boat. Right up until I went away to boarding school in the eighth grade.

  Victoria comes into the house, clutching her silk shirt and her short skirt in her hands. She looks at me, then my hands, which are still out in front of me, palms up.

  “You’re bleeding,” she says.

  “Yeah.” I turn back to the pot and shut off the water. “They have spines. But don’t feel bad for me, Victoria. I’m sure in your head I probably deserve the pain.”

  “Don’t be a dick. Please. If we have to spend this day together, just don’t be a dick.”

  “How am I being a dick?” I ask as I place the pot of water on the stovetop. “I’m not doing anything but being nice.”

  “I don’t want to hear your pitch, Weston.”

  “I have no clue what you’re talking about.” I go looking for salt to put into the water but come up empty.

  “‘I won’t check out until you’re safe, Tori,’” she says, mimicking my voice in an unflattering way. “You never checked in, Weston Conrad. So you can’t check out.”

  “OK,” I say back. It’s no use having a domestic fight with a woman like Victoria Arias. I cannot win. Ever.

  She huffs some air and mutters, “Patronizing asshole,” just under her breath.

  I choose to ignore that. I will not take her bait. I will not be the lobster in her pot. I will not have this fight again. Not ever. I’m so sick of it. And I probably should’ve given her this contract. Bowed out of the competition and just given it to her. Then I’d be somewhere else right now and we wouldn’t be stuck here together all day.

  But I can’t afford to give it to her. She has no idea what losing this contract would mean to me. None.

  Victoria disappears in the bathroom and the next time I look over at the pot, the water is boiling. So I check my watch and take this opportunity to plunge the lobster in the water headfirst, capping it tightly with a lid to avoid any splashing. I should’ve gotten two, I realize. One is not really enough to feed us both. But Victoria was screaming my name like she was in a panic when I came up and I forgot to go back down. It’s just a snack, right? That pilot will come back in a few hours. We will get through this afternoon of uncomfortableness. And I can grab dinner after I get back to my hotel and reassess my strategy.

  I could just ignore Victoria for the rest of the day. Let her spew her shit. But I’m not going to. Her insults are… well, insulting. So fuck her.

  “Is it almost done?” Tori asks, reappearing. I check my watch and realize five minutes have gone by.

  “We don’t have any butter, or salt, or pepper, or whatever you like on your lobster. So yeah, I guess it’s done.”

  She watches me as I take it out and do my best to cut open the shell with the dull knife I find in a drawer. Once the meat is exposed, I hand her a fork and she digs in.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?” Tori asks, when I don’t join her.

  “I’ll go back and get another one later. I’m not hungry.”

  “Gotta feed the women first, right?” she says, the sarcasm not absent from her tone.

  I look at her for a moment. A long moment.

  “What?” she asks. “That’s how you operate, right? Mr. Big Strong Man has to protect the weak little woman?”

  “You know,” I say, “I get why you’re like this. I probably understand it better than most. But you’re a real bitch, Tori. I don’t know why you think I’m such an asshole, but that’s your prerogative. So you’re welcome to your opinion.”

  “Come off it, Weston. You know you hate that I’m here. That I’m making you fight for something you thought was owed to you. You know it burns your ass to have to compete with a woman.”

  “Right. I got all that the last time we fought. I’m a pig, you’re a victim—”

  “Fuck you,” she says, almost choking on her bite of lobster.

  “Hey, you’re the one who wants it to be this way.”

  “You’re the one who said I’d be your little stay-at-home wife if we continued to date.”

  “So?”

  “So?” she sneers at me. “So I don’t want to be someone’s property.”

  “I called you property?” I laugh out loud, a real nice guffaw that echoes off the high ceiling. “I offered to take care of you and you practically spit in my face.”

  “I don’t want to be taken care of,” she snaps.

  “Yeah, because you do such a good job taking care of yourself.”

  She slaps my face. Hard. She goes to do it again, but I grab her wrist. She tries to knee me in the balls, but I turn to the side, grab her other wrist, then walk her over to the couch and throw her down.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Tori. I’m not gonna put up with your shit. I’m not your fucking punching bag anymore, you understand?”

  The tears well up in her eyes almost immediately. Not because I hurt her when I grabbed her wrists. Because I hurt her with my words. “I hate you,” she whispers.

  “I know,” I say in a low voice. “You’ve made that abundantly clear over the years.”

  I walk to the door and I’m just about to pull it open when she says, “You loved it, didn’t you?”

