PIERCE : A Billionaire Romance Book Series (The Complete Van Doren Series) (6 page)

              “Fine.  Let’s talk.”  She walks towards him, then past him, heading back towards the building she emerged from.  “Call me tonight.”  Stepping closer to the street, she reaches out to hail a passing taxi.  Pierce moves up alongside her and gently pushes her arm, urging her to lower it.  She does so, but not without looking sidelong at him. 

              “Let me drive you home,” he says, putting one arm around her shoulders and gesturing towards his vehicle with the other one. “We can talk on the way.”  Christina starts to shake her head, but he interrupts before she can refuse. “I promise, just talk.  If you don’t want to talk after I get you home, I promise  you’ll never hear from me again.” He touches her chin, making her flinch, but she doesn’t pull free.  “Ever,” he adds.

              Christina is not enthusiastic about spending much time with Pierce, but she can’t deny the fact that she’s intrigued.  Not what she thinks?  What is he going to tell her?  He certainly seems sincere, and she did leave so abruptly…

              Clearing her throat, she twists free of Pierce’s hold and strides purposefully towards the SUV he indicated.  She moves to climb into the front passenger side, but is surprised when the driver (still subtly wearing earbuds) walks around the hood and opens the rear passenger door for her.  Glancing towards Pierce, she takes the offered seat, then looks around the fully loaded leather interior of the vehicle and waits for him to join her.  The driver climbs in first, and then Pierce slips in opposite her, settling into his own seat and pointing at her shoulder belt as he snaps his own into place.  “Buckle up,” he says, grinning at her. 

              “Yeah,” Christina responds, drawing the seatbelt over her chest and clicking it closed before folding her hands on her interview-appropriately-skirted lap and turning to look at her former lover.  Lover?  Hardly.  Fuck-buddy?  No.  Ugh.  This guy.  UGH!  He’s as handsome as ever. Maybe even more.  Maybe he went on vacation or something, because his skin seems more golden.  The subtle lines at the corners of his eyes seem crinklier.  He is ruggedly five-o'clock shadowed before lunch, and he’s dressed simply – a pair of likely ridiculously expensive slacks, a light tangerine-colored linen shirt, and a blue designer sport coat.  How he manages to put such a purposely-unintentional ensemble together never ceases to amaze her.  He smells fantastic, too.  Don’t forget how good he smells.

              “So,” Pierce says, startling Christina from her internal reverie.  She refocuses on him, feeling her cheeks grow warm as she suspects he somehow heard what she was thinking.  She pulls her bag closer to herself, fiddling with the strap to keep herself occupied. Pierce continues. “I know you probably think I’m some kind of creeper, just showing up here unannounced.”  Christina nods a little bit.  He flexes his shoulders, swallowing hard before continuing.  His tone is sincere, and when he reaches out and lightly takes hold of her right hand, she finds herself not pulling away.  Not yet, anyway.

              “I thought about calling you, or emailing.  I found out where you’d gone from Pete, and even though he refused to give me any more info than ‘home’, I…” he looks away, clearly a bit ashamed of his actions. “…well, I hired someone to track you down.  I’ve been in town for about a week, and the guy I hired told me you came here this morning.” 

              Christina looks towards the driver, suspicious.  Pierce shakes his head. “No, he’s just a kid who works for me when I’m in town.  He’s nobody.”  The driver does not react to what’s being said about him, and Christina imagines that’s due to whatever music is likely coming through his earbuds.  She’d noticed them.  She looks back to Pierce, her hackles still up as she considers his words.

              “So instead of calling me and leaving me a message, or emailing me, or sending me a fucking letter, you had me tailed, flew to New York, and followed me to my interview and waited for me to come out so you could… what?  Talk?”  Her smile is sarcastic as she shakes her head. “Totally the non-creepy way to go about it, Pierce.  I mean, other regular means of communication are so passe’.”

              Pierce squeezes her hand. “You wouldn’t have answered me.  I know you wouldn’t.  And I just wanted to explain so I’d at least know you didn’t think I was some kind of asshole.  Because I’m not.”  His words seem heartfelt, and Christina finds her fingers tightening slightly around his, seemingly of their own accord.  She remains quiet, waiting for him to continue.

