Last Heartbreak (12 page)

H
e takes a step back
, no longer touching me. He won't. He said so himself. He won't take anything from me. I have to give it to him if I feel he's deserving of it.

I reach out and trail my hands across his stomach, up his chest, over his shirt. My fingers disappear under his jacket, wrapping around his shoulders and down his arms until it falls to the ground.

This power scares me.

I've never taken what I want. I was never entitled to do so. Graham is right. People have taken from me over and over again. Now, it's all up to me, and it's scary. I tug on the hem of his t-shirt, bringing it up. Graham helps me by raising his arms over his head, taking over when I can no longer reach. His body still takes my breath away. Every line of muscle is as defined as if he'd been drawn comic book style on paper. I lean in and kiss his chest. My mouth moves upward, trailing kisses from his chest to his collarbone, to his neck, while my hands trail down to the buttons on his jeans. My fingers tentatively unfasten them, his body trembling under my touch. I kneel down in front of him, not in submission or obligation. I push his pants down, revealing the longest, most beautifully sculpted legs I've ever seen. I toss his shoes, socks, and jeans aside, then stand up.

I extend my hand, and Graham takes it. We walk to my bedroom, and I pull him down on my bed, next to me. I gently remove his glasses, placing them on my bedside table.

"Make love to me, Graham. Please."

He bends down, brushing his lips on mine, each of his movements perfect. The way his mouth acquaints itself with each inch of my skin. The way his hands touch me, cherishing the feeling of me, only one goal in mind—to show me how much he loves me. The way our hips connect and move so exquisitely together. For every push of his, I counter with a roll of mine, getting closer and closer to bliss every time.

In the back of my mind, I keep waiting for the restraints, but they never come. My hands roam freely, touching where they want as they want.

I'm waiting for him to silence me or, oppositely, to command I scream his name—but he does neither.

I brace for the sting, the pain, the resounding crack, and the degrading punishments for disobeying. But they never come.

The more I wait, the more painfully my heart fills with conflicting emotions. One thought nags at me, always there. I imagine his shocked expression as he discovers the truth about what I did.

"Kia, look at me," Graham's voice breaks me out of my thoughts. "We can stop if you want to. It's okay. I love you."

His feelings are so pure. It's my undoing.

"I love you, too. Please never stop loving me." My fingers dig into his firm behind, slick with sweat, urging him to give me what I need. He slips a hand in between us and caresses me with every push. I shatter around him, my back arching off the bed, trying to keep up with the cadence but unable to continue. My body seizes in a moment of euphoria, and Graham is not long to follow. Our fluid synchronicity becomes a hectic mess of sporadic pushes and groans, each of us trying to prolong the feeling as long as possible for the other.

Breathless, Graham lies down beside me, tracing my curves with the tips of his fingers. "So how was that for pulsating man meat?" His voice is teasing and happy.

It gives me hope that I can have it all. He sounds like my Graham again. "Meh! I've seen throbbier." I want to laugh, but my emotions are a mess. It comes out as tears instead.

Graham wraps his arms around me and pulls me into a hug. I bury my face in his chest, wrapping my arms around his waist, relieved.

He loosens his hold on me and wipes the happy tears from my cheeks, brushing away some strands of hair sticking to my face, making me shiver.

"Kia, I know you don't like to share, but where did your mind go before? One moment you were with me, the next you were somewhere else entirely. If I'm doing something wrong, if I'm triggering something, we'll need to learn to avoid it in the future."

I open my mouth and close it instantly.

"Tell you what. Let me give you a minute to gather your thoughts, and, when I come back, I'll share something with you first. We've both been keeping stuff from the other and maybe if I go first, it'll be easier for you." Graham kisses my forehead, gets out of bed and heads to the bathroom.

I roll over, my back to the bathroom, and close my eyes, pulling the covers up to my chin. I feel too exposed, physically, mentally and emotionally. I clutch the sheets to my chest and hold on tight.

The invading images are vivid—her face, her blood, her accusations. My body starts to tremble, and my legs twitch. The walls cave in around me, and my air runs out. I have to get out of here. I push the blankets aside.

Grabbing my black satin robe and my cell phone, I run from the room.

There’s no way to stop the panic attack now.

I
make
it out onto the balcony, making sure to close the door behind me. Graham can't hear this. I wrap the dressing gown around me and punch in the numbers.

“Midtown Crisis Call Center, Cathy, speaking. How may I help you?”

