Toxic (16 page)

He stared at me again as if trying to figure something out.

The elevator doors opened and I quickly walked into the hallway, needing to escape his stare. I could still feel his eyes on me when I stopped in front of my door—and the thought of the yearning I had seen in his eyes made me fumble for my keys.

He was moving closer.

Closer still.

He was directly behind me, but his body wasn’t touching mine.

At that moment, I wanted it to be. I wanted so badly to feel his hardness against me.

When he placed both of his palms above my head, my pulse raced. He leaned down to whisper in my ear and his body was even closer.

But still not close enough.

His warm breath tickled my neck as he spoke. “I don’t want any money from you. The only thing I want from you in exchange for my help is for you to consider giving us a second chance. I know it’s not that simple. But that’s what I want.”

I pulled my keys out of my purse and turned around. “We can’t do business like that. It’s not ethical.”

He shrugged. “Then my consulting fee is nominal and if you agree to it, I’ll take your word that you’ll consider my proposal. You don’t have to answer me right now. Just think about it.”

My heart was beating so fast. “And if I say no? Then you won’t help me?”

“I didn’t say that. If you say no, we’ll renegotiate. But you haven’t said no. Have you?”

I shook my head. My lips parted and my breathing picked up speed. Could I agree to something like that when the fate of my family business was on the line? I wasn’t sure. “What exactly do you mean by a second chance?”

“I’d like to be able to take you out and have a good time without the past constantly blocking our way. Everything is up for discussion. Just know, ultimately I want you in my bed and not just sleeping beside me.”

My body ached for him at the very thought.

I wanted that too—I wish it were that easy.

He closed the distance between us and I could feel the sparks, the heat. “Just think about it.”

“Jeremy,” I whimpered.

I wanted to protest his demands but I had nothing to argue. Yet, I couldn’t say yes. I wasn’t sure if the mess that was our past would ever allow for a future.

My lies.

His abandonment.

Could we rebound from that?

My mouth was agape and he covered it with his finger.

His touch seared me.

“Shhh . . .” he whispered. “No more talking about it tonight. Too much has already happened today. I’m going to leave now. I’m not going to ask you if I can come in. And even though I want to, I’m not going to kiss you good night. You and I both know we never could stop at just a kiss. But I want you to know, I really wanted to fuck you on that table tonight and if I weren’t in the middle of closing the deal, I would have at least tried.”

I bit down on my lower lip to keep from moaning out loud.

The bad boy was still in there.

“The question is, would you have let me?”

I shook my head no but my body was screaming yes, yes I would have. I couldn’t argue with it, my body was reacting on its own; it wanted to give him what he said he wanted.

Right here.

Right now.

He gave me a huff of laughter. “Are you sure about that?”

Adamant, I shook my head again.

Jeremy coasted his hands down to my hips. “I think you’re lying.”

A delicious shiver rippled through me and when he pressed his fingertips into my skin, I sucked in a breath.

I was so obvious.

Jeremy shrugged and stepped back. “I’ll be thinking about you while I’m gone, and I hope you’ll be thinking about me.”

My breathing became erratic and every muscle in my body thrummed under his touch. I’d been thinking about him for days—no, to be honest, I’d been thinking about him for years. There was no doubt; he’d be on my mind.

“Jeremy . . .”

He leaned forward and caged me between his arms. “Yeah,” he answered in a strained voice.

Clearly, we were both hot and bothered and we couldn’t continue like this. “We can’t let the past go, we have to talk about it or things like what happened tonight will keep coming up.”

He took a deep breath and let it out. “You’re probably right.”

Just then the elevator dinged and Mrs. Bardot sashayed out. Dressed in a long elegant gown, she looked every bit the movie star she once was.

Jeremy pulled back just enough to kiss my forehead. “Good night.”

And with that, he nodded toward Mrs. Bardot and headed for the elevator.

I watched his walk.

She watched his walk too.

He was just too sexy.

The doors began to close but he stopped them. “Hey, I have this thing Saturday night I’d like you to come with me to. But you have to promise not to laugh.”

I let my anger and fear and anxiety slide off my shoulders. “What is it?”

“A launch party for the new Assassin’s Creed.”

“The video game?” I asked.

He nodded.

I smiled at him. “I’d love to.”

