Heart Breaker (Break on Through) (7 page)

I sighed. “I know. Still love feeling you inside me. You’re still hard. How’s that possible?”

He let out a laugh while rolling me off to the side and climbing off the bed. “It’s possible because I’m lying with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, that’s why.”

I pivoted and looked over at him, standing by the bed and taking the condom off. He threw it in the basket and gazed back at me.

“You already had me, Kyle. No need for flowery hyperbole now.”

He ran his hand down his face, scratching at his jawline. I’d seen him do that before, when we were interrupted in Lauren’s office. I wondered if it was a nervous habit. Was that his tell when he was at a loss?

“Christ, please don’t tell me you’re one of those women who’s fucking gorgeous but thinks she’s ugly.”

I sat up and wrapped my long hair into a messy bun, tying it in a knot to secure it. He certainly wasn’t shy about saying what was on his mind.

“No, I know I’m attractive, maybe even beautiful, but I think it’s a stretch to say I’m the most beautiful one you’ve had, especially if you’re as active as I’ve heard.”

He bent a knee into the bed and climbed over to where I sat, then yanked my makeshift bun out of its knot, causing my hair to tumble onto my shoulders.

“I really like it down, so I can grab it just like this.” He gave it a pull while giving me a quick, hard kiss. “You hungry? I can order something in.”

“I could eat.” I drew my knees up, tucking myself in and resting my chin on my folded arms. “What are the options?”

He opened his legs and scooted himself around my frame, wrapping his arms and legs around me. It was an intimate gesture and with the genuine smile on his face, I was floating in a happy cloud inside my head. Instead, I offered just a hint of a smile on my lips for him to see.

“Anything, babe. Chinese, Thai, sushi, Italian, barbeque. Name it, I can get it.”

My stomach took that moment to growl loudly. Kyle laughed while I buried my face in my tucked arms, my shoulders moving with my quiet laughter.

“Whatever’s fastest is my choice at this moment. The stomach has spoken and she must be fed.”

“Look at me, Sam.” His bourbon eyes were molten liquid and lazy for me. “I’m into you, babe, noisy stomach and all.”

My mouth parted, moved by this man who surrounded me in a new kind of euphoria. I sucked in the air and just stared at him. He was undeterred.

“You’re completely beautiful to me, not just because you have the most gorgeous fucking hair I’ve ever dug my hands into or the fact that your eyes are a shade of purple I’ve never quite seen before. I like looking at your taut little body, and I love the taste of it even better. I get off on the fact that you look like this living doll or pixie, something out of a fucking Disney movie, and yet you swear like a drunken frat boy and don’t take shit from anybody. You make me laugh without even trying and I could watch you perform over and over and never get bored.”

Just then, my stomach growled again and we both busted out laughing. He rolled us onto our sides, facing one another, and he brushed my hair away from my eyes.

“Better feed you. Chinese is fastest.”

“Sounds good.”

“What do you like?”

“I like anything as long as it’s not fried. No noodles or rice for me either.”

He ordered food and we ate it in bed—naked. Then he proceeded to lick a mixture of duck and mustard sauce off my breasts, followed by us ravaging each other twice more before we finally showered and passed out around three in the morning.

I woke up the next day, sore and sated, purring and stretching my limbs like a kitten. I rolled over, expecting Kyle since it was only around eight in the morning. Instead, I felt cold sheets and a piece of paper crumpling under my weight.

Good morning, Samantha,

Help yourself to whatever you want in the fridge.

I had an early morning meeting and didn’t want to wake you.

I know I destroyed your blouse last night, so feel free to take one of my shirts to wear home. The front door locks automatically so make sure you’ve got everything you need, otherwise you’ll have no way to get back in.

You’re an incredible woman. I had an amazing night with you.

Kyle

I must have read and re-read that note ten times before it fully sank in, and once it did, my heart hurt. There was no “I’ll call you later” or “Can’t wait to see you again” written. It was a very well-written, lovely kiss-off note. Why did he have to say all that shit about how beautiful and incredible I was if he was just looking to get laid?

Fuck, I could still smell him on my skin, on the sheets around me. So I bolted for the bathroom and took a shower, making sure to scrub him and our off-the-charts fucking off my body. Of course, it was his spicy soap so he still haunted me.

I grabbed the most expensive dress shirt I could find, plus a tie to match my eyes. I picked a piece of fruit, and just as I was almost out the door, I noticed money and another piece of paper on the table in the foyer. On it he’d simply written
cab fare
. Looking at that money was like a strong kick to my gut. I had never felt so used. I crumpled the note and the paper money and threw it in his trash.

