Frayed (Connections #4)

Frayed (Connections #4) Page 18

“You should quit,” I grunted.

She ignored me, but she always does when I tell her what she already knows. The guy is a dick—there are no two ways about it.

“A picnic?” she asked, changing the subject with her green eyes alight.

I had a bag of sandwiches and two slices of pie from Four & Twenty Blackbirds in one hand and a blanket in the other. Her brow quirked as she assessed my wares, and her mood went from dark to jubilant just like that.

“Yeah, I can put a pretty cool party together too.”

“I bet you can,” she said, grabbing the blanket, and I sensed a hint of another meaning in her response.

“Just call me Martha f**king Stewart,” I snorted.

We both burst out laughing.

“C’mon. I want to get a good spot.”

S’belle followed me past the line of people that wrapped around the block and into the iconic cemetery. Thank f**k I had bought tickets online. I’d never been there but always wanted to go and didn’t want to miss my opportunity in case of a sellout. I glanced around and gave a low whistle. “Cool place.”

She clutched the blanket and moved closer to me. The air seemed filled with intrigue. The cemetery shared a wall with Paramount Studios. Music was being played by a DJ and a projector from somewhere in the distance cast music videos upon it. We passed the tombs of Hollywood legends Peter Lorre, Victor Fleming, and Norma Talmadge as S’belle stared in awe.

“Want to go in?” I asked, leaning down and whispering in her ear.

Her eyes closed and I knew she was trying to compose herself. “Nope.”

I grinned at her. “Nope? Not sure, why not, or maybe later?” I said, bumping her shoulder.

“Nope,” she said again. “Too creepy for me.” And I covered my mouth to stifle a laugh.

“Don’t laugh,” she huffed.

I placed my hand on her back. “I’m not. I think it’s cute. You know I’ll keep you safe.”

She picked up the pace. “Where do you want to sit?”

“That way,” I said, pointing to the sign with an arrow that read FAIRBANKS LAWN.

“Didn’t Douglas Fairbanks play Zorro?”

I flung her a look, amazed she knew that. “Yeah, he did and Robin Hood too. Have you seen them?”

“Both versions.”

“Ah . . . we both loved marked men.”

She nodded. “I didn’t see, what was playing tonight?”

“Dial M for Murder.” I smirked.

“Alfred Hitchcock?” Her eyes glittered.

“That’s why I picked it.”

She tipped her head up toward the stars. “Beautiful night.”

“It is,” I agreed, and stopped at the perfect location. It wasn’t in the middle of the thousands of people already sitting in rows, but rather it was off to the side with the cemetery just behind us. Setting my bag down, I laid out the blanket so we could both sit.

We ate and watched the movie. She moved close to me when she was scared and I tried hard to keep my hands off her. Just before the final credits rolled, I stretched my arms over my head and brought one down behind her back. It was a classic guy move, one I had never attempted on a girl before. I practically rolled my eyes at my own ridiculousness, but she didn’t say anything, so I left it there.

She turned toward me. “Ben . . . ,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Her face was so close to my lips and I couldn’t resist lowering them slightly and brushing my mouth over hers. Heat filled the air between us, but I hesitated a little too long about deepening the kiss. I didn’t want to make a move until I was sure she wanted me to.

“It’s over,” she said, jumping to her feet. She stood there visibly trembling.

I stayed where I was, motionless, as lust flooded me and I cursed myself for hesitating.

A gust of wind blows sand in my face and I snap out of it. What the f**k am I doing ignoring her? I know she feels what I feel. I said I’d give her time. I can do that. I continue scrolling through more of the old text messages between us, and stop on another one from her.

Do you think we’ll be climbing a lot of stairs at Hearst Castle?

I had typed back a question mark.

She responded with what I’ve labeled a Bellism.

Heels look better with the outfit I’m wearing, but I’m not sure they’re all right for climbing stairs.

I answered with the following.

I don’t think you have to worry about stairs. It’s not a tower. Wear your heels and if I have to, I’ll f**king carry you.

I didn’t carry her, but I did stare at her ass as we climbed the stairs of the castle. I scroll down and stop on the one that reads:

What should I wear to the rock climbing gym?

I have to laugh out loud. I had responded:

Surprise me.

And she did. She showed up in jeans and high heels claiming she thought she’d just take her shoes off. We bought her a pair of appropriate shoes in the lobby. After I tortured myself not only ogling her ass but also pushing it upward for an hour, I had to stop. The blood kept rushing to my c**k and I was so uncomfortable after a while there was no way I could climb. I called it a night early.

I spend another five minutes going through messages just like those and think about the places we’ve gone and the connection we’ve shared. I feel the grin building on my lips with each passing one. And I know what to do. I dial her number.

“Hello,” she answers on the first ring.

“Hey, how are you?”

“Good. How are you?”

I look out over the ocean. “Better now that I hear your voice.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Just had a lot of shit going on.”

“I missed talking to you.”

Now I wish I could pull her through the phone. “What are you doing right now?”

