VEGAS follows you home (41 page)

"So, what's going on this week?" I sit in the familiar seat across from her.

"Well, you have your first consultation with Mrs. Manson tomorrow, late morning. Then you—"

"Who's Mrs. Manson?"

"The mother planning a wedding for her daughter who lives in New York." Mercedes looks up from her schedule book.

"That name sounds so familiar. Did we do something for them before?"

"No. This is a first time deal and they are a very wealthy family. Maybe you just remember when I first mentioned the appointment a couple weeks ago."

Mercedes shrugs and continues going over the schedule. Three consultations and a meeting with Felicity to go over the last of the hockey player's wedding are coming up.

Leaving Mercedes’ office, I get to work on the wedding cake and have Angela work on the groom’s hockey-inspired cake.

I lounge awake in bed, exhausted from the day in the bakery and Alex being as energetic as ever, but unable to sleep. I browse through the latest Bridal and wedding magazines. I'm halfway through the first when I realize I haven't even been paying attention.

Closing the magazine, I toss it on top of the pile next to me and rest my head against the headboard. My mind wanders back to my session with Dr. Livingston.

How can I lose Isaac again? He's gone, been gone. Why did I say that?

My cell phone vibrates on the nightstand before the ringtone begins. Without looking, I reach over and answer.

"Hello?"

My free hand grabs the previously discarded magazine and I start leafing through it again.

"Olivia." Damon's voice is soft and sad, but it stirs fluttering in my stomach.

"Damon?"

I sit up straight, ignoring the magazine as it slides from my lap to the floor next to the bed.

"Yes," he sighs.

"Are you okay?"

"No," he answers quickly.

"What's wrong?"

Silence lingers.

"Damon?" Worry turns the fluttering to knots.

"Olivia, please let me in."

"What are you—?”

There's a knocking sound from his end of the phone.

"Can I please come in?"

"You're here?"

As I ask, I slip from the bed and pad quietly down the hall. I pull the door open and take in Damon standing with his head leaning against the doorframe.

"What's wrong?"

The sorrow in his eyes tugs at me.

"Please?" He closes his eyes, clenches his fists, and breathes deeply.

Stepping back, I motion for him to enter.

His arms wrap around me the second he crosses the threshold.

"Thank you," he mumbles into my hair, tightening his embrace.

I lose the battle to remain neutral; instead, I encircle him in my arms. Running my hands over his back, my hope is to comfort, but it also makes me feel so many things I shouldn't feel for a man who's done creepy and manipulative things. He's stalked me, scared me, and made me feel.

"Let's get you settled into the spare room," I whisper and pull away.

Taking his hand, I lead him to the extra room and leave him to settle in for the night. Refusing to look back, I wipe rogue tears from my face.

Back in my room, I go to the bathroom to splash my face with water. After cleaning up the magazines, I curl into bed on my side. With absolute certainty, I know what's going to happen. So, when he taps on my bedroom door, I'm not surprised.

Olivia

The door opens and I pretend to be asleep. I fight to keep my breathing even and my eyes shut. Peeking out, I watch the shadow of him crawl until he lays low on the bed. With the top of his head almost reaching my breasts, he presses his face against my stomach. One hand grasps my hip and he whispers something I can’t make out. His fingers flex into my cotton-covered flesh as his mouth presses against the small baby bump.

The nuzzling and caressing sends a jolt to my heart and causes my pulse to race. The anticipation of wanting more flushes my skin. I'm glad the room is too dark for him to see it.

Why does his touch cause so many emotions, so much feeling?

"Damon," I rasp.

I need him to give me space to gain composure.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"What are you doing?" The question is harsh, but I don't mean it that way. I'm just so frustrated from his touch, his presence, and my reactions.

"I can't sleep."

He rolls to his back, allowing me a moment to collect myself, but he misinterprets my silence.

"Please don't send me away."

Covering his face with his hands, he sighs.

"I don't want to be like my mother, having pushed everyone away to the point where I die alone."