The doors closed and I looked at Mrs. Bardot, who I could tell was sizing us up.

“What does one wear to a video launch party?” I asked.

“Oh darling, come with me. I have just the thing. I wore it to
The Spy Who Loved Me
premiere.”

I slipped my shoes off, left them outside my door, and followed Bette Bardot into the larger half of my floor. She had a massive four-bedroom apartment and I’d been witness, on a number of occasions, to her searching through at least two of those bedrooms filled with clothes for a particular dress.

She stopped in the foyer and turned around. “Did I ever tell you about the time I was in love with two men at the same time? One was very much like your own James Dean type.”

Except he wasn’t really mine, although it seemed he wanted to be.

Finding a Rhythm

“Harder. It has to be harder,” I shouted excitedly into the phone.

Ask me anything about Audrey Hepburn and you had better believe I knew the answer. I was being serious. Audrey Hepburn was no laughing matter. I had a closet jammed with little black dresses and a drawer full of her movies.

I might never have seen
Gone With the Wind,
but I had seen every single Audrey Hepburn movie, watched them over and over, owned them, not only on DVD, but Blu-ray as well. I also had digital downloads on my iPad and my laptop.

“Give me a minute,” he said.

“You’re not allowed to Google questions.”

“How the hell else would I know what to ask you?” Jeremy laughed into the phone.

I fell back onto my bed. “That’s cheating. I didn’t Google the video game questions I asked you last night.”

He laughed again. “Yeah, but asking what game you play with a guitar or which game you’re a sniper in doesn’t require much research.”

He had a point.

“You picked the topic, not me,” I quipped.

We’d played twenty questions years ago and it was easy to pick it back up. It was also an easy way to get reacquainted.

“Next time I’m picking James Bond.”

“I can’t wait. I know the man well,” I teased.

My smile was wide as I remembered how much he loved James Bond. I’d loved Audrey back then as well, but getting Jeremy McQueen to sit down and watch
Funny Face
just wasn’t something I ever tried to tackle—back then anyway.

My phone beeped and Dawson’s name flashed across my screen. I hit ignore. I’d call him back. It was Thursday night and just like Tuesday and Wednesday, I was spending the evening on the phone with Jeremy. His texts started right after he left Monday night. He had asked that we leave our past history to face-to-face discussions. I had agreed because he was away and I wanted to talk to him. And to be honest, I liked that he was making an effort to get to know who I had become.

I hadn’t agreed to his payment terms but he started working with me on the project anyway. Tuesday afternoon we’d had phone conferences with the three property managers and Wednesday we discussed the draft for the proposal for the club investment with Hunter. We were going to submit to interested parties late the next week. But on Thursday, I hadn’t talked to Jeremy all day. So by the time he called me, I was longing to hear his voice.

“You still there?” he asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone.

The playfulness seemingly gone, I tried to recapture it. “You are so watching
Breakfast at Tiffany’s
with me when you get back.”

He laughed from deep in his throat. “I know it might be hard to believe, but I actually wouldn’t mind watching it with you.”

The huskiness in his voice made me sit up. “Then you’re in for a treat.” My voice sounded seductive. I had no idea where that came from.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Home.”

“I know. Where in your apartment are you?”

“On my bed. Where are you?” I asked.

“Give me a minute.”

I heard stomping up some stairs and then a door closed.

“On my bed,” he said in that same husky tone.

I nearly stopped breathing.

“Are you still there?” he asked again.

“Yes.” My voice was raspy.

In a deep, husky voice he said, “Tell me what you’re wearing under your clothes.”

Arousal overtook my mind and I answered quickly. “A bra and panties.”

“Take off your clothes and tell me what they look like.”

Flushing from head to toe I managed to say, “Jeremy!”

“Phoebe, I’ve seen you in your underwear. Christ, I’ve seen you naked. Just put your phone on speaker, dim the lights, and describe to me the lucky pieces of fabric covering your tits and pussy.”

Shock and desire swarmed through me in equal measure.

Memories of his dirty mouth came back in a flash.

I’d loved it so many years before but we were flesh to flesh then. I’d never had phone sex before. Had no idea how to, but I knew I was about to find out. I wasn’t going to turn him down. I wanted this.

