Inked on Paper (13 page)

“Put it on me.” He didn’t want to stop touching her, but he knew he would have to or this could take forever, and at this point, his cock was rock hard, throbbing incessantly, desperate and aching.

He’d had hookups before, but never this sudden. And possibly not this fantastic.

Shit, I’d had hookups before, but never had they been this good. Maybe it was because I hadn’t found the right woman yet.

It took her a minute to free him from his slacks, then roll the condom down his length. He hissed in a breath when she stroked him firmly, making his eyes cross.

Although he suspected this was supposed to be a one-time encounter, Donovan wasn’t sure once would be enough.

In fact, he knew it wouldn’t.

Fuck.

I knew where this was headed, but for some reason, I had to stop. As much as I wanted to write the sex scene, I couldn’t. Usually, it would’ve been so easy, but right now … my thoughts drifted to Presley once more and…

It was all gone.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jake

Nine days later

Tuesday morning

Going to New York in February… Fucking shit.

How was it possible that I’d been back in Texas for only a year, yet this fucking weather seemed downright lethal? Let’s just say, it wasn’t the romanticized version you saw in movies or read in books. It was fucking cold. In fact, it seemed like a place Eskimos would get sent to for punishment of a crime committed.

Sure, there were things I missed about it, but definitely not the glacial temperatures.

I made a note to only come back in the warmer months.

Although I’d been here several times, once for two months as research for one of my books, then for the five years I’d lived there, I was instantly reminded that I did not fit in. Truly. Downtown Austin looked like fucking Mayberry compared to this place. While a couple thousand people swarming the streets of Austin was a lot, in this place, twenty thousand seemed like a low number.

Not only was I inundated by the sheer number of people moving about, but the fucking frigid, shrivel-your-nuts cold wasn’t something I’d willingly subject myself to anymore. Not if I didn’t have to.

Unfortunately, I had to.

It’d been a week and a half since I’d talked to Liz, so when she’d left me a heated voice mail, informing me that I needed to come to New York on her dime so we could have a little chat, I knew I couldn’t argue. My deadline was looming—twenty days and counting—and Liz was getting nervous. As was I.

And now, as I walked down Avenue of the Americas, trying to fit in once again with this crazy, chaotic city, I wished I were back home in my condo, staring at the blank pages of my notebook.

Although I’d been inspired for that brief twenty-four hours, I’d found that my creative streak had been short-lived. I hadn’t written anything else in more than a week. I tried not to think about why that was, or whether or not Presley Abrams had something to do with it, but the only thing I could seem to do was think about her. Often.

I thought about what it would be like to kiss her, to taste her, to make her buck against me. I imagined her smooth, warm skin in my palms, her nipples against my lips, her…

Yeah, that was the shit I was thinking about.

Only it didn’t help and was certainly not translating on paper. It was, however, giving my hand quite the workout. I felt like a teenager again, jacking off several times a day just to keep myself sane, only it never seemed to help. And though I could’ve easily called up some unsuspecting woman from my past, invited her over for some horizontal fun, I had no desire to do that. Perhaps a first for me.

I walked through the revolving door of the building across the street and three blocks down from my hotel, made it through the marbled entry toward the security check-in, where a young woman sat staring back at me as though I might possibly be a serial killer.

“I’m here to see Liz McCowan,” I told her, offering her The Smirk. You know, the lopsided grin I’d perfected over time, the one that had women’s eyes going soft as they shot back one of those seductive, come-hither grins.

This woman… I don’t think she knew what come-hither was. But I was pretty sure she had a gun, so I wasn’t going to push my luck.

“Need to see some ID,” she said sternly.

The Smirk was lost on her. Obviously.

Tugging my wallet out of my back pocket, I produced my driver’s license and handed it over. She looked at the picture, then up to my face, then back to the picture.

Surely she recognized me, right?

Well, probably not. It had been nearly a year since I’d been in the limelight, and in this industry, if you weren’t hot right now, then you were easily forgotten, written off like the poor victim in a Lisa Jackson novel.

She grabbed the phone and dialed a number. “Mr. Wild is here to see you.”

Once the receiver was cradled, the woman met my eyes, handed back my license, and told me I could go up.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my tone warm, despite the chilly reception I’d just received.