"You aren't alone," I whisper, sitting up against the headboard. "You have Hugh, Scarlett, Heidi, and your father. Heidi is your true mother."

"You're my family."

"They are your family," I stress.

Rolling back toward me, he presses one hand to my stomach.

"You are family to me, Olivia."

His eyes look up and meet mine with the same burning desire I fight inside. I'm tired, frustrated, and oh-so-very scared of this man.

"Stop." I shove his hand away and slip from the bed, keeping my back to him.

The slap against the mattress causes me to spin around.

"Damn it, Olivia, why do you do this? Why can't you just try?" he growls in a low whisper as he climbs off the bed.

"Try what, Damon? To accept that I married a stalker obsessed with recreating a family he lost?"

The moment it's out of my mouth, I feel horrible and want to take it back.

He snorts.

"Don't forget you also slept with this obsessed stalker twice."

He holds two fingers up, staring at me with fierce intensity. The determination in his eyes causes me to take a step back.

"Yeah, I did. But it was under the influence of alcohol and manipulation both times." I mean for it to sound more ferocious, but the guilt from my previous outburst tempers me.

"It didn't take too much manipulation and you know it." He smirks.

In three long strides, he's backed me against the wall.

"You felt the connection in New York. We were connecting before you left."

His arms trap me against the walls.

"You're delusional," I snap. "It was all just to keep my end of the deal. You know, the deal you broke after you lied to me?"

"Stop running from me."

His face is so close, just one tongue lick away. The close proximity strokes the slow burning desire within me. This attraction to him, these feelings, are perilous.

"Stop running from me."

The heat of his breath caresses my lips. I lick them and his gaze slips to my mouth. He leans closer, running his nose against mine. My head falls back and eyes shut. His lips ghost over my ear.

"I want you."

He pulls back, but leaves less than an inch between us.

Desire engulfs my body. Instinctively, my body gravitates to his. His heat saturates me. His scent fills the air. I can hear my heart beat in my ears. Pushing away from the wall, I weave my hands into his hair and claim his mouth.

I pull back to catch my breath. His mouth drops to my neck.

"I love you," he mumbles against my skin.

His words are like a bucket of ice water. I freeze, dropping my hands from his hair.

He brings his head up, cups my face, and looks into my eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"No." I shake my head.

"No, what?" His brow furrows.

"No to this." I shove at his chest.

"Stop fighting this. Stop running." His thumb rubs my cheek.

I push his hands away.

"I don't love you. I can't love you," I cry.

Tears blur my vision, but I still see the devastation on his face. My stomach turns and I rush for the bathroom. Locking the door behind me, I try to calm myself. But the sobs won't subside and there's no stopping the vomit.

Kneeling on the floor, my stomach now empty, my body shudders.

Why did he say it? How could I feel the words he so easily spoke?

My lie broke him. I saw it on his face.

New sobs wrack my body.

When I finally exit the bathroom, Damon is gone. I don't have to check to know he left the apartment completely.

Two days pass without a word from Damon. On day three, when I convince myself I'm only calling to discuss Alex's birthday, I dial his cell number. I pretend not to be hurt when my call is sent to voicemail after two rings or dwell on the thought that he sent it to voicemail when he saw it was me calling.

After a week, I'm sick and tired of thinking about, longing to hear from, and feeling rejected by mother trucking Damon Knyght. I never asked to feel this way. All I want is for my life to be as it was before, but…could I ever really go back to before Damon?

Sitting in the therapist's office, my leg shakes from nervousness. Waiting for our first joint appointment has put me on edge. Today is the first time we will speak in a week.

The sound of the door opening intensifies the raw, nervous energy coursing through me. His presence is all-encompassing. The business suit, with its clean, crisp lines and perfect fit over his leanly muscled body, causes my lower belly to clench. I close my eyes and take a breath, trying to calm my increase of body temperature and pulse resulting from just looking at him.

Upon opening my eyes, the spot where he once stood is empty. He's chosen a seat as far away from me as possible. Our eyes lock for a brief moment and a flash of something I can't read appears. However, the lack of emotion on his face sends a chill across my skin and tension thickens the air between us.