              He does, turning a bit more towards her and reaching to hold her hand in both of his, now.  His touch is warm, his digits strong.  His eyes are almost hypnotic as they bore into hers, and she realizes her knee is touching his.  He’s so warm.  And he smells so fucking good.  Her nostrils flare as she unconsciously breathes him in, and she holds that breath for a moment before finally responding.

              “Pierce,” Christina says, soft and with less agitation. “You lied to me.  You said you hadn’t heard from your father, that he was missing – and you knew where he was.  You were talking to him.  You lied from the very beginning, and you expect me to think you’re not an asshole?”  She feels her hurt welling up in her chest again, and she pulls her hand free and turns away, looking out at the city as it streams by.  They’re heading towards her home, and for a second she’s surprised… but then she simply chalks it up to Pierce and his ‘people’.  Figures.  Pierce is silent for a moment, and then she feels his arm slipping around her, his hand splaying on her stomach.  A gentle pressure is applied to her middle, and she feels him slipping up behind her, urging her to turn closer, to face him.

              She does so, and is greeted by his face, once again kissably close.  Instead of pressing his lips to hers, Pierce simply stays there, his eyes locked with hers, his breath warm as it bursts across her cheek.  He is silent for a long moment, and then he pulls his hand away from her belly, leaving a palpable absence in its wake.  Christina wants to reach out and wrap herself around him, but she stays still, stays silent.  The space in the cabin of the SUV is thick with tension, and the driver glances briefly into the rear view mirror before focusing on the road once more.   Christina feels herself leaning closer to Pierce, feels her body yearning towards his, her hands itching to sink into his hair… and then the vehicle slows and turns, pulling onto a residential street.  Her residential street.

              Pierce sits back, sighing.  He looks out his own window for a long moment, then turns and smiles wearily at Christina.  “There’s so much more to the story.  Here.”  Opening his jacket, he pulls out a business card with his name and a local number embossed on thick cream-colored paper.  “I’m at the Roosevelt.  Call that number and someone will come pick you up.  We need to talk.”

              Christina takes the card and puts it in her bag. As the car pulls to a stop at the curb in front of her father’s house, she sighs, then nods. “Alright.”  Without saying anything else, she unfastens her seatbelt and opens her door, climbing out of the car before Pierce can do or say anything else.  He leans towards her open door, meeting her gaze one last time.

              “Tonight,” he urges.  Christina nods again and pushes the door closed.  The tinted window immediately hums down, and Pierce leans through it, reaching out to snag her shoulder before she heads inside. “Thank you, Christina.”  He smiles, and she feels her knees go slightly weak as that perfectly sexy grin once again disarms her without warning.

              “Yeah, yeah…” she says, trying to be dismissive while covering up the fact that she’s all wobbly, hot and bothered. “I’ll call.  I’ll see you later, ok?”  She says this over her shoulder, already turning to trot up the few stairs to the front door of her father’s three-story townhouse.  Pierce watches her leave, the expression on his face a mixture of anticipation and concern.  Pausing at the door, she turns and smiles. “I promise.”

              She has no intention of doing so – she’s going to make him wait.  She’s going to make him regret being such a bastard.  She’ll show him who’s in charge of this situation… and it’s not him.

⎔⎔⎔⎔

              The living room window overlooks the front sidewalk, and seated in his well-worn chair in front of it is none other than Christina’s father, Michael.  He makes no bones about his snooping as she closes the door behind her.  “Who was that?” he asks, reaching out with the TV remote to mute an obnoxiously perky woman shouting the benefits of vitamin B-12.  Christina flinches slightly at his tone, but forces a smile and crosses the room, scooping up a folded afghan from the back of the sofa on the way. 

              “A friend,” she says, spreading the blanket over her father’s lap and tucking it in a bit on either side of his narrow hips.  He looks frail, and her stomach knots a bit at that… but she forces a grin, then leans in to press a kiss lightly against his cheek.  He pats her on the hand, but when she straightens, his expression is still a mixture of worry and frustration.

