Ten Thousand Words (10 page)

Ronen crouched behind us, his arms propped up on the back of the sofa, watching in adoration over his snoozing daughter.

As I stared down at this tiny creature, love expanded in my chest, pushing the breath from my lungs. Maddison was so beautiful, created from the great love these two had for each other. She looked like Lilla in her facial features, but she had the dark swarthiness of Ronen. Tears stung behind my lids, and I had to blink a few times to rein it in.

“She’s perfect,” I whispered.

“I know,” replied Lilla.

“Here,” said Ronen, reaching forward and lifting the little treasure from my arms, “I’ll put her to bed.”

After he made his way upstairs, Lilla launched herself at me, and we embraced, both of us breaking out into sniffles.

“It’s so good to see you again!” she told me.

Ronen came back down and headed into the kitchen before bringing out three beers. “You ladies want pizza?”

“Sure,” replied Lilla.

He returned to the kitchen to place a delivery order.

“So, tell me what’s going on!” said Lilla. “Jaime said you met someone?”

“Jeez, how long did she wait before she told you?” I huffed.

“So, it’s true!” she crowed as she clapped. “Tell me!”

“You fucking hold up with that shit till I can listen, too!” Ronen’s voice came from the kitchen. “Yeah, I’d like a large mushroom, sausage, and spinach…”

“I met Oliver Fairfax on the flight over here,” I said quietly.

“I told you to hold up with that shit!” shouted Ronen.

“Isn’t he worried about waking Maddison?” I mused.

“She sleeps like the dead. Scared us with it a few times actually,” replied Lilla.

“Huh.”

Ronen finished the phone call and then situated himself on the love seat adjacent to the sofa.

“So, who’s this cat who’s been sniffin’ around?” he asked.

“Oliver Fairfax,” I replied.

“The photographer?” Ronen looked impressed. “I remember that guy. He’s a total player. What are you doing with him?”

“So far, I’m not doing anything,” I scoffed. “It was sort of an accident. I thought he was a model, but when I found out he wasn’t, I still had Mandy ask his business partner if Ollie would do the cover for the rerelease…” And I found myself talking about the man I was desperately trying to get out of my head.

Ronen and Lilla were my family though. I couldn’t hold shit back from them.

Twenty minutes later, they had the whole of it.

“Well, damn,” said Ronen.

“It’s just confusing because he flirts like nothing else, but then he turns around and kisses my forehead. I mean…what the fuck is that shit?”

Ronen’s eyes narrowed.

“No ass-kicking, Roney,” I warned.

“Sounds like he needs one.”

“I think it sounds sweet,” said Lilla.

I rolled my eyes, and there came a knock at the door. Ronen got up, and Lilla shot me a look.

With him out of earshot, she whispered, “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

“I think so,” I replied bleakly.

“It’s been a while.”

“I know.”

“And Deo?” she asked tentatively.

I shrugged, feeling a strange sense of loss at the mention of my ex’s name. But that was just it. It wasn’t painful. It was just sad.

Ronen showed up with the pizza, and the conversation deviated to his tattooing, Maddison, and Lilla getting her college degree in business management. Their absence in my life compounded now that I was in their company. Over the past two years, the ache of missing them hadn’t dulled, and I was reminded all over again why we were family.

They were love.

Ollie

It was close to midnight, and I had that damn interview at nine o’clock in the morning.

Fuck it.
Chapter eleven was just one more chapter, and it wasn’t like reading this was a chore.

The story, the characters, the passion, the fantasy—it was amazing. As I read, I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of stories Xanthe’s own mind came up with. She wrote the same genre. If they were half as good as this, she would most certainly be a success.

Two pages into the chapter, and—

Holy shit
…

Porn had
nothing
on this. What I was picturing in my head was better than anything I could see on a TV screen. It wasn’t hard to imagine myself and Xanthe doing exactly what Donovan and Lindsey were doing up against that grungy motel wall.

My jaw dropped, and my cock swelled so fast, it bordered on painful. Reaching down, I squeezed the fuck out of myself in the hope of stopping the rush of blood.

Yeah, that didn’t help.

Dropping the book, I jumped up, ripped off my jeans, ran to the bathroom to grab a towel, and then hurried back to
Haunted Bonds
. Lying flat on the bed, holding the book as high as I could to be able to read with my left hand, I wrapped my right hand around my painful erection.

My God
…

Elaine H. Ford was a pervert. She had me whacking off to this shit, and it was awesome. I could now see why Xanthe thought it was hilarious that guys snubbed romance books.

Not even reading anymore, I put the book down. I was imagining Xanthe naked and wrapped around me. Every inch of her, a soft, curvy, warm dream come true.

“Fuck,” I panted, my eyes screwing shut tight.

I
had
her
pinned to the wall, her fat tits bouncing, as I pounded into her. She was making some splendid noises, clawing at my back, pulling my hair. Her ass filled my hands—

“
Oh, fuck
…” I groaned.

I came so hard and quick, my back arched off the bed. I was stunned. It was as though everything inside me had condensed into a fiery point and blown its way out of my cock.

All because I’d been thinking of Xanthe.

Damn, I was shaking. Swallowing hard, I reached out for the towel and wiped myself up. I didn’t even have the strength to crawl my way to the bathroom for a shower. I was so blissed out.