Dammit! Why can't Parker ever be the one to answer? I try my best to keep my composure, but my voice comes out rude and commanding, like a Delacroix.

“Cathy, I need to speak to Parker. Now. It’s important. Please put me through to him.” I cringe as the words come out of my mouth. Father would be proud. His daughter finally grew lady balls. I let out a frustrated scream and pull at my hair. When the phone starts to ring again, I pace across the balcony, staring inside the penthouse. Graham will be looking for me soon. He’ll probably be worried that I ran out of the bedroom.

Through the windows, I see him walk out of the bedroom, stumbling as he walks and pulls his pants up. His head turns every which way, and he looks like he’s calling my name while searching through his duffle bag. I back up into a corner of the balcony so he can’t see me.

I’m on the verge of desperation after the third ring. If it goes to four rings, the call will be transferred back to the call center. I don’t need to talk to fucking Chatty Cathy! I need Parker! Tears start to flow freely down my cheeks. Everything was going so well. I was finally happy. I don’t deserve happiness. I deserve to be miserable and alone.

Before the fourth ring comes through, a worried voice comes on the line. “Midtown Crisis Call Center, Parker speaking. How may I help you?” His deep voice sounds frantic. This emotion is so unlike him.

“Hi, Parker, this is Anna. I'm glad you're here.” I sit down on the lounge chair beside me and lean my elbows on my thighs, slumping my body forward. I can’t sit up straight. The weight is too much.

“Oh, thank God! Where are you?” Parker asks.

Now I feel worse. The guy has been worried about me. I haven’t kept up with my calls. The last time he heard from me was the night I tried to kill myself. He probably thought I went through with it. “I’m sorry, Parker. I know I should have called to let you know how I was doing, but things were going well, and—”

“Where are you right now, Kienna?” Parker says into the phone.

How does he know who I am? An eerie feeling creeps its way up my spine, and I start to look all around me, expecting to see photographers and journalists spying on me. My breathing accelerates and I feel my cheeks prickling. I’m hyperventilating. “What? I don’t understand.”

The glass door to the balcony opens, and Graham steps out, holding his phone to his ear. He looks to the opposite side of the small area before turning my way. When he sees me, his shoulders slump with relief, and he says, “Please don’t ever do that to me again, Kia.”

I hear two voices simultaneously—the one coming from the phone and the one coming from the man in front of me. They don’t sound the same at all, one is much, much deeper, but the words are the same ones. My hands start to shake, and I drop my phone on the ground.

“What's happening, here?” I try to speak between rapid breaths. My brain is trying to put the pieces together, but the only logical conclusion is that Graham is Parker. That can’t be. It’s too much of a coincidence. Even if it was true, how did he know I was Anna? The calls are supposed to be anonymous. My sanity is cracking like a thin sheet of ice on an early winter puddle. One little step and it’ll shatter into a million pieces. My hands tremble so badly, I ball them up into tight fists.

Graham tucks his phone into his back pocket and takes a tentative step toward me, hands in front, palms toward me. I move behind my chair, creating a weak physical barrier between us. As my back presses against the cold wall, I gasp. I’m trapped.

“Kia, talk to me, please. What set you off?”

My body is shaking in fear and anger. I shake my head slowly, clenching my teeth. “I think I’ve done enough talking to you, Graham, or Parker, or whoever the hell you are. How could you?”

Graham’s head drops down, as do his hands and he exhales loudly. When he looks back up, his eyes are filled with remorse. “I’m so sorry about that, but you have to let me explain.”

“I don’t have to do anything. You used me. You knew who I was all along, didn’t you? That night on the ledge, you knew everything. You knew I was weak. Do you also believe all the crap in the papers? You wanted to get a piece of that ass, too? Well, congratulations, you got it! What's your next move, Parker? Were you going to use all that information to get close to my money? Is that it? Admit it! It was all about the money this entire time! Or was it the easy fuck? Tell me. How does it feel to fuck a wealthy chick, or do you do that with all the clients here?” Words explode from my mouth in a wild torrent, completely unstoppable.

Graham’s eyebrows knit together in the center. His shoulders square off. “I did no such thing. You know I would never do something like that. I don’t care about any of that. I care about you, Kia. Please let me explain.”

“You don’t get that privilege, you sick bastard. Is that why you work at the call center, to prey on vulnerable women? Is this some perverted fantasy of yours? To mind-fuck crazy women like me?”

