Can't Let Go (7 page)

Crap
.

He was being tested, here, in the cruelest way. She was asking him to undress her? Exposing herself to him, and Aiden to her naked body? He couldn’t do it while sporting a woody or she’d cut him off at the knees. Drunk or not.

Aiden mentally tied a noose around his mojo. And pulled. “Sure thing.”

He followed her into the room and she dropped onto the bed, falling back with an
oomph!
She toed at her shoes until they hit the floor. Aiden retrieved them, dangerous-looking spikes covered with winking rhinestones. How women walked in these things, he’d never know. Sadie told him once because of her diminutive size she preferred the tallest shoes. He’d concurred at the time. Without them, Sadie came only to the middle of his chest. He was in favor of any contraption if it meant bringing her lips closer to his.

And now he was thinking of kissing her. Again.

He shook his head to wipe away the memories of the intense kisses they’d shared in the past: the sound of her truncated breaths against his ear, the feel of her fingernails spearing into his hair. He tracked back to the bed, jaw set, brain focused squarely on the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. He pulled back the covers to hide the tempting vision of her breasts bursting from the top of her dress, but she rolled onto her side.

“Unzip,” Sadie demanded, her manicured nails fumbling at the back of her dress. When he hesitated, Sadie shot him a displeased look over her shoulder, crinkling her heavily made-up eyes at him.

Even sexier when she’s angry
, he thought with a groan.

Aiden reached for the zipper, ignoring his impulse to go slowly, listen to every snick as he examined all of her smooth, golden flesh beneath the bridesmaid’s dress. It’d been too long since he’d been allowed to undress this woman. Too. Effing. Long. The zipper parted to reveal what appeared to be a sleeveless white straightjacket with about a hundred hooks.

“Now this.” She did a backward point.

Aiden paused. The thing looked as penetrable as Fort Knox. “Can’t you sleep in it?”

“Just do it. Nothing you haven’t seen before.” She turned her head at an awkward angle so she could look at him. A little pleat formed on her brow as if she was reconsidering. “I mean, not me, but other girls.” She flopped her head onto the pillow with a
whump
.

Thanks for the reminder
, Aiden thought tersely.

He and Sadie hadn’t had a chance to get that far. Okay, that wasn’t true. They’d had plenty of chances. Each time they saw each other, the dates had lasted at least six or seven hours or overnight. They couldn’t seem to escape each other, or stop talking, or stop
touching
. But they’d always stopped short of going too far. Both of them had been hurt before and neither of them was anxious to repeat their painful pasts.

So, yes, Sadie was right, he hadn’t
seen
her naked before, but he had felt enough of her bare flesh under his palms to give his imagination a hell of a show.

He scooted the bedside lamp closer to investigate the contraption she’d bound herself in. He could dismantle a car, surely he could handle this. Turns out he had to make the thing tighter before the hooks would release. Each time, Sadie grunted, until he got halfway down her back and she blew out a
whooshing
breath. He made quick work of the rest.

“Thank God.” She sat up, one hand covering the sagging top of her gown, then reached in and withdrew the corset, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor. “I owe you, Downey. Now help me out of this dress and go away.”

He swallowed thickly, recognizing the painful familiarity of the moment. The night she was on his couch and slipped her bra out from underneath her tank top. He’d clutched her to him, and she’d panted against his neck as her nipples abraded his bare chest. It was then she’d hesitated. Wordlessly, but he’d felt the slightest bit of tension creep into her shoulders. He backed off, but didn’t let her go, tucking her into bed against him and sleeping next to her that night.

That was his Sadie. Minx on the outside, lamb on the inside. Seeing this side of her again, being reminded of what they’d had—what he’d thrown away…

Man. It hurt.

“I’m too tipsy to do it myself,” she growled. Despite her efforts to keep it out, vulnerability leaked into her voice. Aiden gripped her elbows and helped her to her feet, stopping short of crushing her lips with his and admitting he was wrong a hundred ways from Sunday.

He steadied her elbows as she wiggled out of the dress with a perfunctory, “No looking.” He obeyed, keeping his eyes focused out the bedroom window. But with the bedside lamp on, he couldn’t see out the bedroom window, only himself reflected in the pane, and Sadie’s thong panties as she stepped out of the dress. He shut his eyes and reminded his johnson to remain
at ease.

“Aiden.”

“Yes.”

“I need you to get my pajamas for me.”

“Okay.”

“No peeking while I crawl into bed.”

