Finding Him Page 11

  I wasn’t prepared for the vision of her hair spread out across my pillow, or the way her lips looked swollen and pink from our kiss. I leaned over her and gently pulled the sweats she was wearing down her legs, leaving her in neon-pink underwear and black bra with all the polka dots. “We really need to talk about your lingerie.”

  She laughed and kissed me again. “Because you love it so much?”

  “I’m going to go blind from all the neon polka dots.” I laughed, and then nearly stopped kissing her. We were laughing, half naked, more than likely going to have sex . . . and we were talking, conversing.

  Why was it so easy?

  “You said to stop thinking.” She brought my attention back to her. I was insane to even look away from her eyes.

  “I don’t feel like we have enough time,” I admitted. “Not for what I want to do to you, not for the things I want to make you feel.” I traced my tongue across her lower lip and bit down on it as my hands spread across her breasts. She arched off the bed with each graze of my fingertips. “I would spend hours right here.”

  “We don’t have hours.” She sounded as sad as I felt.

  “No.”

  We were never meant to be.

  She was meant for him.

  And I had been meant for someone else.

  Maybe the universe was playing a sick joke on us to bring us together when we needed it the most, when we were at our most vulnerable, only for the harsh reality of our circumstances to settle in.

  Different worlds.

  Both in the limelight.

  But it could work.

  Right?

  I kissed her harder and braced her hips with my hands while she twisted her tongue around mine. She tasted like chocolate. Our breath mingled, joined, and I pulled down her pink underwear and cupped her ass. Her skin was smooth against my fingertips as I moved my hand between her thighs.

  “Julian.” She whispered my name like she knew how much it meant to be wanted, to be needed. “You’re wasting time.”

  “This,” I said and moved my fingers, “is never a waste.”

  “Oh.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I know nothing, keep going, I’ll just lie here.”

  “You say that like you’re still,” I joked and teased her entrance more while tremors wracked her body.

  “Born with a spreadsheet in one hand and extreme talent in the other,” she said under her breath, making a grin spread across my face as she came off the bed and nearly head-butted me.

  “Not just a violent sleeper, then,” I teased, pulling her to her knees and kissing her across the mouth, angling a different way to get more of her. I wanted to take it all.

  “Hmm, no,” she answered, wrapping her arms around my neck. “I don’t do this.”

  “Do what?” I pulled away from her despite the fact that my body was ready to explode.

  “This.” She gulped. “I don’t do one-night stands.”

  “Who says it’s just one night?” I did it; I put myself out there on the ledge.

  Her eyes lit up a bit, and then she looked away.

  “Stay with me, Keaton.”

  A small nod and then she was kissing me again, testing my strength, my patience, as I pushed her onto her back and thrust into her with one smooth movement.

  Her skin was dipped in moonlight, her eyes full of wonder as she clung to me and strained up like she needed more than just our bodies to be linked but also our mouths.

  I slowed down my movements and kissed her hard and deep, while her heat held me prisoner, pulsed around me in a way that was damn near magical.

  I couldn’t imagine ever looking back on this moment and having a regret, not with Keaton, never with Keaton.

  This was different.

  We were different.

  This was no one-night stand.

  This was the beginning.

  Just like the book.

  The beginning of us.

  She broke off the kiss. “This feels . . . incredible, you feel . . .”

  Right. She felt so fucking right.

  The only thing that had felt right in the last four months was making love to Keaton Westbrook, kissing her, licking chocolate off her face, playing cards.

  The only right thing.

  I pumped into her again and again, as my body drew up, tightened, begged for release.

  I would have sold my entire fortune for that moment to last forever.

  I would have given up every fancy car, every suit, every stock.

  To spend more time with her in my arms.

  She yelled my name.

  And I whispered hers reverently in return as I kissed down her neck and felt her release like it was my own. I felt every tremor of her thighs, every rough exhale as she came down from the feeling of flying and found gravity again.

  It was too easy to follow her.

  To let my feelings claim a protective ownership of her and what we could possibly have.

  I chased after her, I kissed her harder and found my release, and I was actually afraid to open my eyes when I moved away from her, out of breath as we both stared up at the ceiling, completely naked, sweaty, sated.

  “So . . .” Keaton’s voice cracked. “Did you want another cookie?”

  I burst out laughing. “I can’t decide if you really mean that or if it’s code for something else.”

  She leaned up on her elbow and smiled down at me. “Can’t it be both?”

  Hell yeah, it could.

  I moved to kiss her at about the same time a bright light streamed through the window followed by the sound of a helicopter and Keaton pulling away in a rush to get her clothes on, all the while cursing some guy named Gene to hell.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  KEATON

  I had no time to process the fact that I’d just slept with Julian, less than a year after laying my boyfriend to rest, mere months after saying goodbye. We’d had a complicated relationship, we were physical in the beginning, not so much in the end.

  Not so much at all.

  I tamped down my feelings, attempted to get my shirt on the right way, and jerked open the door at about the same time someone tried shoving it open.

  Someone who wasn’t Gene.

  But an exact replica of Julian.

  The only difference was their hair.