Dr. Livingston's office door opens, cutting into the silence.

"Hello," she welcomes. "Please, come in."

Holding the door open, she motions for us to enter.

Both of us standing, Damon holds the door open before guiding me into the room by the small of my back. This one small gesture causes tingles to erupt throughout my body.

"So," Dr. Livingston drawls, sitting behind her desk. "Damon and I spoke previously about the current disagreement between the two of you. I think we should first expand on the current cause of tension. Olivia, can you please tell me about the current dispute?"

"I wouldn’t say it's a disagreement, but a moment of honesty he didn't want to hear." I fold, unfold, and refold my hands nervously in my lap.

Damon snorts from his chair on my right.

"I see." Dr. Livingston smiles. "Damon," she turns her attention on him, "you told Olivia you love her, correct?"

"Yes." He nods.

"And?" she presses.

"And she made sure to correct my misunderstanding by telling me she could never feel anything for me, besides disdain." He growls the last two words.

"What do you expect, Damon?" My anger flares. "After everything you've done—"

"I know what I've done." His hard eyes narrow on me. "I've apologized repeatedly for how I behaved, but if you need to hear it again, fine. I'm. Sorry. But I'm not sorry for caring, wanting, and loving you. Is it truly so terrible?" He sounds angry, but his eyes reflect nothing but pain.

"Do you even realize what you've done? You forced yourself into my life. Uninvited." Tears sting the back of my eyes. "I was happy, content with my life."

What I don't say, or ask, is whether he realizes how he's made me feel.

"Happy?" He snorts. "You've been hiding behind a secure routine and single mother label. If I were Isaac, it would—"

"Don't," I snap. "You don't know a damn thing about him, so don't you dare speak about Ifs."

You don't know how you've caused me to betray his memory with my feelings for you.
I don't say this out loud, but it wraps around my heart like a vice.

"Let's calm down," Dr. Livingston interrupts. "This is an open and honest place to talk and things can get passionate given the topics addressed, but I would like to make sure we are being fair and keeping the arguing as minimal as possible."

Damon's eyes level on mine and soften.

"It wasn't my intention to make you feel this way. I know the mess I've made, but I cannot apologize for wanting to know my son and his mother. I also cannot control how my feelings have developed."

"Olivia," Dr. Livingston addresses me once more. "Damon feels you started to develop a connection in New York. Do you agree?"

I open my mouth to disagree, but close it. Damon's plea flashes through my mind.
Please try, Olivia.

"Olivia?" she presses.

"Yes, I agree. We got closer, but it's not love."

"A friendship?" She sits back, resting into her high-back leather chair.

I nod.

"And the physical relationship?"

"Too much alcohol," I blurt.

In my peripheral vision, I see Damon shake his head in silent disagreement.

"You don't believe the alcohol was the cause?" she asks him.

"Of course he doesn't," I groan.

"I'm not saying it didn't play a part, but I don't think blame can be placed on that excuse. I believe the alcohol dropped her inhibitions enough to step out of her safety zone." He turns to me, a determined look on his face. "Allowing a connection beyond friendship to develop."

The savage inner fire lighting deep within his eyes forces me to look away. The tears threaten to spill over. He's calling me out on the feelings I thought I've been hiding so well.
It's not love. I'm not in love.

"Let's try an exercise," Dr. Livingston interjects, straightening in her chair.

She weaves her fingers together, resting her hands on the desk.

"Damon, I want you to explain, calmly, why you felt the need to be so persistent in your pursuit of Olivia. I'd like to understand the reason behind the misleading and forceful nature."

"I couldn't risk her rejection," he practically whispers. "I knew she would run the first chance she could or would get the authorities involved. The risk of losing them after having just found them…" he inhales a shaky breath, "it was too much for me. It wasn't a risk I could take."

"And did you think about how your chosen path would make Olivia feel?"

"Not at the time." He pauses. "Now, I realize how crazy it all seems, but I needed them, had to meet them. I need to know my son."

"And Olivia?"