And then I got the hell out of there.

I paid for my own cab fare to the theater. Once I saw Patrick, my face fell, and I cried—I actually cried—in his arms over the son of a bitch.

“What’s his name again, honey?” he asked while cradling me in his lap, as if I were a toddler who had skinned her knee.

“Kyle,” I answered, still staring off into space, my head on his shoulder.

“I meant his last name.”

I expelled a harsh breath. “Masterson. Kyle Masterson. He’s a divorce attorney.”

I felt Patrick’s body stiffen and I picked up my head to see his expression. “What?”

He bit the inside of his cheek and kissed my forehead. “I’ve heard of him, that’s all. He’s a manwhore. Sleeps with his pretty clients—not always, but enough. Goes through women like underwear. Otherwise considered a great guy. He raises a bucket-load of money for children’s advocacy groups and makes sure even his most horrid clients act decently and treat their kids well, not use them as a pawn to get a better settlement. But with women…” His voice drifted off.

“Yeah,” I interrupted. “I’ve heard. With women, he’s a pig.”

I wiped my face and got off of his lap. “Fuck it. So I’m another notch on his belt. Whatever. I’ve been through worse. I’ll channel this fury into a great part someday. Right?”

He dipped his head off to the side and gave me one of his adorable, crooked smiles. “Absolutely, gorgeous.”

“Okay, let’s kick some Chekhov ass.”

The rest of the day was a blur. Derek ignored me for the most part, and I was grateful for the reprieve. I still had Patrick walk me to the Metro station because I wasn’t letting my guard down. Just in case.

By the time I got home, I was wiped out. I heated up a frozen meal, poured myself a gallon-sized glass of wine and numbed out, watching mindless TV. I was ready to pass out by eleven p.m., but the news came on. I usually never watched it, but sure enough, they were covering the latest scandal to hit DC. Some senator was divorcing his young wife for an even younger mistress. And guess who was being interviewed, representing the soon-to-be ex-wife?

Yep, it was Kyle. Looking stunning, composed and sounding like a pro.

If that wasn’t hard enough, his client, some overly Botoxed, silicon-implanted piece, was hanging all over him, wiping her crocodile tears with one hand while squeezing his biceps with the other.

“Ugh,” I grimaced out loud, turning it off and throwing the remote across the room.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jessica called out to me, walking into my bedroom, obviously just getting home from her conference. “What’s got you all riled up?”

“Oh, Jess,” I moaned. “I’m so glad to see you.” She immediately dropped her bag and came barreling over to me.

“What happened, Sam-Sam?”

I told her the whole thing, every moment, every word that happened between Kyle and me. I could tell she was really trying to find some sort of revisionist spin, but when I got to the part about the money he left for the cab, that was it for her.

“That lousy piece of shit! I’m going to kill him!”

I froze, stared at her like she had grown an extra head since she’d been gone.

“What?” she asked, her tone perturbed and ornery.

“It’s just… Jess, you
never
curse. Like
never
!”

She blew the hair out of her face, looking resigned. “I know. But that’s how mad I am at him. I was really rooting for him, for the both of you. I can’t believe he’d treat you so terribly, if for no other reason than we have friends in common. Jax and Lauren are gonna rip him a new one when they find out.”

“What do you mean, ‘when they find out’? Jess, I’m not telling
anyone
about this. Well, except Patrick, because I already told him at rehearsal earlier today, but that’s it! It’s humiliating enough as it is. I don’t need to deal with other people’s pity on top of that.”

Her shoulders sank lower. “Whatever you want, sweetie.” Then she tried to stifle a yawn.

“You must be beat. Good conference?”

“Yeah,” she replied, yawning again and rubbing her eyes. “But I can stay up. Want me to run over to the store for some Ben & Jerry’s sugar therapy?”

I offered a halfhearted laugh, shaking my head. “No, go crash. I’m wiped out as well. We’ll catch up more tomorrow, okay?”

“Only if you’re sure. I’ll get my second wind any minute now.”

“Save it for a real crisis. This isn’t one of them. Kyle wasn’t the first or the last jerk I’ll ever deal with.”

Jessica gave me a pained smile in response, looking at me with a whirlwind behind her eyes. I could tell she wanted to say something but was holding back. So I asked her to spill.

“It’s just…for so long, you were the one running for the door the morning after. Maybe your morning after was after a week or a couple of months, but it was the same idea. And now, here you are, ready for something more.”