I made my way to the bank of elevators, stabbed the button, and waited.

When I stepped off the elevator on the sixth floor, I didn’t have time to get my bearings before I was practically assaulted—it seemed personal space had a whole new meaning in this city—by the sassy woman who currently held the reins of my career.

“Jacob Wild,” Liz said, throwing her arms around me.

I hesitantly patted Liz’s back and smiled, despite myself. When she released me, I tucked my hands into my pockets and looked down at her.

She swatted my cheek as though I were a long-lost nephew. “This scruffy thing… I like it. We’re getting you an interview while you’re here.”

Unfortunately, I knew she didn’t mean the write-up kind, but before I could argue, she was already walking away.

“Come on. Let’s chat. Then I’ll buy you lunch.”

I weaved my way through the halls, following Liz to her office after she announced my presence to the few people who were diligently working nearby. I smiled, waved, then followed her again.

“How was the flight?” she asked, dropping into her chair behind her desk and studying me momentarily.

I took a seat in the available chair across from her and tried to appear casual. “Uneventful.”

“How’s the book?”

I tilted my head and peered over at her, offering a look that told her the book wasn’t any different than the last time she’d asked me that. Three chapters in and I was once again stalled out.

“Okay, so what do we do to fix this?”

Liz knew as well as I did that
fixing this
wasn’t as simple as her telling me to lock myself in a room and get it done. For years, I’d had one idea after another, seemingly endless plots and characters, and now…

Well, we both knew where I was now.

Rather than tell her any of that, I sat patiently, waiting for her to say something, do something, ask something … anything. But we seemed to be engaged in a staring contest, and we both knew who would win.

I would. And I hid my grin when she sighed and steepled her hands in front of her.

New Yorkers, at least those I knew well, were not patient people. They were used to the hustle and bustle, while I, born and raised in the South, could appreciate silence. As for Liz, I was pretty sure she buzzed nonstop.

“I read the first three chapters,” she told me. “They’re good. Really good. The chemistry is there, the sex … gonna be phenomenal, I can tell. But I need more. Tell me about these characters…” Liz looked down at a paper on her desk. “Kora Madison and Donovan Brashwood. What do they do? What are their quirks? Their strengths, their weaknesses?”

It was my turn to sigh.

As much as I didn’t want to do this, I knew I didn’t have much of a choice. I owed it to Liz to give her my full attention, and even if I was pissed at myself, at the lack of inspiration, I figured it couldn’t hurt.

So I opened my mouth and I told her.

Everything.

About the mental block, and how I couldn’t get inspired.

About the notebook, and how I had resorted to handwriting my book.

About the coffee shop, and how I found myself only wanting to be there.

About Presley Abrams, and how I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I let loose, sharing everything with the one woman who would listen because my livelihood and hers were on the line. She needed something from me, and in return, I needed her help.

Now more than ever.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Presley

Ever have that eerie feeling that shit was about to go south?

Well, I’d had it ever since that Saturday when the devil—a.k.a. Adrian Dennis—had popped into my head. I knew there was a reason, knew that it wasn’t simply because I was trying to come up with an excuse as to why Jacob Wild was bad for me.

I’d merely been biding my time, waiting for hell to rain down on me.

It was as though he knew me.

Not Jacob.

Adrian. Gavin’s brother. My ex.

Better known as the lying, cheating bastard.

I would swear that he had a hidden camera feed plugged directly into my life and he knew when to show up out of the blue in order to fuck with my world.

And he did it again today, without warning, without apology.

As I sat on the stool at the front counter of Different by Design, chatting with Blue about how he hated living with his mom and waiting for a walk-in to arrive so I would have something to do, Adrian blasted into my life once again.

And it pissed me off.

“Hey, Pres,” Adrian greeted, that shit-eating smirk plastered on his face as he glanced around the front of the shop, probably checking to see if anything was new or different since he’d last been there, six not-nearly-long-enough months ago. The last time he’d dropped in unexpectedly. “What’s new, babe?”

I wasn’t sure what was new with the shop, but I immediately noticed there wasn’t anything new with Adrian. He was still sporting the long blond hair, the same band T-shirt beneath the leather jacket, the same faded, worn Levi’s and combat boots. He looked every bit the rock star drummer that he was.