  I don’t even turn to look at her. “I loved what?” My shoulders tense up. My jaw clenches as one fist balls up hard and the other grips the door knob like I want to rip it off.

  “The fact that you were right and I was wrong. You loved it because it fit into your stupid worldview that I couldn’t take care of myself.”

  Now I do turn. Because I’m pissed. I point my finger at her face, look her straight in the eyes and say, “If you really think that I felt… vindicated, or triumphant, or whatever the hell it is you think I felt when I found
out you got attacked, well”—I force a mean laugh—“then I’ll just take this opportunity to walk out of your life and never come back.”

  So I do. I walk out, slam the door behind me, and keep going until I get to the beach.

  I know there’s an island with more structures than this one a couple miles away. There’s three or four little cays between this one and that one, so it’s not even going to be hard for a guy like me who grew up in the ocean.

  I’m going to abandon Victoria Arias.

  Leave her here to fend for herself, just like she wants.

  Who am I kidding?

  That bitch. She has a fucking hold on me that I can’t seem to cut.

  And besides, I reason, looking to the north, it’s starting to rain and maybe that big storm isn’t here yet, but the front of it is. And just as I think that thought, the sky opens up, the rain pelting me in the face.

  Bitch.

  I know damn well I’d never leave her alone, even if she doesn’t.

  Chapter Thirteen - Victoria

  I’m still reciting all the reasons why forcing Weston Conrad out of this house was a good idea when the lightning strikes and the whole place shakes so hard, I scream.

  I’m still screaming when West comes back yelling, “Holy fuck! Are you OK?”

  “What happened?” I have to hold onto the kitchen counter because my legs are shaking.

  “The fucking house just got hit with lightning! I saw it. That antenna isn’t an antenna. It must be a lightning rod.”

  “Oh, my God. It’s raining.” No, not raining. It’s pouring outside.

  “I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t try to swim to the other island,” West says.

  “You were going to swim away?” That selfish fucker!

  “Isn’t that what you—”

  But another lightning strike booms through the house and I startle again. “How many times can it strike that rod before it sends us up in flames?”

  “Tons,” West says, as he walks over to me and pulls me into his chest. “Like thousands of times, Victoria. Really. It’s fine. It’s just a good thing they have it, right? Otherwise the roof would be on fire right now.”

  I pry West’s arms from around me and walk over to the window. That mass of purple clouds is still off in the distance, but that’s not stopping the rolling thunderheads directly above us from doing their thing. What are the chances that the pilot will come back for us now?

  I can’t even go there.

  “The power is out,” West says, flicking the light switch on and off.

  “We’re stuck,” I say quietly. “For real. We’re stuck out here. What if that pilot guy thinks we got a ride home from someone else and just forgets about us?”

  “Maybe the storm will blow over in a couple hours?” West says quickly. “Vlad will call the coastguard… or whoever the coastguard is in the Bahamas. Or our coastguard will call their coastguard and someone will come looking. Don’t worry. We’re not stuck.”

  “I’m not going to flip out, West. So you can just stop lying to me.”

  “Look, Victoria”—West laughs—“you flip out on a regular basis over the stupidest things. Do you really think I’ll believe that this won’t bring back your panic attacks?”

  “Why are you so mean?” Really? Why does he have to bring that up every time something goes wrong?

  West looks at the door and I realize he wants to walk out again. But he can’t. He’s stuck here with me. That’s what he’s thinking.

  And can I blame him? I am a basket case when it comes to certain things. I have very good reasons for my panic attacks and I have very good reasons why I hate being alone. But I can be… a little… high-strung in certain situations.

  I think I’m holding it together pretty well right now.

  Until I realize my breathing is picking up and I’m sweating like crazy. The humidity in this house just went up like a thousand percent, so maybe that’s all it is?

  But my pulse is racing and my palms are sweaty, and then my head is pounding to the beat of my heart and things go blurry…

  “Victoria,” West says into my ear. “Listen to me,” he says in the other one. I wait for him to squeeze my shoulders the way he used to back when we were together. I want it. I want him to do all those familiar things that comfort me. I want him to slip his fingers into my bra and squeeze my breasts while his mouth goes to work on my neck, and my earlobe, and my lips.

  I’m certain that he will not continue, but I’m wrong. He cups the round muscle of my shoulders and kisses the soft skin of my ear.

  “What?” I say. It comes out as a whisper, filled with so many things like want, and need, and desperation.

  “We’re fine. I’m here. You’re not alone. People know where we are. And even if we do get stuck on this island tonight, we’ll be back on the mainland by tomorrow. Do you understand?”