“Jess,” I warned.

“No, hear me out. I’m not saying you were looking to star in the next episode of
Say Yes to the Dress
, but you’ve changed ever since Mom and Dad died, and while the reason completely sucks, I’ve been happy to see you more open to the possibility of finding real love in your life.”

I took in what she said, letting it sink in while letting out a breath I was holding. “Yeah, I guess so. Not too much good it’s doing me now. Know what I wish?”

She raised her eyebrow as her answer.

“Besides the obvious, that the accident never happened… I wish I was my old self, just living for my next role, my friends and family, not like I am now, walking around with this chasm inside my soul. I ache, Jess, and I don’t know how to fill it.”

My little sister took me in her embrace, rubbing my back and patting down my hair. I knew she meant it to be comforting, but it made me even lonelier than I had been before. Because I realized I would never be comforted by my mother again, and the unconditional love my parents had for me, which had served as my foundation, was now a phantom of its former self.

Chapter Five

Seven days later

“Patrick, I’m really sorry that Oliver cancelled last minute, but there’s no way I’m getting all dolled up and meeting you downtown right now. Besides—” I blew strands off my forehead and eyes, “—I’m not even showered. I’m standing here in my kitchen. In sweats. I just finished putting up the drywall. I’m a total and complete mess.”

Yep, it was another Saturday night and I was home. Again. Working on another project—the kitchen. My Mount Everest of home renovations because it needed the most work. I had taken down a half wall, rerouted the plumbing lines, redone the walls and planned on building an island. Big stuff for a woman whose entire renovation education was thanks to YouTube videos and HGTV. But I liked the challenge and the distraction.

“You don’t fool me,” Patrick chastised over the phone. “I’ve seen you go through costume changes between acts, with hair and makeup, in a skinny minute. So I know you can get that fine behind of yours put together and here in no time.”

“That’s true, but Patrick—”

“Samantha,” he interrupted again. “I wouldn’t ask, but I’m already in a tux at the bar. The event starts in a few minutes.”

“Sweetie, it’ll take me over an hour to get there. I’ll miss half of it already. Come over here with your tux on and I’ll order us a pizza and we’ll watch old John Hughes movies together.”

“Oh no you don’t,” he dragged out. “I’m not getting lured into your agoraphobic web, no matter how enticing the bait! And low blow, using John Hughes against me.
The Breakfast Club
?
Sixteen Candles
?
Pretty in Pink
?”

I started laughing to the point of letting out a couple of snorts into the phone.

“Uncool, Sam,” he teased.

“C’mon,” I countered. “You don’t really expect me to do this, do you?”

I heard him let out a deep sigh and I could imagine him rubbing his forehead in frustration. “Tell me what this is really about.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

There was a pause for a beat or two. “You hiding out in that house again is not about you grieving anymore.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said with a touch of defensiveness in my tone. “So?”

“Hold on,” he countered. “What I meant was, you going back into the hovel now is about something else.”

I took in a big gulp of air, praying he wasn’t going to go there.

“Is your reluctance to come out with me tonight because you’re still licking your wounds over Mr. Masterson’s blow-off?”

Crap. He went there.

“He hurt me,” I said, my voice sounding weak, which I hated. “And as much as it sucks wienies that all I got was a note and cab fare the next day, what’s also really burning in my gut is that I’m thinking I deserved this.”

“What? What the
hell
are you talking about?”

I sighed, blowing an exasperated breath out of me, like it was a demon I needed to exorcise. “Trick, how many times have I played around with some guy, only to drop him without a thought either the next day or week? No warning, no deep concern if I had hurt him. Just feels like I’m getting a taste of my own medicine. And let me tell you, it tastes
awful
.”

“All right, I get that. You’ve grown up and developed a conscience when it comes to men. You won’t be as much fun to dish with, or vicariously live through, but I’ll survive. Barely.”

“Patrick!”

“I’m kidding! Now, stop all this introspective crap, get cleaned up and get that gorgeous self of yours down to the Ritz Carlton here in Georgetown in a jiffy. I’ll even send a car for you.”

“Must be nice being married to a rich man,” I playfully answered.

“It is,” he replied. “I highly recommend it, but I’m really in it because he gives the best head I’ve ever had.”

“You don’t fool me. You’re almost as hopeless a romantic as my sister. I know you adore Oliver.”

“Yeah.” He was sheepish now. Such a good guy. “Okay, so you’re coming or what?”