  Julian’s was longer, this guy—Bridge, I believed his name was—had it cut a bit shorter and messier. It also wasn’t as glossy as Julian’s, not that I was comparing them.

  Maybe I was.

  At his side was a beautiful woman with sharp features and crystal-green eyes. She was wearing a gorgeous pair of leather leggings, a fake-fur coat, and thigh-high boots that looked really out of place in the snow.

  “Hi,” I said dumbly.

  “Did you guys really need to bring the helicopter?” Julian’s lazy voice came from behind me. I turned around and felt my entire body heat and blush simultaneously. You would have to be dumb as a rock not to know what we had just been doing.

  The cabin smelled like sweaty sex and chocolate chip cookies.

  I kept a smile pasted on my face when all I wanted to do was escape, especially because Izzy, Julian’s ex, kept inspecting me like she was trying to place who I was or what I was doing there.

  “KEATON WESTBROOK!” she finally yelled, making me jump a foot and nearly collide with Bridge. “I KNEW I recognized you!”

  “Yeah.” I smiled shyly. “Live and in person.”

  “I just read an article about all of your amazing work with the children’s cancer hospital in Manhattan! I volunteer on a different wing, but you’re incredible. I’m so sorry for your loss.” She was being sincere.

  I knew that.

  But I’d just slept with Julian.

  It was too raw.

  Everything.

  What the hell did I just do?

  Noah would be so disappointed in me.

  I was disappointed in me.

  I’d just hopped into bed with a relative stranger
because he made me feel good. I wasn’t that girl, had never been that girl.

  I felt the tears again, and I smiled harder to keep them in while Izzy pulled me in for a hug. “I would love to take you out. I do a lot of charity work with—”

  “Iz . . .” Bridge interrupted her. “Let’s maybe get them out of the cabin before you start plotting world domination.”

  I almost threw him a parade. His eyes narrowed in on me and then his smile was back in place as he made his way over to Julian and pulled him in for a hug that looked painful to watch.

  Julian still hadn’t forgiven him; that much was extremely clear.

  And yet he’d slept with me.

  Had we used each other?

  Or was it more?

  I crossed my arms. “Um, it’s going to take us a while to pack up everything—”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Bridge said with a shrug. “I have a crew coming up here tomorrow to clear the roads for the other tenants in the area. They’ll grab all your stuff and deliver it to wherever it needs to go. Besides, we need to get you to a doctor. Julian said you got frostbite and fought off an elk all by yourself.”

  I smiled at that. “Julian exaggerates, but had he not found me, I would have most likely been an icicle, frozen facedown in the snow.”

  Izzy put her hand over her mouth. “What were you doing outside?”

  “Oh, you know, trying to appease the master of the cabin and build another fire . . .” I glared playfully at Julian, who just smiled and looked down.

  Bridge narrowed his eyes at me then at Julian as a small smile spread across his mouth. “Uh-huh, alright. That’s the story you guys are going to go with?”

  “Yup,” we said in unison, earning a chuckle from Bridge and Izzy.

  The days spent with Julian had been slow, enjoyable, like sitting by a campfire and living in the moment.

  And then suddenly, I had my laptop and one of my duffel bags, and I was in a helicopter sitting next to him, wondering how it all happened so fast, the rescue, the fact that I could already see the city lights.

  We landed at one of the private airports near Brooklyn, where an ambulance was already waiting.

  I frowned and pointed. “That’s not necessary.”

  Bridge snorted. “Tell that to my brother.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, only to get ignored by Julian, who helped me out of the helicopter and into the waiting ambulance, where an EMT began to unwrap my hands. “Seriously, I’ll be okay.”

  “Hold still, ma’am, have you had any tingling sensations? A fever?” He started firing off questions while Julian stood there.

  I don’t remember answering.

  All I could focus on was Julian’s face, his expression expectant.

  Like he was waiting for something.

  Another moment, maybe.

  My mouth felt dry. I wanted to ask him to stay, I wanted to tell him that it was too soon, but I didn’t know how. He was Julian Tennyson. Did he even care?

  The wind picked up, and still he stood there, hands in the pocket of the jeans I’d helped take off, expression hopeful.

  “Let’s go.” The EMT hit the roof of the ambulance and closed one door.

  And still I said nothing.

  I still had time.

  I opened my mouth and all that came out was “Thank you.”

  And I knew, though I had somehow survived Noah’s death, I would never get over the expression of rejection on Julian’s face as the second door closed.

  Never.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  JULIAN

  Waking up from a coma only to find out that everything has been taken from you . . . sucks.

  It’s painful, both physically and emotionally.

  But watching that ambulance drive off rivaled that feeling and then trumped it when I finally walked into my brand-new penthouse apartment that overlooked the city.

  Alone.

  No chocolate chip cookies.

  No roaring fireplace in the corner.

  No laptop keys to hit.

  Just nothingness.

  I didn’t even get her phone number.

  I should have asked.

  I was going to, but then she just gave me this look of . . . no. I couldn’t explain it, but I wanted her to be ready, I wanted her to be excited, to say something, anything.