“I … uh … I’m gonna run out and get some coffee,” Blue said, drawing my attention toward him.

I nodded.

“Want anything?”

I wanted Adrian to disappear, but I knew that wasn’t the answer Blue was looking for. “Nah. I’m good.”

Blue nodded abruptly, then moved around Adrian on his way out the front door.

I was suddenly grateful that Blaze and Charlie had the day off. Blaze because she would ruthlessly flirt with Adrian in an effort to prove he was a worthless piece of shit. And Charlie because Adrian was on her shit list. Charlie was a very good friend, and though we didn’t spend nearly enough time together these days, she still had my back.

“Hey,” I greeted, hoping he heard the disinterest in my tone.

Adrian glanced behind him, then back to me. “Lookin’ good, babe.”

I frowned at him. “What do you want?”

“You here by yourself?” Adrian peered up the stairs, then toward the back, then over to me.

I nodded.

“Must be kismet.”

“
Kismet
?” I asked sardonically, cocking my head and raising my eyebrows.
Was he serious right now?

“Yeah.”

“Do you even know what that means?” I knew he didn’t, but I figured what the hell, he wasn’t going to leave until he was ready, so I might as well amuse myself.

“You don’t know what it means?” The crease in his forehead said he didn’t think I did.

“Oh,
I
do,” I assured him. “I was wondering if
you
did.”

It wasn’t that he’d used the word improperly, it was simply that him showing up here and me being here … definitely not kismet. More like bad timing. Or the universe playing a cruel trick on me. First of all, where else would I be? Second, I certainly wouldn’t consider being in his presence my destiny. Unless, of course, fate was being a fickle bitch once again and shitting on my life as she’d done since the day Adrian had torpedoed his way into my bed.

Okay, so maybe that was an exaggeration but only a slight one—he hadn’t exactly forced his way into my bed, we’d just sort of ended up there.

Unfortunately.

As far as I was concerned, there were two things wrong with Adrian. Well, two
major
things. There were plenty of things wrong with him, but it would take hours for me to list them all. One was that he was a lying, cheating bastard who’d ripped the eight-month relationship we’d had to shreds with his infidelity and lies. The other… That one wasn’t so easy to explain.

See, Adrian was Gavin’s older brother. I’d grown up living across the street from Gavin and Adrian, and while I’d been best friends with Gavin—we’d been the same age, in the same grade—I’d always had a crush on his sexy, untouchable older brother, Adrian—the elusive rock star bad boy whose heated gaze and come-hither smirk made women’s clothes fall right off their bodies.

However, being the smart woman that I was, I’d known to stay away from him. First, and most importantly, I didn’t want to do anything to mess up my friendship with Gavin. While most girls had girlfriends growing up, I had always had Gavin. It was sometimes awkward and we’d been accused of liking each other since we were kids, but it had never been that way. Straight me and straight Gavin had simply been best friends, no lust, no confusing feelings, no urge to kiss one another. None of that.

Then a year and a half ago—technically seventeen and a half months—foolish me did something I wasn’t proud of, and I still remembered that day.

“How is she?”

“Good.”

It was the same question and the same answer I’d heard for the past few hours as friends came over to my apartment to check on me, bringing comfort food, wanting to tell me how sorry they were for my loss. Being that Gavin was my best friend as well as my roommate, he was fielding the interruptions, doing his best to let me grieve while still keeping his eye on me.

My father’s funeral had damn near killed me, but I’d had Gavin there to steer me through, to get me where I needed to be and then back again. But now that we were at the apartment, I really wanted to be alone.

“She up for company?”

“Not right now, no,” Gavin told the well-meaning person who’d asked.

I stared out the window, feet curled up beneath me, and fingered the tissue clutched in my hand. It was raining, which suited my mood and only added a punctuation mark to the crappy day it had been.

I had no idea how much time passed while I continued to watch the raindrops spatter on the window, but I was lost in my head when I heard my name.

“Hey, Pres?”

The couch shifted and I looked over to see Gavin sitting beside me. “I’ve gotta go to work tonight. You gonna be okay here by yourself?”