  His hands lift off my shoulders, which just makes me want him more. “I want to believe you.”

  “So just believe.”

  I turn to face him, because if I don’t he’s going to back off and this moment will pass. I don’t want the moment to pass. And not because of my racing heart or my spinning world. I don’t want him to back off because… his touch. God, his fucking touch. It’s something I’ve missed so much and I didn’t even know it until this moment right now. “Why is it always one or the other with us, West?”

  He looks down at me and smiles. His hands come up to my neck and he gently drags my long dark hair off my shoulders, arranging it the way he likes to do when he’s getting ready to kiss me. “Why are we so hot and cold? Why are we so on and off? So all or nothing? Friends or enemies?”

  “Yeah,” I say, placing my hands on his biceps. He’s always been cut. His muscles have always been taut and his body lean. I stare at his eyes. Brown. They are brown, like his hair. So nondescript when I say the word in my head. But nothing about Weston Conrad is ordinary. His face is model-perfect, his jawline square and strong.

  Even the stubble on his cheeks and chin is the perfect length to drive me crazy. I have felt that stubble between my legs more times than I can count. I have placed my hands on it to comfort him during those two years he was accused of things I know he’s never been capable of.

  I know him.

  He knows me.

  “Because we’re equals, Victoria. You’ve never understood that. You’ve always thought I wanted to control you and I don’t.”

  “Equals, huh?” I ask.

  “On every level.”

  I sigh and remove my hands from his arms. Back away. Because he’s pulling me into his spell. He’s charming me with his words and promises, and I know they are lies. If we’re equals then why does he have so many rules? If we’re equals, then why don’t I know everything about his past? He’s told me some, but not all. He gets this vacant look on his face, like talk-time is over, whenever I push too far.

  So we’re not equals.

  He wants the power and he only sticks around if he has it.

  Chapter Fourteen - Weston

  “Hey,” I say, reaching for her before she gets away. “Come here.”

  Victoria puts her hands up to my chest like she’s going to push me back. But when they connect with my skin, they don’t have any force to them. They rest there, flat on my pecs, fingers splayed. Her head bows like she’s embarrassed and I take that opportunity to pull her into a hug.

  God, the way she smells almost drives me insane. When she doesn’t resist and places her head on my shoulder, I bury my face in her hair.

  “I’ve missed this,” I say.

  She sighs. I know she’s missed this too, but there are so many things between us. The sex was never the problem. It was our opinions and ideas about the future that came between us. Not to mention all her pushy questions about my past. Sometimes a guy just needs a few secrets. Why is that so hard to understand?

  I’m just about to pull away, back off and give her some room, when she turns her head
and kisses me on the cheek.

  I turn my head too, just enough to find her lips. And then… and then… my hands have her face and my mouth has her tongue. Her hips push into mine and I walk her backwards a few steps, until she reaches the couch and has to sit.

  I drop to my knees, my fingers eager to slip under the waistband of her panties. And then I am pulling them down her long—so fucking long—legs. I toss them over my shoulder as I lick my lips and stare into her eyes. She wants to close them, I can tell. She wants to close her eyes, and lean her head back, and let me lick her pussy until she comes.

  But she wants to watch too. Her fingers thread through my hair, urging me to keep going. So I open her legs, lift her knees up towards her tits, and sweep my tongue up and down her pussy until she lets go of my hair and digs her fingernails into my shoulders.

  “Keep going?” I ask. “Or am I smothering you with my expectations?”

  “Shut up,” she says, digging her nails into my skin. “Just shut up.”

  I laugh as I dip back down between her legs. “Tori,” I murmur as I kiss her wet folds.

  “No talking, West. I’m serious.”

  “Tori,” I say again. “Tell me you missed this or I’m going to stop.”

  Her thighs squeeze together, clamping down on my face, and she bucks her hips, trying to get more friction, more tongue, more everything. “You’re not stopping. You’re just trying to be an asshole.”

  “Say it,” I choke when she squeezes tighter. I lick her, flicking my tongue across her clit until her grip on my face loosens. “Say it or I’ll rub my stubble all over the inside of your thighs.”

  Her foot smacks my lower back. “Why are you such a jerk? Stop talking and start licking, Mr. Conrad. Or I’m going to get up and walk away.”

  “No, you won’t,” I say, reaching up with one hand to squeeze her tits as my other hand dips between her legs. I push a finger inside her, making her moan. “I know every way to make you melt, Miss Arias. So don’t challenge me during sex.”