The sexual tension that had blossomed between us was causing me to go insane. I was touching myself when I woke up in the middle of the night, and then in the shower before work, and last night and the night before after I hung up the phone with him. I’d been masturbating to the thought of him nonstop. Phone sex had to be so much better.

“Give me a minute,” I whispered, needing to ease into the more intimate exchange that I knew was coming. I stripped out of my skirt and blouse and all but tore my hose pulling them off. The lights were already dimmed, so that wasn’t an issue. I heard his own mattress squeaking and wondered if he had started without me.

My phone beeped again and I looked down. This time it was an incoming call from Jamie. I ignored it. Then, I took a deep breath and a giant leap of faith as I sat on my bed in my underwear.

Just as I was thinking about what I could say, he spoke. “I have to be honest with you,” he said.

My heart sank. I didn’t like any conversation that started with those words.

With a heavy exhale, he said, “I’ve been hard all week just thinking about you and I have to admit, my wrist hasn’t been worked out this much in a long time.”

Picturing his hand, his cock, his hips, and the perfect choreographed movement of all three had me barely cognizant.

“Phoebe?”

“I’m here,” I said in the raspiest tone. “Then I’ll be honest too. It’s possible that I’ve made myself come more times this week than I have in my entire life.”

I wasn’t exactly comfortable initiating a kinky conversation. But I could follow his lead.

“Jesus, Phoebe, you can’t talk that way to me when I’m not near you.”

Something primal erupted within me. “And I want to do it again.”

“Fuckkkk.”

I moaned at his use of the word
fuck
. It sounded entirely too delicious.

Equally as delicious was his sexy laugh that followed. “So what are we going to do about this dilemma?”

I sank back into my pillows and pictured his face as I spoke—his lips parted and his eyes heavy-lidded. “I’m wearing nothing but my bra and panties and they’re both gray,” I said. “With thin black lines.”

I heard him suck in a breath.

“My panties are skimpy, a thong, and the friction of the fabric is making me so wet.”

“Fuck. My boxers are straining. My cock is rock hard just thinking about how sexy they look on you. Now, that I have that image, take them both off and sit down on your bed.” His voice was intense and I knew if I could see him, his eyes would be as well.

He too had stripped

I stood up and removed my underwear and then picked the phone up and put it on my pillow while I turned the covers down.

“Are you naked yet?” he asked impatiently.

“I am. Are you?”

There was a pause. “I am now,” he answered.

The sound of his voice was so arousing.

“Sit up,” he demanded.

“I already am.”

“Good. I’m behind you on the bed and I’ve pushed your hair aside. I’m brushing my lips across the back of your neck . . . you can feel my warm breath right between your shoulder blades. Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” I breathed. I was getting wetter with every passing second.

“I’m lightly kissing down your spine and my hands are reaching in front of you to feel your breasts. Make your fingers mine. Circle your nipples until they’re hard. Tell me when they are.”

I did as he asked and as my fingers became his, my body burned for him.

“Talk to me, Phoebe. You don’t have to talk dirty, just describe what I can’t see through the phone.”

“My nipples are as hard as diamonds,” I whimpered as desire raced through every vein in my body. “And I’m wet, really wet. I want you so much.”

“Fuck,” he groaned.

It was hard to talk to him like I was, but I closed my eyes and let myself feel the moment. “I wish you were here.”

“So do I.”

He stopped talking then and I wondered if I shouldn’t have said that. “Are you still there?”

“Yeah, I am. I’m still behind you. Pinch your nipples between your fingers and roll them, both of them at the same time, until you feel even wetter.”

I imagined him on his knees behind me and sighed in lustful splendor. “Your chest is flush to mine, I can feel the heat of your skin next to me.”

“I feel you too. You feel so good.”

I moaned at the thought of the true flesh-to-flesh contact I was craving.

“Lie back and when you do, I’m going to kneel over you with my knees at your hips.” His voice sounded so erotic and the image I had in my head was X-rated.

“My head is on the pillow, my hair fanned out everywhere. And Jeremy, I’m so wet.”

“Oh fuck,” he mumbled. “Touch me.”

“I am. You’re beautiful. So hot and thick as I stroke you up and down. Do you feel me?”

I hoped he was touching himself.

He made a shuddering noise and I knew he was. There were another few seconds of silence before he spoke. “I’m going to loosen your hold now, it’s still your turn.”

