Survival of the Fiercest (16 page)

It’s plausible, but I’m still skeptical. “So what happened after you got out of the shower? I heard you call her name.”

“She said she wanted to get in the shower. I was just letting her know I was out. Next thing I know, she walks in the room in a nightie and puts her arms around my neck.”

This image makes me want to crush my wineglass. He continues.

“She got it in her head that she needed to repay me for all the things I’ve done for her. A thank-you, so to speak.” He frowns softly when I jerk my head back and cut my gaze at him, but he continues. “Josie has always used sex to get what she wants; to get people to like her; to repay her debts. To her, it’s like a thank-you or a gift. She doesn’t have as much self-esteem as she lets on.”

“A gift, huh? And did you unwrap that gift?” My brow hurts, I’ve been frowning so hard.

“Of course not. But when I rejected her, she got really pissed. There was screaming and hysterics. My phone went into the toilet. It was unreal. She was on my bed sulking when Charles came to the door with my blazer. He told me you were crying. I’m sorry, baby.” His voice drops an octave, and he looks directly into my eyes. I want to crawl into his lap.

“Where is she now?” I ask, needing more details.

“I don’t know. When I came home from the club, her stuff was gone, and I barely had time to get a new phone before I jumped on a plane here. She’ll figure it out.”

We are silent for a long moment before I start again. “Evan, she was naked. And she’s a porn star who probably does backflips in bed. Are you really saying you didn’t have sex with her?”

“I didn’t.”

“You weren’t even tempted? Her breasts were barely covered.”

“No.” His face scrunches. “Why are you looking at me like that? She’s not my type. She has fake breasts and no ass.” His gaze drops to my body. “I need real curves. Something I can grab on to in the back, so I can play in the front.”

His gaze lingers on the neck of my T-shirt, then slips lower. My nipples are pushing at my bra, and he smiles broadly before looking back to my face. “You’re breasts are so soft and supple. They make my mouth water,” he says.

My lips part. He knows what he’s doing to me. Breaking eye contact, I reach for my wine. “How did you find out where I live?”

“You left your pay stub in my jacket pocket. It’s in my trench.” Evan gets up and grabs the bottle of wine. He returns, refills our glasses, and places my pay stub on the coffee table. Settling close to me, he slips off his high-tops, reaches for my ankles, and sets my feet in his lap. The warmth of his hands on my calves and feet make me ache for his hands on the rest of me.

“Your turn,” he says. “Why did you leave?”

I tell Evan about Viper, their demands, and my dramatic walkout.

“I went to your place to tell you,” I say.

“Good for you,” he says with a proud look on his face. His smile is making me smile.

“Why are we smiling?” I ask. “I’m going to be broke in about three months.”

“Now you are poised to make your own stability. Make your own vision.” His eyes are calm. He makes me feel like I can do anything.

“What if I fail?”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that. You’ve never run a webzine,” I say.

“I know about business. You need revenue. Are your advertisers still onboard?”

“No… I don’t know.”

“Call them. You still have millions of followers, and your advertisers will still want exposure. They may renegotiate their fee, but you have less overhead now.”

“You’re right.” I nod, mapping out a plan in my head.

“I can be here for a few days. I can help you.”

“A few days? Where are you staying?”

“I checked into the Soho Grand.”

“Oh,” I say. “That’s a nice hotel.”

He nods as we stare at each other. He’s waiting for me to invite him to stay here. I don’t. Evan reaches out and plays with the hem of my jeans, one finger slipping under the fabric. It tickles, in a good way.

“Lex,” he says. “I didn’t sleep with Josie.”

He says it so earnestly that I’m in danger of being that stupid girl again. And yet he’s here, massaging my ankles and saving me from an irate ex-boyfriend. Telling me he wants to talk about us.
Us.

“I believe you.”

In one big tug, Evan pulls me into his lap and kisses me. A starving kiss, like we almost lost each other. His hands are under my shirt in seconds, sliding it free from my arms. My bra doesn’t last long either. He buries his face in my chest, and I settle my chin on top of his head. My hair drapes forward, sheltering him. His lips and tongue drag over one nipple then the other, sucking deep and hard. I moan with pleasure-pain. His erection is throbbing against my butt, and I lift myself from his lap just enough to straddle his hips.

He reaches for my breast, and I glimpse the raw marks on his knuckles. Gently, I bring his hand to my lips. He is watching me closely. “Thanks for being there,” I whisper.