“You have everything wrong. I understand why you’re angry, but you have no right to judge me without hearing my explanation. There are so many things you don’t know about me. Please, let me talk and I’ll explain everything.”

“Get out.”

"Kia! Listen to me, please. When was the last time you talked to Parker?"

"Get the hell OUT!"

"NO! When was the last time you talked to Parker? Please, think back. I need you to remember."

I throw my phone at him with all the strength I have. "I just did, you freaky motherfucker. Now get out before I call the cops and have you arrested. And believe me, my family knows people in very high places. I have the power to make your life a living hell. I could destroy you if I wanted to.” I let out a sarcastic laugh. “Didn’t you know? That’s my superpower. I ruin other people’s lives.”

“Kienna, this isn’t you talking. Come back to me, baby. I love you, and I want to help you. Tell me what I can do to help you and then let me explain.”

Graham sucks in a sharp breath as he rubs his eyes with his hands. When he looks back up again, his eyes are red and glistening.

"We can get through this, Kia. I know we can. I won't give up on you. I promise." His voice hitches, choking back tears.

"Get away from my daughter!" Never in my life have I ever been so happy to hear my father's voice. He's approaching the balcony, beyond livid.

He grabs Graham by the shoulders and tosses him violently into the veranda. I clasp both hands over my mouth and scream.

Graham straightens and is immediately up in my father's face. "Get your hands off of me."

Dad charges at Graham, swinging a punch toward his face. Graham manages to duck and run inside the penthouse. Dad is quick on his heels, swinging again. Graham avoids him a second time, but Mr. Sin isn't as lucky. His head goes flying across the floor. Rationality left the building long ago. I scream at the sight of the beheaded sex doll on my couch. He could kill Graham with a punch like that. He could easily bust his skull. Dad cocks his arm back, ready for another hit in Graham's direction. I run to grab his elbow, pulling on it as hard as I can. Dad turns around and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground, my cheek stinging and a ringing sound in my ear.

Things are confusing, but I'm pretty sure I see Graham running toward me. I think he says my name. But he's blocked from sight by my father's imposing figure. I push myself off the floor and try to steady myself. Dad and Graham are in a showdown, glaring at each other.

"If you don't want your ass tossed in jail and that little girl taken from you," my father says cruelly, "I'd suggest you leave now."

Graham's face goes white. "What?"

"Dad, please! Leave Lori out of this, she's just a little girl."

My father whips his head my way, and I flinch away from him, making me dizzy once more. "Next time you decide to whore around, try not to choose someone on the hotel staff. Quelle honte! Ma fille est une salope!" After calling me a whore in both languages, he turns his attention back to Graham. "I have been watching you for the past forty-eight hours and have sufficient proof for Child Protective Services to charge you with negligence."

Graham doesn't back down. "What negligence?"

My father takes pictures from the inside pocket of his jacket and hands them to Graham. "How about entrusting that little girl to a cocaine addict at a rock concert while you left to screw my daughter in a public restroom? Or even better, having that little girl witness a cocaine transaction with a bodyguard?"

Voices battle inside my head. No, no, no! I've messed up Lori's life. If only I hadn't invited Mindy. She was my responsibility. No! Graham should never have left her alone. Lori was his responsibility, and he neglected her. But he was helping me—wasn't he? I squeeze my skull between my fists and crumple to the ground, my head pounding.

"Kia!"

"Stay away from my daughter."

I hear voices. Real ones and not-so-real ones. I just want them to all stop. I don't know who to believe. What's right? What's wrong? Who's the good guy? Who's the bad guy?

"Do you see how badly you've messed her up? Kia, look at me."

"My daughter is no longer your concern. Get out, now, or you'll lose that little girl forever."

The voices stop. Only one defeated voice remains. "I'm sorry, Kia," Graham says. "I can't lose Lori." I listen as he walks to the elevator and allows it to shut behind him.

Heavy footsteps come toward me, but I don't get up. The cold marble tile feels good against my throbbing cheek. Shiny black shoes stop an inch in front of my face.

"Thank God some people are still easily bribed," my father says. "If it wasn't for the concierge alerting me to his presence, I would have had to watch endless hours of security camera footage." His voice takes on its usual condescending tone. "You're walking a thin line, Kienna, and I will not hesitate to remove you from the Delacroix trust fund if you fail this family. Your focus is working with Stephen, on aiding his campaign and gathering information—nothing more. Now, get up. You're pathetic."

I stay on the ground until after he leaves. He never once offers to help me up.