This was the side of Sadie people
didn’t
see. Her modest side. Everyone assumed they knew her—with her litany of first dates and explosive personality, Sadie was mistaken as confident and outgoing. Which she was, both of those things. She was also modest, careful. Fragile. And despite the increasing pressure in his pants, Aiden vowed to honor her request.

“Okay,” he muttered.

“Promise,” she commanded, brushing against his arm as she turned. Something very soft grazed his skin and he tried to convince himself it wasn’t what he thought it was.

“Promise,” he said through clenched teeth.

When he heard the wisp of sheets he opened his eyes. Sadie wore the comforter over her breasts and pointed with one arm. “The big suitcase,” she said around a yawn.

The big suitcase also had a big lock. The key, he assumed was in her purse. He approached the purse, which was about the size of a small country, and stopped short. Going through a woman’s purse was a lot like sticking a hand in a garbage disposal. While he was pretty sure he’d be able to get what he needed out of it, there was the risk of losing a digit while rooting around in there.

He glanced back at Sadie, who had laid back and shut her eyes. Her breathing was already steady and deep. Making a snap decision, he walked to his room and dug an old T-shirt out of his duffel bag. When he returned, he wondered if it was even worth waking her for. But then he thought of her waking in only her panties—a thought that had him swallowing a lump of lust—and worried she might think something had happened tonight. He regarded the gray shirt in his hand. Not that she’d be thrilled about waking in one of his tees. Again.

God. Was that night on auto-repeat?

Ignoring the overwhelming sense of déjà vu, he stretched the neck and slipped the shirt over her sprayed hair, feeding first one arm into a sleeve followed by the other. Now the tricky part. Looking up at the ceiling, he palmed her back and pulled her toward him. But as he started to tug the shirt down, Sadie’s arms clamped around his neck, her breasts smashing against his cardboard dress shirt.

A sound emitted from his throat he was pretty sure was a growl.

“I loved you,” Sadie said, her eyes wide and earnest. “And you blew it.” That said, she tugged the shirt to her waist, flopped onto one side, and pulled the covers over her head.

Aiden’s shoulders slumped, heavy from the weight of her admission. She loved him. Or at least she used to. He’d had his suspicions, but had never known. Would it have changed how he ended things between them? Would he have confessed the same?

Of course he would’ve.

And you blew it.

He had. Completely effing stepped in it.

After several seconds, he finally stood from the edge of the bed, as heavy as if he’d strapped a pair of anvils onto his back. At the door, he hesitated over the switch, watching her take a few deep breaths. One night, a long, long time ago, he’d been right next to her, feeling as hopeful about their future as he felt devastated now.

If only time were reversible. If only he knew then what he knew now.

If only.

Most useless two words ever.

Stupid champagne
.

Sadie downed the last sip of her coffee and dragged her suitcase to the car. She hauled it ungracefully into her trunk and vowed to call Crickitt and give her what-for for pulling the Aiden and Sadie slumber party bit.

Only she couldn’t. Because Crickitt and Shane were on their honeymoon having the blissful, married time of their lives. She stalked back into the house, doing a once-over to make sure she hadn’t left anything behind. That’s when she spotted Aiden’s T-shirt.

When she woke up wearing it, she tossed it aside and ran around packing with one single goal: get the hell out of the cabin before he woke up and offered breakfast. The morning was already beginning to smack of the morning they’d spent together a year ago. A morning she wouldn’t dare repeat.

She held the soft cotton between her fingers, recalling the night he’d tenderly dressed her and curled up next to her to sleep. That morning she’d woken to his shirtless back, traced the length of the scar down his back with her fingers, and came to the terrifying realization that if he’d died in that motorcycle accident before she met him, she’d have missed out on knowing Aiden Downey.

Yeah. Well. He’s fine
, she reminded herself.
And so are you.

Yippee-skippy. Everyone is fine.

She tromped to the room he’d slept in. Empty. Turns out Aiden was an early riser nowadays. She threw the wadded-up shirt onto the rumpled bedding, shutting out the memory of what the length of his semi-nude body looked like taking up half a bed.

Time to go.

Outside, she shut the trunk and reached for the driver’s side door handle. Aiden’s motorcycle, Sheila, stood on the driveway, her orange-glittery paint job sparkling in the sun. She shook her head. Damn death machine.

Why did he ride it all the way down here? Wasn’t there a safer mode of transportation for a six-hour trip?

She reminded herself she didn’t care.
Couldn’t
care. Not after what had gone down between them. Not after the phone call that tore her heart out, left her weeping and curled into the fetal position.

But then you got up.

Hell yeah, she did.