  I wasn’t stupid, I knew that I never fought for Izzy, but I never thought in my wildest dreams that the next girl I fell for would refuse to fight for me.

  It didn’t just sting my pride.

  It hurt my heart in a way I wasn’t prepared for, stole the air from my lungs, making it impossible to breathe normally.

  I grabbed a bottle of Maker’s Mark and sat in my living room.

  In the dark.

  And poured.

  And when the doorbell rang, I nearly knocked over my drink in anticipation of seeing her, only to realize halfway to the door that she didn’t know where I lived, and if she didn’t want me with her in the ambulance, she sure as hell wasn’t going to seek me out and show up on my doorstep.

  Fuck, I could still smell her on my skin.

  Taste her on my lips.

  I pulled the door open to find Bridge giving me a knowing look before lifting a bottle of expensive whiskey and saying, “So, Keaton Westbrook?”

  I almost slammed the door in his face.

  Except I had no one else.

  Literally.

  And I was that low.

  So I hung my head, let him in, grabbed the whiskey, popped the cork, took a giant swig, and muttered, “I like her.”

  Bridge was quiet, and then he burst out laughing. “Well, did she write you a note back, or are you still waiting for her to circle yes or no?”

  “Jackass.” I shoved him. “I didn’t come right out and say it. She was dealing with things, and you know how I’ve been. I just . . . it doesn’t matter. I’m still technically on vacation, maybe I’ll go to Colorado or something . . .”

  “Bullshit, you aren’t going anywhere, especially if she’s here in the city.”

  He was right about that, I needed a distraction so I didn’t end up at her doorstep drunk off my ass. “You think they’ll let me come back to work early?”

  “That would be a no,” Bridge said immediately. “But you do have a few weeks to get your stalker skills on. She’s not going back to LA until later this year. She goes between both cities, just in case you weren’t aware, and I wish I wasn’t aware, but apparently Izzy follows her on Instagram.”

  I almost threw myself against a blunt object. “Of course she does.”

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  I stared into the bottle of brown liquid wondering how much alcohol it would take to numb the space between my ribs that wouldn’t stop hurting. “Talking won’t make it better.”

  “Make what better? Because the way I see it, we arrived to save a day that didn’t really need saving. Your hair was a mess, her mouth was swollen, color high. Oh, and you had only pants on and looked way too happy to see me. The last time you smiled at me like that was never, so what happened?”

  I let out a rough exhale and ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m a hopeful idiot, that’s what happened.”

  “Hopeful?”

  “We had sex.”

  “NO!”

  “I’m seconds away from shoving you out my window, you’ve been warned.”

  He grinned. “I figured as much, the entire house was like this cozy little—” He stopped when I shot him a glare. “So what’s the plan? Are you going to call her?”

  “I don’t have her number.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it never came up? Because maybe to her it was a one-time thing? Because she just buried her boyfriend less than a year ago, and I’m not stupid enough to think I could compete against a dead guy when I couldn’t even keep my own fiancée away from my brother. I don’t know, Bridge, you tell me!” I didn’t realize I was pacing until I looked down. Shi
t. I took another swig straight from the bottle and waited for him to say something.

  What came out wasn’t what I expected. “You’re different, Julian. Everyone knows that. You’re . . . not the same guy.”

  “This conversation, not making me feel better, Bridge.”

  “You know what I mean.” He stood. “The coma changed you, you work your ass off, you rarely go out, you’ve bailed on every company event, including the gala. You do two things: go to the gym and work, and then sometimes when you’re feeling crazy you go to the gym twice in one day.”

  “I’m trying to get bigger than you so when I do kick your ass it hurts.” I glared over the bottle.

  He rolled his eyes. “I already told you that I’d gladly let you throw punches if you’d just react to something—anything. You’re alive, but you’re not living, man, you may as well have died with Mom.”

  I charged him, bottle in hand. “Take it back!”

  “No.” He eyed me up and down. “I won’t.”

  “Son of a bitch.” I clenched my teeth and set the bottle down, then collapsed onto the couch. “Why are you here again?”

  “Well, I was here to make sure you were okay and bring you your favorite whiskey, and then when I saw you drinking alone I got concerned, especially since you seemed actually happy at the cabin . . . with her.”

  I swallowed slowly. “I was.”

  “Then that’s your answer.” He said it like it was so simple. “Seek her out, get her number, take her to lunch, live a little.”

  I nodded. “Maybe.”

  “Fight for what you want, Julian.”

  “Like I didn’t fight for Izzy? Is that what you mean?”

  “Don’t put words into my mouth. You fought for her the only way you knew how, by fighting our father in order to protect her, to protect all of us. Let it go and move on. You deserve it.”

  Then why didn’t I feel like it?

  Why did I feel so defeated and like I didn’t stand a chance?

  I shrugged, earning another sigh from Bridge as he walked toward the door then called over his shoulder, “You know you could always just slide into her DMs.”

  “The fact that you just uttered that sentence makes me want to go back in time and prevent the universe from creating it.” I laughed. “You don’t just slide into a girl’s DMs on Instagram, that’s like sending a dick pic.”