The Bachelor Contract Page 11

  Oh, God, this is bad, very bad.

  “Leaving so soon?” His sleepy voice had no right to sound like sex this early in the morning.

  Her fingers froze on the zipper. “I, um…” Tears threatened.

  “I think pancakes,” he said in a bored tone. “Yesterday I tried the waffles.”

  What? Why was he talking about breakfast foods?

  “You can finish getting ready.” His gravelly voice was closer now, and then he was walking by her, smelling like sweat, sex, and really bad decisions.

  “But—”

  “It was fun, Nik.”

  It. Was. Fun?

  She opened her mouth to scream or at least give him a piece of her mind when he silenced her with a finger, followed by his mouth.

  The kiss was angry. He was livid.

  She sucked in a breath. “I don’t…” She shook her head in confusion.

  “It was just sex, Nik. No need to get all tongue-tied, unless you want round four, and then I’m game.”

  Her eyes burned as hot as her skin, embarrassment, sadness. It meant something to her; he meant something to her.

  Used to.

  She was suddenly glad she couldn’t see his face.

  Hearing his voice, the anger, reminded her that the man who’d held her in his arms last night and made love to her early in the morning was gone the minute the sun rose.

  Her Jekyll and Hyde.

  She had nobody to blame but herself. It was easier to hate him. To hate herself. Than to allow herself to feel sad.

  She clung to the hate, draped it around her shoulders like a blanket, and finally found her trembling voice. “I should get to work.”

  “Okay.” He stepped away. His voice was emotionless. His stance casual.

  She didn’t recognize this lifeless man. Life had destroyed him and replaced him with someone safe. Someone numb. Someone she still, somehow, loved.

  He placed her shoes in her hands and guided her by the elbow to the door.

  As she walked out into the hall she heard the door shut quietly behind her. She turned and stared at the white blur. And then the sound of glass breaking ripped through the silence.

  She made it as far as the elevator before she burst into tears. She wasn’t even sure which buttons to hit, because she’d never been able to see the shiny one that said Lobby, meaning she had to run her hands along the buttons to feel the right one. In frustration, she just hit the bottom three and slunk to the floor in the corner of the lavish elevator, her shoes in one hand, her purse in the other.

  The elevator dinged. Doors opened. She lost track of how many times.

  And then footsteps sounded, and the familiar smell of peppermint and cologne filled the small elevator.

  “Fuck.” Cole kicked something, she wasn’t sure what, and then he was on the floor with her, holding her while she sobbed in his arms.

  * * *

  Blood caked Brant’s fingers as he scrubbed the soap over the cuts he’d gotten from punching the mirror and then slamming the expensive lamp into a million tiny pieces.

  It looked like his life, that lamp. Broken.

  With a roar, he shut off the water and stomped into the bedroom, stripping the bed of every sheet and shoving them into the corner followed by the pillows.

  She was everywhere. Impossible to escape. Her scent, her body.

  And suddenly he was transported back. To the loss of her. The painful realization that what they had was broken. And that every single thing in his life was infused with a part of her, a part of them.

  He’d gone and done the unthinkable. He’d touched her. He’d kissed her. He’d fucking invited her back into his prison—except the joke was on him, because when she stepped out, everything about her remained right along with him.

  The doors slammed against his face.

  Trapped. He was trapped again. With all the memories of what they had.

  And the feel of her beneath him, on top of him, there wasn’t a place that existed on the planet where he wouldn’t feel her—where his body wouldn’t want yearn for hers.

  Discarded sheets. Broken lamps. The bed.

  He thought he should burn it all. But he knew it wouldn’t help.

  He’d survived it once. And he stupidly told himself he could do it again.

  His hate boiled to the surface, only this time it was directed at the man staring back at him in that cracked mirror.

  She might have pushed him away. He might have caused her both emotional and physical pain.

  But this time? He went in with his eyes wide open. She went in blind. This was on him. All of it.

  He clenched his fists and swore until his voice was hoarse. It was both too early and too late for whiskey.

  His phone rang. With a curse, he surged to his feet and snatched it off the table. “What?”

  Bentley sighed on the other end. “What happened?”

  “Why did something have to happen?”

  “Brant.” Bentley sounded miserable. “We’re twins…so I’m going to ask you again, what the fuck happened?”

  Brant closed his eyes. It didn’t work; he still saw her, still felt her. “I slept with Nikki.”

  “I’m on my way.” The phone went dead.

  Brant nodded even though his brother couldn’t see him, and then got dressed, shoving all thoughts of Nikki away.

  He had a job to do, right? Three days in, four days left.

  Damn Nadine Titus. Damn her to hell.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It took an hour of consoling, a hot shower, and three cups of coffee before Nikki felt like herself again. The minute she got into work later that morning, Cole met her and refused to let her out of his sight.

  “Take the day off.” Cole kissed her temple. “Seriously, you need it. Hell, take the rest of the week.”

  “Right.” Nikki wiped at her puffy cheeks. “And who’s going to take on the clients?”

  Cole was silent.