“Nothing. I just got home from helping Tate set up for a wedding.”

“What, the prick can’t lift the silverware himself?”

She giggles. “No, just some coordination issues that needed to be worked out.”

I bite back what I want to say about her boss. “I’m coming to get you. I have something I want to show you.”

She starts to argue.

“I’ll pick you up at five. I don’t want to hear another word about it. I’m not taking no for an answer this time.”

“Okay.”

I’m surprised she gives in that easy. “See you in a bit, Red.”

“Bye, Ben,” she says, and her tone is quiet. I can picture her face, all innocent and beautiful, and my stomach does that thumping that I can’t figure out. I don’t know what it is about her that affects me so much.

I take off for home, shower, get dressed, and make a stop along the way before heading to her place. As soon as my hand reaches out to lift the bar to the gate, I spot her. She’s sitting at one of the tables and quickly hangs up her phone. She’s wearing jeans, a tight sweater with a scarf wrapped around her neck, and high-heel boots.

“What are you doing down here alone, beautiful?” I ask as I open the gate.

“I’m waiting for you.” Her green eyes gleam and her mouth lifts up into a smile that I can’t resist returning.

But she seems a little shaken.

“Everything okay?”

She nods. “Of course.” But she’s not in the least bit convincing.

I move closer, close enough to smell her lemony scent, even though normally I keep a small distance between us. But I have this overwhelming need to feel her warmth, so I hug her—nothing sexual, just a friendly hello. She’s receptive to it and hugs me back. I disengage from her quickly. I don’t want to trigger her alarm. The one where she backs away when she thinks I’m too close.

I stare into her mesmerizing eyes. “Have you ever seen the view from Carl’s Curve at night?”

“Up on Mulholland Drive?”

“That’s the place.”

“No, I haven’t.”

I extend my hand. “Well, come on. We should be able to make it before sunset.”

Her fingers entangle with mine and they fit perfectly in my hand. When I open the gate I cover her eyes.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“You’ll see.” I lead her to my bike and grab the helmet off the seat before I remove my other hand.

“We’re not riding on your bike up there. I told you . . .”

I pull my hand from my behind my back and hand her the green helmet I stopped and picked up on my way over. She jumps up and down and the excitement she exudes over the smallest things—the way she clasps her hands together and bounces when something makes her happy—it gets me every time. I wish I knew how to get that reaction all the time.

Stepping closer, I push away the hair from her eyes and slip the helmet on her head. Once I do I dip my head down and kiss her, but just her cheek. I pull away before the urge to slide my lips and cover hers becomes impossible ignore. Then I strap my own black helmet on and hop on my bike. She circles to the left and does the same. When she gets on she wraps her arms around me so naturally my heart rate speeds at the contact.

With a quick turn of the ignition switch, I shift into neutral and kick-start her to life. S’belle breathes loudly in my ear and I can sense the rush she must be feeling. The short ride up the curvy road urges her closer. It makes me feel that she’s finally living in the moment, not overthinking everything. Each downshift is met with just the right amount of throttle as I carve each turn perfectly and her body sways into mine. I can smell her lemony scent, hear the puff of her breath, feel the warmth of her body against mine. My muscles tense with each movement she makes.

She holds me tight as we ride like the wind up to what has become one of my favorite places. When I feel her resting her chin on my shoulder, I suck in a breath. But when her hands slide down to my thighs for a moment before she realizes it and pulls them back up, I grin like a f**king idiot because I know the walls are finally coming down.

CHAPTER 12

Still Into You

Bell

The sun is shining bright and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. I take my time walking down Hollywood Boulevard looking around at the many businesses and shops. Funny thing is I’m not really looking at them, though, because all I can see is Ben. I can’t get him out of my head. We talk all the time, we text all the time. Up until this week, we’ve spent all of our free time together. What was supposed to be a friends-only relationship to ward him off seems to have spurred him on.

Today it hit me that it seems like forever since I last saw him, which was Sunday night. He picked me up and took me to gaze at the view of LA from Mulholland Drive. It was stunning and riding on his bike was absolutely dreamy. He’s told me many times he’s not a romantic, but he doesn’t see what I see.

I pull on the showroom door and step in, looking around. It’s all put together in a very trendy modern metallic palette. My gaze darts to a blur of waving arms, and Josie’s wide eyes direct me to the break room. I look at the time—ten thirty. I lift the coffees and nod to my desk. She shakes her head. That can only mean trouble. I follow behind her, noticing Tate’s door is shut.

“What is it?” Quickly, I close the door behind me and set my stuff on the table.

“He’s on the warpath.”

“Why?” I ask mildly, leaning back against the glass door.

“Romeo Fairchild is in his office. He came in for his meeting with you thirty minutes ago. But, um . . . well, you weren’t here. I tried to call you.”

I set the coffees down and pull my phone from my purse. Shoot, she did call. I must have been on the phone with Ben and never noticed. I set my phone on the table. “The meeting is tomorrow, not today,” I insist.

“Well, tell that to Mr. Eleven.”