I laughed, but not for long.

“I’m kissing my way down your body. Imagine that I’m tracing the outline of that sexy little mole on your left hip with my tongue.”

“I love your mouth, you know.”

His laugh was wicked. “I know. I remember. Now spread your thighs for me so I can touch you with it. Your pussy needs attention.”

My heart was pounding as need became the driving force of my very existence. Need for the man on the other end of the phone line to bring me to orgasm. “They already are,” I whispered in a voice that morphed into a moan as my fingers drifted between my open thighs.

“My tongue is circling your clit, my finger stroking you. You’re so wet. So ready for me.”

“Oh God,” I called out into the darkness of my own room.

“My fingers are sliding into you. Phoebe, slide your fingers, first one, then another inside yourself.”

I did—more than willingly. My internal muscles clenched. My clit throbbed. I was panting. I was ready for him.

“I’m licking you, stroking you, fingering you, and your body is already tensing under my touch.”

My inhibitions were gone and, as the moment became so intimate, I wanted him to feel the same pleasure he was giving me. “Push your hips forward and pretend your fist is my pussy. I’m so wet for you. So ready for you.” I was breathless and panting. My words were strangled as I rode the verge of orgasm.

“I’m so fucking hard. I have to be inside you.”

“Close your eyes. You are. You’re buried deep inside of me.” I couldn’t believe that popped out of my mouth but I was glad it did.

There were a few seconds of heavy breathing between us and I knew he must have been lost in the moment. “Oh fuck, you feel so good. I’m going to come. Come with me.”

I added a little pressure right where I needed it and then let myself fall, tumble down the rabbit hole that was Jeremy McQueen. I didn’t care at that moment if I got lost in him. I wanted to. I wanted to bare myself to him and make him mine. I wanted for him to make me his. I wanted for us to own each other.

He groaned my name with his release and the sounds he made were so incredibly erotic.

My insides clenched as warmth flooded me and I closed my eyes and let myself go. Letting go, I cried out shamelessly, loudly at first then softer as my orgasm spun around me. It was intense, it swallowed me up, and I yearned for Jeremy to be beside me.

And then, even though his name was a whisper on my tongue, I saw him in the stars that you couldn’t see in the Manhattan skyline. As they came into focus, I knew where they were from. They were the stars at the Hamptons. The ones I’d seen that summer every time he made love to me on the beach.

My body was trembling and I started to cry at the memory. Emotion took hold of me so quickly that I couldn’t push it away like I had become so skilled at doing. Tears sprang into my eyes as the ache and emptiness that had been within me for so long reopened. Before I could wipe them away, his voice was calling for my attention.

“Phoebe, talk to me.” His voice was strained with alarm.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed. What were we doing here? Was this real or some crazy attempt to recapture a part of our youth that hadn’t even ended well?

“Phoebe, hang up the phone.”

I stared in disbelief at the voice coming from my pillow. That was it? All he had to say was just hang up? But he hadn’t even let me be the one to do that. The line was already dead before I could reach to press
END
.

It couldn’t have been more than fifteen seconds when my phone rang. This time it was a FaceTime call.

I wanted to throw my phone across the room and let it shatter into a million pieces like he had done with my heart—again.

But before my heart could take control of my mind, I picked up my phone.

I was too weak not to.

I sat up and pressed
ACCEPT
but I didn’t say anything.

“Phoebe,” he said, and I saw the intensity of those blue eyes that I knew so well.

I sat naked on my bed and tried to pull myself together.

“Let me see your face.”

I wiped any stray tears and then brought the phone closer to me.

He reached out, like he could actually touch me, and stroked his thumbs over my face. Then he kissed my forehead.

I lost it.

I started crying again.

“If you don’t talk to me, I can’t help you. Tell me what it is,” he insisted.

I knew I was overreacting. Yet I needed to talk it out. I took a deep breath. “You know things won’t be the same as they were. They can’t be. Too much has happened.”

He sighed with what sounded like relief. “I know. They’ll be better this time.”

“What if they’re not?”

“It’s not possible.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do. I can feel it. What we had before was built on a lie and hang-ups.”

I winced.

“I don’t mean to make you feel bad. I had issues too. But we’re older now, more mature.”