She should be here to cuddle with me, damn it.

It was all her fault that I was in this state in the first place. I needed her arms around me as she told me this was normal, that she felt this way about me, too.

I thought about calling her, but my brain simply shut down, and I slipped into a deep sleep.

The alarm blasted at seven in the morning, waking me. Still on top of the covers, naked from the waist down with a crusty film stretched over my lower abdomen, I dragged myself off the bed and headed to the bathroom for a much-needed shower.

Cleaned up, teeth brushed, hair in place, beard in good shape, and dressed to impress, I headed down to the dining room for breakfast.

The interview was scheduled to take place in one of the conference rooms in the hotel. The convention on Friday would be held here in the grand ballroom. It was why Dreamstone had set everyone up in this place—easy access.

After the mad fantasy of Xanthe last night, I was a little bummed that she hadn’t even sent me a text.

She did have a lot of things to take care of
, I reminded myself.

Judging by how jet-lagged
I
felt, I was sure she was running on fumes herself.

Over a breakfast of waffles, bacon, eggs, and fruit salad, I stared at my phone, willing the woman to send me a message.
Maybe I should just text her?
I wanted to. I wanted to call her. I needed to hear her voice.

After breakfast, I headed out into the main lobby. Glancing out the front glass façade, I saw Xanthe. My heart swelled at the sight of her, happy to be witnessing that breathtaking smile on her face.

Several things registered at once.

She was standing next to a car that was not a taxi, wearing the same clothes she’d had on yesterday, and that smile was directed at a bald man with glasses.

A stinging hot sensation shot through me. Shocked, I realized…I was
jealous
. I was ready to go apoplectic on that guy for stealing one of
my
smiles. I burned with anger at her for sharing that smile with another man.

Fuck this shit!

The bald man held out his arms, and she willingly went into them, giving him a hug that lasted well over five seconds.

My head was about to explode when he took her smiling face in his hands and kissed her forehead.

When he let her go, a long tattooed arm reached out from the front passenger-side window, and Xanthe leaned into the car to embrace whomever it was attached to.

Holy hell, I was on fire inside.

I had no claim on this woman, but I was being eaten up with this maddening feeling. Obviously, she cared very much about that man, and I was flayed raw inside over the fact.

When she turned and walked inside the lobby, she saw me, and her smile for me was blinding. I had to blink against its brightness, almost forgetting my acid-burned heart in the face of it.

“Hey,” she said, coming up to me.

She looked happy and well rested—or maybe something else. I couldn’t think about that. I’d go completely insane.

“Hey,” I replied. “Are you just getting in?”

“Yeah. I went for a visit with some friends after I finished last night. What are you up to?”

“I’ve got the interview in fifteen minutes.” The tone of my voice made the smile on her face dim, and while a part of me wanted to kick myself for it, the mean rush of satisfaction trumped everything else.

“You want to grab some coffee when you’re done?”

“I don’t know when that will be,” I replied.

“Okay. You can let me know then. I’m free this afternoon.”

“Yeah, well, enjoy it,” I said.

The smile vanished completely, and she arched an eyebrow at me. “Maybe I will.”

Knowing I was being purposely rude, Xanthe took off toward the elevators without further ado. Suddenly questioning what I’d found so appealing about her in the first place, I watched her go. She was nothing I normally went for. A shabby hipster dressed like an urchin with way too much hair, she was too smart and too independent for my tastes. Too fucking
Xanthe
.

Stepping into the elevator, she turned around, and the look on her face was like a kick to the balls.

I had
hurt
her, and she was surprised I was still there, watching her. She tried to compose her features into that bland mask I had first encountered on the flight from Amsterdam, but it was too late.

I knew why I found her so appealing. Because she was a shabby hipster adorably dressed like an urchin with way too much hair. Because she was too smart, too independent, and just
so fucking
Xanthe.

My pride demanded I do something about this slight, and it came in the form of the interviewer. Striking from head to toe, Adele Manchester was put together in the sexiest of secretary ensembles. She was certainly interested in me. Throughout the interview, she made it painfully obvious that she found me attractive, taking every opportunity to touch me, laughing at shit I’d said that wasn’t really funny.

I had never been so turned off in my life. My dick had absolutely no inclination to get anywhere near the woman.

After an hour and a half, I walked with Adele to the lobby where she made a fuss over me, clasping my left upper arm in a surprisingly strong grip.

“Why don’t you come out with me tonight?” she asked. “A bunch of us are going to make the rounds through some clubs. It’d be a great way for you to network yourself.”

About to decline, I noticed a bushy head of auburn hair blast by us. Xanthe was not close enough to want to draw attention to herself, but she was certainly within earshot.

“I’d love to,” popped out of my mouth loud enough to make sure the fly-by bush heard.

I hate myself.

Xanthe breezed out of the lobby without a backward glance and onto the sidewalk, hanging a left and disappearing from view.

“Great! I’ll pick you up here at nine then?”

“Sure,” I replied, already forgetting the woman. My mind was chasing Xanthe down the street, begging her to forgive me once more for being an asshole.

The rest of the day, I spent up in my room reading
Haunted Bonds
and watching TV. Elaine H. Ford had ruined porn for me, so I didn’t bother with that.