  “That’s what I thought,” she mumbled. “Plus, I’m not running away, I won’t…” Because that was what Brant did. And she refused to be guilty of the same thing, of not facing her past.

  Cole snorted. “Do you really think that asshat deserves you? He slept with you, and he treated you like a slut!”

  “To be fair, I did the same thing,” she countered.

  “That’s different,” Cole grumbled.

  “Why?” She jerked away from him. “I knew exactly what I was doing. But I wanted”—her throat constricted—“I wanted him too much to walk away.”

  “People always think the heart is pure. Which is bullshit—hearts are greedy little bastards that promise to be strong. They promise they won’t break, but they do. They always fucking do.”

  The hurt in his voice was tangible. And felt way too personal.

  “Cole—”

  “Serious talk, Nik.” His voice deepened as he took a step in her direction and then pulled her in for a hug. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, but you’ve never been mine.”

  “You’re my best friend, too.”

  “Good.” He sighed and kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll get over the rejection, though it may take a few years. Hey, maybe I can start a cat farm for the lonely? Cole’s Cool Cat Farm.”

  She laughed through her tears as she wrapped her arms around his muscled body. “That’s really creepy.”

  “Cole’s Creepy Cat Farm? Nah, it doesn’t have the same ring. Hey, I’m the one that’s going to die alone, so the least you can do is support my dreams.”

  Another giggle escaped. “Ugh, why do you have to be so perfect?”

  “Perfect for everyone but you.” He sighed. “Let me know if you have any cancellations today, and I’ll make sure asshole Brant isn’t anywhere near you. Think of me as your personal restraining order.”

  “Sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  “I’m good with words. Imagine what I can do with my mouth.”

 
; She sighed and looked away.

  Cole tilted her face back toward him. “I’ll take care of him, all right?”

  “Don’t kill him.”

  “I’m too pretty for prison. I was thinking something less violent, like ripping his dick off and feeding it to the cats at my new farm, but that would make the cats suffer, and I’m all about love. Either way, his cock is mine.”

  Nikki winced.

  “That came out wrong.”

  “You think?”

  “Sorry, I blame lack of sleep since you disappeared on me last night only to end up in the boss’s bed.”

  “He’s not…” Her eyes widened. “Oh hell, he is technically our boss, isn’t he?”

  “Sleeping your way to the top. I’ve never been prouder to call you friend.”

  “Ugh.”

  “Go. Your client’s waiting.” Cole turned her around and sent her down the hall to her massage room.

  With a defeated sigh, she opened the door then shut it quietly behind her. “Where would you like me to—”

  Brant.

  His scent was everywhere.

  “You were saying?” His calm, detached voice made her blood run cold.

  “You weren’t on my schedule.” Was that her voice? The weak, quivering one that was on the verge of tears?

  “Nope, but Bill sends his regards. He’s enjoying a poolside brunch with unlimited mimosas—his wife’s a big fan.”

  “Yeah, I bet she is.”

  “I think I hurt my back.” Did she seriously have no effect on him? “Crazy night last night.”

  He was cool. Aloof. Joking about something sacred.

  She’d never hated him more.

  “Funny, I’d think your back would be used to those types of nights,” she snapped.

  “Oh,” he laughed, “it is.”

  Her heart twisted painfully as anger surged through every bone in her body. “So why would last night be any different?”

  “I had to do all the work.”

  “Bullshit!” It was out before she could stop it, and then she was covering her mouth with her hand and praying for the floor to open up and swallow her whole. Great start to the day. Wake up in the boss’s bed and then yell curse words at him.

  His chuckle was dark, emotionless. “Hey, you’re the one who asked.”

  She let out a shaky breath. Just get through the next hour.

  “Oh, and I booked you for a ninety-minute.”

  She was in hell.

  * * *

  Hell.

  He was in hell. But damn, the burn felt worth it.

  The minute he’d stepped into the lobby, his eyes had searched for her. Maybe because he was a masochistic bastard and welcomed the pain—or maybe because deep down he knew he’d been a complete dick and wanted to apologize.

  That had been his intention, at least. Until he’d seen her talking to Cole in the hallway. Until he saw them hug right before he stepped into the room.

  He wanted to beat the guy within an inch of his life.

  What? So Brant was just a one-night stand and Cole was…her supporter? Her confidant?

  Did Brant even have a right to be pissed?

  You left. Your fault.

  He shoved the guilt away and focused on her hands as they basically pulverized his skin hard enough to leave permanent damage.

  “Is this too much pressure?” she asked in a sweet voice.

  “Nope.” He bit back a curse. “Tickles.”

  He didn’t think it was possible, but she pushed harder, using both elbows to bring him to his knees. “How about now?”

  “Is bruising part of the process?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “It’s my job.”

  “Not here at the resort—here in my massage room.”

  He sighed. “I won’t say anything.”

  She stopped massaging. “I don’t understand.”

  His hand gripped hers, and his movement told her he’d flipped over onto his back. “Nadine Titus, the insane woman who got you to bet on me at the auction, and is technically my boss—which means your boss’s boss. I won’t tell her if you don’t.”

  She jerked away as if he’d slapped her. “So you came in here because of your job? To threaten me?”