Just then, Aiden appeared from the woods wearing a white shirt with the sleeves cut off. She could see the entire length of his torso as he jogged to her and a flash of something…a tattoo?
Doesn’t matter
. His steps slowed, and he palmed his side, puffing and watching her as if he were afraid to come any closer.

That’s when the memory of what she’d said to him last night hit her like a freight train. She’d looked into his ethereal green eyes and confessed she loved him. Wow. Stupid.

By the hurt-slash-reproachful look on his face, it was the moment he was recalling now, too. He started walking toward her, but before he got any closer, Sadie clambered into the car, started it, and drove down the lane. She stopped short of turning onto the steep mountain road and allowed herself a final glance back. In the rearview mirror she saw Aiden pace over to his bike, run a hand through his long hair, and then, noticing her hesitation, he raised a hand and waved good-bye.

Sadie didn’t wave back, turning down the tree-lined road and driving as fast as she dared. Good-bye between her and Aiden had happened a long time ago.

And that was something else she wasn’t willing to repeat.

O
scillating red, green, and blue lights sliced through the smoke-filled club. Men and women cluttered the floor, their arms pumping in time with the throbbing speakers as an unseen fog machine muddied the air.

Shane August resisted the urge to press his fingertips into his eyelids and stave off the headache that’d begun forming there an hour ago.

Tonight marked the end of a grueling week, one he would have preferred to end in his home gym, or in the company of a glass of red wine. He frowned at the bottle of light beer in his hand. Six dollars. That was fifty cents an ounce.

The sound of laughter pulled his attention from the overpriced brew, and he found a pair of girls sidling by his table. They offered twin grins and waved in tandem, hips swaying as they strode by.

“Damn,” Aiden muttered over his shoulder. “I should have worn a suit.”

Shane angled a glance at his cousin’s T-shirt and jeans. “Do you even own a suit?”

“Shut up.”

Shane suppressed a budding smile and tipped his beer bottle to his lips. It was Aiden who had dragged him here tonight. Shane could give him a hard time, but Aiden was here to forget about his ex-wife, and she’d given him a hard enough time for both of them.

“This is where you’re making your foray into the dating world?” Shane asked, glancing around the room at the bevy of flesh peeking out from the bottoms of skin-tight skirts and shorts.

“Seemed like a good place to pick up chicks,” Aiden answered with a roll of one shoulder.

Shane tamped down another smile. Aiden was recently divorced, though “finally” might be a better term. Two years of wedded bliss had been anything but, thanks to Harmony’s wandering eye. Shane couldn’t blame Aiden for exercising a bit of freedom. This time when Harmony left, she’d followed her sucker punch with a TKO: the man she left Aiden for this time was his—now
former
—best friend. Tonight he appeared to be masking his emotions beneath a cloak of overconfidence.

“Right,” Shane muttered. “Chicks.”

“Well, excuse me, Mr. Moneybags.” Aiden leaned one arm on the high-top table and faced him. “Women may throw themselves at you like live grenades, but the rest of us commoners have to come out to the trenches and hunt.”

Shane gave him a dubious look, in part for the sloppily mixed metaphor, but mostly because dodging incoming women didn’t exactly describe his lackluster love life. If he’d learned anything from his last girlfriend, it was how to spot a girl who wanted to take a dip in his cash pool.

He’d only had himself to blame, he supposed. He was accustomed to solving problems with money. Problem-free living just happened to be at the top of his priority list.

“I can pick up a girl in a club.” Shane found himself arguing. It’d been a while, but he never was one to shy away from a challenge.

Aiden laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t embarrass yourself.”

Shane straightened and pushed the beer bottle aside. “Wanna bet?”

“With you?” Aiden lifted a thick blond eyebrow. “Forget it! You wipe your ass with fifties.”

“Hundreds,” Shane corrected, earning a hearty chuckle.

“Then again,” Aiden said after finishing off his bottle, “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in action, learn what not to do now that I’m single again. Find a cute girl and I’ll be your wingman.” Before Shane could respond, Aiden elbowed him. “Except for her.”

Shane followed his cousin’s pointing finger to the bar, where a woman dabbed at her eyes with a napkin.

“Crying chicks either have too much baggage, or they’re wasted.”

Says Aiden Downey, dating guru.

“Drunk can be good,” he continued, “but by the time you get close enough to find out, it’s too late.”

A cocktail waitress stopped at their table. Shane waved off the offer of another, his eyes rooted on the crying girl at the bar. She looked as out of place in this crowd as he felt. Dressed unassumingly in jeans and a black top, her brown hair a curly crown that stopped at her jaw line. She was plain, but pretty. She brushed a lock from her damp face as her shoulders rose and fell. The pile of crumpled napkins next to her paired with the far-off look in her eyes suggested she was barely keeping it together. Grief radiated off her in waves.