I play-growled while rolling my eyes, which of course he couldn’t see, but I didn’t care. It made me feel better. “Yeah, yeah, I’m walking to the shower now. You know you’re lucky I just happen to have a bevy of formal designer wear at my disposal.”

“I would expect nothing less. Make it really sexy too, okay?”

I started turning the knobs to set the temperature on my shower while toeing off my shoes and socks. “Wait, but I thought this was one of those ol’ blue-blood charity events. Wouldn’t you prefer me in something more…”

“Matronly? Like you’re a senator’s wife with a stick up her ass? Uh,
no
. I want you to look so good that everyone here will think I’ve gone straight.”

“Hold on, I’m putting you on speaker.” I hit the button and peeled off the clothes I only wore for home repair—an old Yale tee and sweats so threadbare, I wondered how they hadn’t disintegrated already. “Are you sure about that? I mean, DC’s a pretty conservative town.”

“Ugh, tell me about it. Nope, I’m sure. I’m hanging up now. Remember, bring on the sexy, Samantha!”

“Fine, Trick. See you soon.” I hung up and jumped in the shower. And let me tell you, after spending the day covered in drywall dust, that shower felt as transformative as a religious experience. As I scrubbed off the day, I thought back to Patrick’s point, about me hiding out because of what had happened between Kyle and me. I blushed in spite of the heat of the water just thinking about all the things we had done that night. “Can’t believe I let the fucker tie me up,” I muttered under the tap, letting the water flow over me, the shampoo bubbles stinging my eyes. His note had told me all I needed to know: he got what he wanted and now he was done. Moving on. Every time I thought about it, waves of shame and fury enveloped me. I wanted to kick his ass. I also wanted to be back in his bed, have him worship every inch of me the way he had. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had such an attentive lover. And that pissed me off all the more.

Of course, Patrick was right. I was ready to go in forty-five minutes and that even included me flat-ironing my auburn hair stick-straight and sleek. As per his instructions, I had chosen an indigo Gucci dress with three-quarter sleeves and no back. It was understated sexiness, probably not quite as
va-va-voom
as Patrick would want, but I knew that crowd and there was no way I was going any skimpier than this.

His driver was already waiting when I came out, and I arrived in Georgetown, one of the toniest neighborhoods of Washington, DC, in hardly any time. I rushed in to find Patrick waiting for me right outside the ballroom, with the cocktail hour still in session. I felt a bunch of eyes on me as I arrived, but even more so when Patrick came up to me, cradling my face in his hands and barely above a whisper asked me, “Remember the first rule of improv?”

“What?” I was totally confused for a half a second. “Um…it’s to always say yes to what your partner is doing in a scene. Why are you asking me that?”

“Because of what I’m about to do…” And right then Patrick kissed me. And I’m not talking about a friendly peck on the lips. I mean an Oscar-nominated-worthy, openmouthed kiss. With tongue. Like I was his long-lost lover who had just come back from war. Or the girl who got away and had somehow come back.

But since Patrick never steered me wrong, I returned his kiss with all the fervor and passion “the scene” called for. Totally confused, mind you, but still all in.

When he finally broke away, with both of us quietly trying to catch our breaths, I wiped around my mouth, trying to fix what I imagined was my smeared lipstick.

“Mind telling me what that was all about?”

He nodded. “Sure, but don’t be mad, okay?”

Oh no. This couldn’t be good because nothing good ever started off that way.

“Fine,
what
?” I was losing my patience with him.

“Oliver didn’t cancel last minute. I made that up. He’s on the other side of the room, seeing to some last-minute details.”

“What?” I was incredulous, trying to wrap my head around what he was telling me. “But why?”

“Remember you said you wouldn’t get mad…”

I glared at him in response.

“Kyle Masterson is here with that woman, his latest client…what’s her name… Shit, I forgot. Anyway, he’s here, staring daggers at me behind you, and you’re here, looking beyond fabulous.”

My stomach dropped to my knees and I clasped onto his forearm because I was immediately lightheaded. My mouth went dry and I thought I was going to pass out because the blood rushed from my brain in one fell swoop.

Patrick gave me a stern look. “Now you need to listen to me. I know that twisty li’l brain of yours has you convinced that you deserve a karmic bitch slap delivered by that gorgeous male specimen over there, but—”

“I cannot believe you’ve done this, Trick!” I interrupted while pushing him back with my palms. “Of all your maneuvers, this has got to be—”

“Look at me, Samantha, and tell me you haven’t been moping over him this past week?”