  “I’ll pay you.”

  She’d never felt more used in her entire life. “You should have just paid me for sex last night, would have saved yourself all the trouble of coming down here.”

  “Would have, but I was all out of cash.”

  Her body trembled. It was just sex to him. It had been more to her.

  And now he was paying her off. The man she loved was gone.

  “I don’t take bribes.”

  “Funny,” Brant sneered. “Since it seems that a few weeks ago you took one from my boss to bid on me. What was the plan, Nik? Did you think I’d take one look at you and forget the past? Move on? What the fuck did you think would happen?”

  Nikki shook her head once, twice, then found her voice. “You’re right, I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe I just wanted to keep my job. Did you ever consider that the auction was about me more than you?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “Maybe I just didn’t see a way out where I wouldn’t get fired.”

  “Bull…shit.” Brant gripped her arm, then slid his hand down until their palms pressed against each other. “It was more than that and you know it.”

  Her throat all but closed up. And then she made a mistake. Rather than keeping her anger between them, she tried. She laid down the olive branch, because a part of her needed it, needed the closure, needed to fix what was broken even if she hated him, even if it left them both bleeding. She refused to become Brant Wellington. The ugliest, most beautiful man she’d ever known.

  “Brant, don’t you think we should talk? Don’t you want—”

  “No.” He cut her off. “I don’t want. Not anymore.”

  “Brant.” She reached for him, only to have him step away from her. “It’s been four years—”

  His laugh was cold. “Four years, two months, one day.” He paused. “Seven hours, three minutes, two seconds. I know exactly how long it’s been. It’s burned into my memory just like it nearly burned you alive and took your sight. I know, Nik. We both live with it in different ways. You may have lost your vision, but I have mine, which means when I look in the mirror all I see are reminders. Count yourself lucky.”

  The door slammed behind him as a tear slid down her cheek and then another.

  She remembered a time when Brant was caring, when he wore his emotions on his sleeve, when seeing him angry would have been laughable. This Brant Wellington had his feelings on lockdown.

  Nikki hated that day. The day things started to change, the day the light left his eyes, because it was the same day her vision left hers.

  “We have to talk about this,” he pleaded as Nik fought to get out of bed. How long had she been sleeping? Days? Hours? At least when she dreamed, she dreamed of their child.

  But every time she woke up:

  Emptiness.

  Their baby was gone. Dead. Buried in the cold, hard ground.

  “No.” She put a pillow over her head. “I can’t…it hurts too bad.”

  “Nik.” Brant’s voice was filled with pain. “I’m hurting, too.”

  “I gave birth to a dead baby!” she wailed. “You didn’t even stay to hold my hand!”

  Brant shook his head. “I couldn’t. I—”

  “All you had to do was stay, I begged you to stay, and you ran!”

  “Because I was losing my mind!” he yelled back. “Afraid this was it, that I was going to lose you, too, lose everything! How many times do I have to say I’m sorry? I am, Nik! So damn sorry!”

  “You broke us!” She threw a pillow at his face. “You did this!”

  “I love you.”

  “Don’t!” she sobbed. “You don’t get to say that to me, not now.”

  “I do.” He was on his k
nees by the bed. “I love you. So much. Please, just get out of bed. I have a surprise for you.”

  “No.”

  “Nik, please.”

  Maybe it was the pleading in his voice, or maybe it was the fact that she knew she couldn’t stay in bed forever—stay angry forever, stay hurt forever.

  Slowly, she pushed away from the mattress and grabbed his hand as he led her into the bathroom.

  There were at least thirty candles lit, rose petals covered the floor, and the bath was filled with steaming, scented water.

  An expensive bottle of champagne she knew they couldn’t afford rested in ice near one single wineglass filled halfway with orange juice.

  “One meeting, and I’ll be home, all right?” He kissed her temple. “We can talk, maybe make dinner? Just…take a bath and relax.”

  “I don’t know if I can make it past this,” she admitted. “I don’t know how.”

  “Together, Nik.” He tugged her against his body. “We do it together.”

  He didn’t kiss her again.

  There was no yelling.

  They simply stared at each other, so many words left unsaid, so much hurt between them, because that was what you did, you lashed out at those closest to you, and they’d done their fair share of lashing out ever since they’d lost their little boy.

  He’d yelled.

  She’d yelled.

  And now, the silence.

  With a nod she turned around and started stripping.

  It was the last time she would ever see his face.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Brant stormed out of the spa, yelled at Annie, even though she wasn’t doing anything except her job, and headed for the bar.

  George took one look at him and poured him a shot of whiskey. Once Brant took it, George handed him soda water.

  “Whiskey. Not water,” Brant barked.

  “Ah.” George refilled the shot glass. “Finally drinking to remember, are we?”

  “It’s all the same.” Brant lifted the shot glass to his lips and tossed it back.

  “Nah, people who drink to forget, they’re calmer about it, happy drunks that turn into blubbering messes once you get alcohol in their system. You’re angry before you’ve even touched the stuff, which means you’re remembering, and by the look on your face, you want the memories, you punish yourself with them.”