Aiden said something about a girl on the dance floor and Shane flicked him an irritated glance before his eyes tracked back to the girl at the bar. She sipped her drink and offered the bartender a tight nod of thanks as he placed a stack of fresh napkins in front of her.

Shane felt an inexplicable, almost gravitational pull toward her, his feet urging him forward even as his brain raised one argument after the next. Part of him wanted to help, though if she wanted to have a heart to heart, she’d be better off talking to Aiden. But if she needed advice or a solution to a tangible problem, well, that he could handle. He may be off his game when it came to flirting, but Shane solved problems for a living.

“Okay, her friend is hot, I’ll give you that,” Aiden piped up.

Shane blinked before snapping his eyes to the brunette’s left. Her “hot friend,” as Aiden so eloquently put it, showcased her assets in a scandalously short skirt and backless silver top. He’d admit she was hard to miss. Yet Shane hadn’t noticed her until Aiden pointed her out. His eyes trailed back to the brunette.

“Okay,” Aiden said on a sigh of resignation. “Because I so desperately want to see this, I’m going to take a bullet for you. I’ll distract the crier. You hit on the blonde.” That said, he stood up and headed toward the bar…to flirt with the
wrong girl
.

Shane called Aiden’s name but his shout was lost under the music blasting at near ear-bleeding decibels. He abandoned his beer, doing a neat jog across the room and reaching Aiden just as he was moving in to tap the brunette’s shoulder.

“My cousin thought he recognized you,” Shane blurted to the blonde, grabbing Aiden by the arm and spinning him in her direction.

The blonde surveyed Aiden with lazy disinterest. “I don’t think so.”

Aiden lifted his eyebrows to ask,
What the hell are you doing?

Rather than explain, Shane clapped both palms on Aiden’s shoulders and shoved him closer to the blonde. “His sister’s in the art business.” It was a terrible segue if the expression on Aiden’s face was anything to go by, but it was the first thing that popped into his head.

The music changed abruptly, slowing into a rhythmic, techno-pop remix that had dancers slowing down and pairing up. Aiden slipped into an easy, confident smile. “Wanna dance?” he asked the blonde.

The moment the question was out of his mouth, the scratches and hissing snare drums shifted into the melodic chimes of the tired and all-too-familiar line dance “The Electric Slide.”

Aiden winced.

Shane coughed to cover a laugh. “He’s a great dancer,” he said to the blonde.

Aiden shot his elbow into Shane’s ribs, but recovered a second later. Turning to the blonde, he said, “He’s right, I am,” then offered his hand.

The blonde glanced at his palm, then leaned past Shane to talk to her friend. “You gonna be okay here?” she called over the music.

The brunette flicked her eyes from Shane to her friend before responding. “Fine.”

Aiden and the blonde made their way to the dance floor and Shane gave his collar a sharp tug and straightened his suit jacket before turning toward the brunette. She watched him, palpable sadness in her earnest blue eyes.  

“That was my cousin Aiden,” he bumbled to fill the dead air between them. “He wanted to meet your friend.”

“Figures,” the brunette said, barely audible over the music.

He ignored the whistling sound of their conversation plummeting to its imminent death. “She seems nice. Aiden can be kind of an ass around nice girls,” he added, leaning in so she could hear him.

She rewarded him with a tentative upward curve of her lips, the top capping a plumper bottom lip that looked good enough to eat. She shifted in her seat to face him and a warm scent lifted off her skin—vanilla and nutmeg if he wasn’t mistaken.
Damn
. She
smelled
good enough to eat.

She dipped her head, fiddled with the strap of her handbag, and Shane realized he was staring.

“Shane,” he said, offering his hand.

She looked at it a beat before taking it. “Crickitt.”

“Like the bug?”

“Thanks for that.” She offered a mordant smile.

Evidently he was rustier at this than he thought. “Sorry.” Best get to the point. “Is there something you need? Something I can get you?”

Her eyes went to the full drink in front of her. “I’ve had plenty, but thanks. Anyway, I’m about to leave.”

“I’m on my way out. Can I drop you somewhere?”

She eyed him cautiously.

Okay. Perhaps offering her a ride was a bit forward and from her perspective, dangerous.

“No thank you,” she said, turning her body away from his as she reached for her drink.

Great. He was creepy club guy.