              “I’ve seen that car a few times in the past couple of days, Christina.  Parked over there.”  He gestures out the window. “Guess your friend’s been watching you.” His thin chest expands with a deep breath, and Christina can hear it wheezing slightly as he lets it out.  Her throat clicks with a hard swallow, and then she turns and heads towards the kitchen, speaking up so he can hear her from the next room.

              “It’s not a big deal, Dad.  He wasn’t sure he had the right place.  Didn’t know how to contact me.  It’s someone from San Fran.  It’s a long story.”  Christina pulls a few things out of the refrigerator, and then attempts to change the subject.  “You want a sandwich?  Some soup?  We have some leftover stew, and I can make you a grilled cheese.” 

              Michael is silent.  Christina steps to the kitchen door and peers out, concern welling in her chest.  He is still in his seat, gazing out the window.  Finally, he responds. “Just a grilled cheese.  Thanks.”  She ducks back into the kitchen and starts buttering bread, then hears her father add, “You should stay away from people like that, Christina.  Nothing good can come of someone sneaking around.”

              Pausing in her sandwich preparation, Christina looks towards the kitchen window, which also opens on to the front sidewalk.  Walking over to it, she peeks outside, half expecting to see Pierce’s SUV lurking and waiting.  She doesn’t see anything but an elderly lady walking a tiny hairball of a dog, and the scattered vehicles of her neighbors.  Turning back to the bread and butter, she calls out, “Okay, Dad.  Do you want cheddar or Monterey jack?”

              Michael does not respond, but she hears the TV come back on again.  Sighing, she continues making her father’s lunch.  Soon, she finds herself flashing back on another kitchen.  Pierce’s kitchen.  Her stomach twitches, and she feels a shiver of excitement between her legs.  A smile teases her lips, and she lets her imagination wander while she slices cheese and finds a skillet.  Maybe she’ll call Pierce tonight, after all.  Yeah, she definitely will.

⎔⎔⎔⎔

              Lunchtime passes without further conflict, but Christina makes herself scarce after loading the dishwasher and making sure her father is settled with TV and a snack.  She heads up to her room, where she throws herself onto her mattress, face-first.  She’s so pent-up, so wired… this morning has been a whirlwind of activity, both expected and unexpected.  Sighing deeply, she groans into the comforter.  Can this be any more complicated?  Why can’t I just live my fucking life?!

              For awhile, she just lays there.  Quiet, limp, trying to process all the emotion that’s going through her brain.  Excitement at the new job, yes.  Anticipation of new opportunities, absolutely.  Frustration with Pierce, definitely.  Concern for her dad, worry about her sister, nervousness about tonight… everything twists around in her head and vies for attention and focus.

              “UGH!” Christina finally says aloud, rolling onto her back and staring at the ceiling.  “Seriously, this is fucking ridiculous!”  She flops around on the bed like a child throwing a tantrum, then sits up and throws her legs over the side of the mattress, kicking off her shoes as she does so.  Might as well get out of interview clothes and into something comfortable – she has a few hours to wait before she calls Pierce and pretends to be reluctant. 

              Standing up, Christina crosses the small, comfortable room and stands in front of the mirror.  She has to admit; she looks pretty good – very professional with her up-do and pencil skirt.  Her blouse is a deep rose color and has a feminine cut, but its button-up styling lets people know she’s serious.  She means business.  A half-smile tugs at her lips as she considers her reflection, and then it breaks wider as she pictures Pierce standing behind her, looking over her shoulder.  “You wish…” she murmurs to herself, bringing her right hand up to press lightly against her stomach – just where Pierce’s hand rested earlier today. 

              Watching herself with an odd sense of detachment, Christina begins to undress. Her fingers move deftly to tug her buttons open on her blouse, each one giving way with a silent little ‘pop’.  She likes the way it feels as it loosens up, and she can’t help but admire the way her breasts look inside her fancy ‘dress’ bra as they’re gradually revealed.  The pretty, creamy flesh is pushed up and together by the undergarment, and when she unfastens the last button and un-tucks her blouse, she enjoys the cool kiss of the room’s air against her skin.  Shrugging out of the blouse, Christina looks at herself for a long moment, then reaches back and unzips her skirt before letting it drop around her feet.