I nodded, sniffed. “Yeah. I’d like to be alone, actually.”

Gavin offered a sad but reassuring smile. “I’ve got my phone. There’s all kinds of food in the fridge. You need anything at all, just call. I’ll come running.”

I nodded again but didn’t move from my spot, not even when I heard the door open and close behind me.

I must’ve drifted off because I woke up to a deep, rumbling voice in my ear, and I opened my eyes to see Adrian standing over me.

“Hey, baby. How’re you doin’?” His tone was soft, soothing, as though he could feel my pain.

I blinked a few times, trying to figure out if he was really there or if I was dreaming. When I moved to sit up, Adrian reached out an arm and helped me, then sat on the couch beside me. As I inhaled his scent—something musky and warm—I realized it wasn’t a dream, which meant I’d really buried my father that day.

That one thought made tears come again. The next thing I knew, Adrian was holding me in his lap, big arms wrapped around me, mumbling incoherent things in my ear as he attempted to settle me down. For long minutes, it didn’t work—my already shattered heart had cracked once again, and the dam had broken; the tears wouldn’t stop.

And they continued, right up until … until Adrian kissed me.

“Hey, Pres? Where’d you go?”

I pulled myself from my reverie to see Adrian staring down at me, that panty-melting smirk still on his face. Rather than follow the urge to smack it clean off, I smiled back.

“What did you need?” I asked, sitting up straight.

“Just checkin’ in,” he answered nonchalantly, as though the last time I’d seen him I hadn’t punched him right in that smart mouth. Needless to say, our breakup had not been amicable, and in the months since, we had not become friends. “The band’s taking a break, so I’m home for a bit. On my way to see Gav; figured I’d check on you while I was in the neighborhood.”

“That was sweet.”
Not.
“And now that you’ve checked, you should go away.” I had no intention of bringing up the fact that Gavin had wanted the three of us to go out. That would’ve been stupid since I was hoping Gavin had forgotten all about it.

For a brief moment, Adrian looked at me as though he were sorry for all the pain he’d caused me in the past. Only I knew better, because if Adrian Dennis had given two shits about me, he wouldn’t have made me take the fall for our relationship’s fiery demise.

“Come on, babe. Seriously, you’re not still mad at me, are you? It’s been, what … two years since we broke up?”

One year, actually, not that I was going to clarify that. It was stupid that I’d even kept track of the passing months. I wasn’t in love with Adrian, never had been, but he’d helped me through a tough time in my life, and I’d latched on to that, mistaking it for something more than it was.

“Nope, not mad,” I said, grabbing the pencil from the counter and beginning to sketch on the piece of paper in front of me.

“Gav said you’re havin’ a hard time with the drawing. Anything I can do?”

I slowly lifted my eyes to his, fighting the impulse to roll them. “Yeah,” I said. “You can leave.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender and took a step back. “All right, babe. I’ll give you some space, and I’ll let Gav know I checked in.”

“You do that,” I muttered, turning my attention back to the piece of paper in front of me as he backed out the door.

When I heard the jingle of the bell, I looked up to confirm he was gone and let out a sigh of relief.

That man… There were times that I wanted to throttle him. He was an asshole. A lying, cheating, ass-fucking, self-centered asshole.

“Ughh!” I broke the pencil in my hand when the memories came back with a vengeance.

The last thing I wanted to think about was how I’d ended up in bed with Adrian, allowing him to take away the pain for a few hours, to keep my mind and my body occupied. He’d done it, though, and the next thing I’d known, weeks had passed, and I’d somehow ended up in a relationship with my best friend’s older brother.

I still remembered when Gavin had figured it out. He’d been angry and worried, tried to convince me that I deserved better, that Adrian would break my heart. Although Adrian wasn’t a bad guy, he was a player, and I knew that as well as anyone.

And through those eight months, I’d worried day in and day out whether Adrian would cheat until the day that he had.

Unfortunately, I was the only one who knew that. Well, me and Adrian and the two whores I’d found him in bed with. Everyone else—especially my best friend—thought that I’d been the one to break things off.

It had been the only way I knew to save my relationship, as well as Adrian’s relationship, with the most important person in my world … the only family I had left … my best friend. Gavin.