I clamped my mouth shut. Because I had. Big time. I had only seen him less than a handful of times, slept with him once, but not only was he the best sex of my life, but I found everything about him engaging. Compelling. Addicting, even. And I had been going cold turkey all week. Just like Patrick had said.

“Exactly,” he huffed, with a gleam of self-satisfaction in his eyes. “And I don’t care what you say, but you don’t ‘deserve’—” he used air quotes, “—to be dumped. With any of these guys, you have always been upfront, to a fault. That’s the chance they took trying to tame a wild filly like you.”

“But I
did
get dumped, Trick,” I interjected, “and now you’ve created a situation where I’m going to be even
more
uncomfortable. How does that solve anything?”

His expression became solemn. “Never seen you so taken with a man before, honey.” His voice was lower now as he rubbed my upper arms. “I figured that, as much as I can’t stand how he blew you off, there had to be something special to capture your attention the way he did.” Then he cupped my face in his hands again and touched the tip of his nose with mine. “At best, you two see each other and work things out and, at the very least, you torture the shit out of him because you are completely smoking in that dress.”

I let out a sound between a giggle and a snort, shaking my head. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Well, nothing more than what we just did,” he teased, “because as scrumptious as you are, I’m not switching teams anytime soon. Now let’s go out there, mingle and torture all the good-looking men.”

I wished I had enough nerve to turn around and see if Kyle was still watching us, but instead, I took Patrick’s arm in mine, gave it a warm squeeze and let him lead me into the main ballroom. I could feel dozens of eyes upon us. I only hoped a set of those belong to the man who had bruised my heart.

Everything was decorated in rich, sumptuous velvets and satin fabrics, along with shimmers of silver, mostly with clever placement of mirrors not just on the walls but being used in groups as centerpieces. The visual effect was decadent and surreal, being able to see yourself from almost every angle at any time.

“Want a drink, Sam?”

“Sure, an El Presidente.”

Patrick winked and headed over to the bar while I placed my handbag at our assigned table and took in the sights around me.

Who was I kidding…I was looking for Kyle. I was hoping to pinpoint where he was in the room so I could be prepared. Part of me was dying to find him, to see if he would approach me, and the other half was hoping I’d never have to lay eyes on him again. I took in a breath meant to calm me, but all it did was solidify how shaky I was inside.

“Hello, Samantha.”

I knew that voice anywhere and it was right behind me.
Time for your game face,
I thought, as I smoothed over my expression and retrieved a neutral smile. Then I turned around and found those golden-whiskey eyes lit electric and hot, perusing me slowly from head to toe and back again, and something inside me crumbled. My resolve whittled into a stump of itself. It took everything I had not to throw myself at him. Crawl under his skin and burrow deep.

Then I forced myself to remember the ridiculously lame note he left me with the cab fare. Like I was a hooker. The memory refueled my anger into something cold and smoldering at the same time.

“Oh hey, Kyle,” I responded, sounding almost bored.
God, I’m good,
I couldn’t help but think to myself, making just the edge of my mouth curl up slightly.

“‘Oh. Hey…
Kyle
’?” he practically spat back, his jaw getting tight as he over-enunciated. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

My eyes widened, because I was genuinely surprised he was giving me attitude.

“Who the hell is that guy you’re with?”

Surprised evolved into full-out fiery pissed-off in a nanosecond. “
Excuse
me? Are you serious right now?”

He took a step into my personal space and I automatically backed up, my behind hitting the chair, which I was now grasping with both hands. I narrowed my eyes and straightened my spine, but I never knew why I bothered. Even with my high heels on, I barely reached Kyle mid-chest. Then again, it was still an unbelievably fine view. Damn him for looking impeccably delicious in a Tom Ford suit.

He shoved his fingers in his luscious, silky chestnut hair, looking as if he was ready to pull it out by the roots. Kyle expelled a harsh breath and then surprised me once again by reaching for me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I tried to push him back with my hands, but he was like a marble statue. Immobile and unyielding.

“Fucked up with you, Samantha,” he muttered, resting his lips on the top of my hair. “Shouldn’t have left the way I did after the night we had together.”

My hands, which had been on his chest in an attempt to get him away, now balled up into fists, my eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to quell my reaction to his small confession.

In a soft voice, I asked, “So why did you?”

He pulled away from me, and just as he opened his mouth to respond, I heard a woman’s voice. A really peeved and whiny woman’s voice.