He leaned on the bar between the blonde’s abandoned chair and Crickitt. Lowering his voice he said, “I think I’m doing this all wrong. To tell the truth, I saw you crying and I wondered if I could do anything to help.”

She turned to him, her eyes softening before a harder glint returned. Tossing her head, she met his eye. “Help? Sure. Know anyone who’d like to hire a previously self-employed person for a position for which she has little to no experience?”

He had to smile at her pluck…and his good fortune. Crickitt’s problem may be one he could help with after all. “Depends,” he answered, watching her eyebrows give the slightest lift. He leaned an elbow on the bar. “In what salary range?”

Crickitt scanned the well-dressed man in front of her and wondered what he’d say if she blurted out the figure dancing around her head.
Two hundred fifty thousand a year? Then he’d say, Oh, sure, I know lots of people who pay out six figures for a new hire
. She took in his streamlined charcoal suit and crisp, white dress shirt. He wasn’t wearing a tie, but she’d bet one had been looped around his neck earlier.

Well, he’d asked.

“Six figures,” she said.

He laughed.

That’s what she thought. If this Shane guy were in a position to offer that kind of income, would he really be in a club named Lace and hitting on girl like her?

He saw her crying and wanted to help? It wasn’t the worst pickup line in the world, but it was close.

Crickitt instinctively slid her pinky against her ring finger to straighten her wedding band but only felt the rub of skin on skin. For nine years it sat at home on her left hand. She used to think of it as a comforting weight, but since Ronald left, it’d become a reminder of the now-obvious warning signs she’d overlooked. The way he’d pulled away from her both physically and emotionally. The humiliation of scurrying after him, attempting to win his affections even after it was too late. Another wave of helter-skelter emotions threatened her composure and she squeezed her eyes shut to will them away.

She opened her eyes to find Shane had backed away some, either to give the semblance of privacy or because he feared she would burst into tears and blow her nose on his expensive jacket. She could choke Sadie for bringing her out tonight.

Come to the club
, Sadie had said.
It’ll get your mind off things
, she’d insisted.

“What experience do you have, Crickitt?” Shane asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She peered up at him. Was he serious? Either his half-smile was sarcastic or genuinely curious. Hard to tell. But if her former career taught her one thing, it was that opportunities arose in unexpected places.

“I’m great with people,” she answered.

“And scheduling?”

She considered telling him about the twenty in-home shows she’d held each and every month for the last seven years, but wasn’t sure he wouldn’t get the wrong idea about exactly what kind of “in-home shows” she’d be referring to. “Absolutely.”

“Prioritizing?”

Crickitt almost laughed. Prioritizing was a necessity in her business. She’d been responsible for mentoring and training others, as well as maintaining her personal sales and team. It’d taken her a while to master the art of putting her personal business first, but she’d done it. If she focused too much on others, her numbers soon started circling the drain, and that wasn’t good for any of them.

“Definitely,” she answered, clarifying, “I was responsible for a team of twenty-five salespeople while overseeing ten managers with teams of their own.”

She almost cringed at the calloused description. Those “teams” and “managers” were more like family than coworkers. They’d slap her silly if they ever heard her referring to them with corporate lingo. But judging by Shane’s formality, he was a corporate man and Crickitt doubted he’d know the first thing about direct sales.

“You sound overqualified,” he said.

“That’s what I…wait, did you just say
overqualified
?” Crickitt fully expected him to tell her to peddle her questionable work background elsewhere.

Shane reached into his pocket and offered a business card between two outstretched fingers. “Even so, I’d like to talk to you in more detail. Are you available for an interview on Monday?”

Crickitt stared at the card like it was a trick hand buzzer.

“I’m serious.” He dropped the card on the bar. “This isn’t typically how I find employees, but”—he shrugged—“I need a personal assistant. And someone with your background and experience is hard to come by.”

She blinked at him again. This had to be some elaborate scheme to get her to bed, right? Isn’t that what Sadie told her to expect from the men in these places?

“How about one o’clock, Monday afternoon? I have meetings in the morning but I should be done by then. If the job’s not a good fit, at least you looked into it.”

Well. The only interview she’d managed to arrange since her self-inflicted unemployment was for a thirty-thousand-dollar salary and involved her working in a government office. And she’d lost that job to a kid ten years her junior. She’d be stupid to pass up what Shane was offering—if it turned out to be for real. Which it wouldn’t, she assured herself. If she’d learned one lesson from recent events, it was to be cautious when things were going suspiciously well. But as her dwindling savings account constantly reminded her, she needed to find some sort of viable income. And soon. If the interview turned out to be a sham, the experience would still be worthwhile, she thought with knee-jerk optimism.