Pushing back my hair, he looks deep into my eyes before cupping the side of my face and pulling me near. “I’ll always be there for you.”

I capture his lips, and we kiss softly at first, then harder as a voracious need comes over me. Evan willingly complies, groaning when I softly bite his bottom lip. Kissing him blots out the ugliness of the night; touching him will wipe it away forever.

I reach for his zipper and plunge my tongue into his mouth. In response he takes the kiss deeper, slower. His hands smooth up and down my body, and I’m bowled over by the tenderness in his caress.

“I was going to let you sleep,” he says against my lips.

“Not tired.” I breathe.

My heartbeat roars in my ears as I wind my arms around his neck, but he carefully pulls back. He gives me a soft look while his fingers gently stroke my face. “Slowly,” he says, his voice barely a whisper. “I want to make love to every inch of you tonight.”

Those simple words make me shudder. Taking his hand, I lead him into my bedroom. The lights of the city cut through the darkness, making our bodies outlines of shade and shadow.

Evan’s mouth slides seductively over mine with teasing nips, leisurely drinking me in with an unhurried stroke of his tongue. The lingering taste of red wine, his faint aftershave, and the scrape of his facial hair against my cheek makes me dizzy. I tremble as his lips trace my jaw, and I tilt my head back in surrender.

We undress each other, kissing skin where fabric used to be. With a quick lift, Evan effortlessly lays me on the bed, pausing to spread my hair over my pillows. He takes his time looking at me, stroking me, learning my body. He tangles his fingers with mine when I reach for him.

“I was jealous when I first saw you and Pete,” he says softly, his eyes like blue ice. “I don’t want another man touching you.”

“There’s no one else,” I whisper.

He blows out a held breath.

“Same goes for you, then,” I say. Dead serious has nothing on my tone.

“There is no one. Just you. No one else compares.”

Emotion wells in my throat. I raise my hand to his cheek, but he captures it and brings my fingers to his lips. He presses another kiss to my palm and smooths his lips along my jaw. With slow, tender kisses, he works his way down every inch of my body. Every sensitive spot on my skin is savored, and the subtle ache he stirred is now a pounding in my blood.

“I can’t get enough,” he murmurs in my ear. Gently, he turns me onto my stomach and runs his hands lightly down my back, over the soft mounds of my bottom and along my legs. He takes his time, squeezing, kissing, kneading, and stroking my thighs and calves. His fingertips on the soles of my feet make me giggle. Evan slides his arm under my hips and tilts me until I face him, and catches my laughter with his lips.

When he lifts away, I clutch at his naked shoulders and urge him closer for more kisses, but he only smiles at me and slowly shakes his head. I’m not allowed any demands. He’s in control. My body arches when his lips find my belly button. My breath quickens as he moves lower, hovering between my thighs, pressing a succession of sweet lingering kisses there. I dig my hands into his hair when his fingers explore where his mouth has been.

My breathing slows as he sets a delicious rhythm, and I’m lost in sensation, simultaneously sustained by his strength and undone by his tenderness. It’s not enough. I need him over me, and I moan a plea, reaching for him again. With one hand still between my legs, he lies next to me. Throwing my arms around his neck, I arch my body, hitch my leg on his hip, and rub the aching part of me against him. His groan makes me smile.

Taking my cue, he slides his hands down to my hips and round over my ass, yanking my lower body closer to him with such force that I let out a little yelp. His strength turns me on even more. I claw at his arms, loving the feel of him over me. His mouth drifts across my cheek and softly brushes my ear. “I thought I’d lost you.” He places my hand on his long erection. I tremble at the massive pulsing size of him. He slips on a condom, and all the Josies and Petes of the world are forgotten.

“Me too,” I say and swiftly guide him to my slick entrance. With a loud grunt, he fills me, his neck straining as he sinks farther and farther until I’m sure I can’t take much more. Slipping a hand under my hips, he lifts me and surges forward the smallest distance. I shudder when he moves inside me, slowly at first, then stronger.

He kisses me, drawing in my very breath. Loving his stubble on my face, I run my hand across his jaw and tease the corner of our joined lips. He playfully nips my finger. It tingles. In a pure animal reflex, I skim my tongue along his shoulder and bite hard, tasting his salty, muscled flesh. I want to devour him with both my mouth and my pussy.

Baring his teeth, he plunges wildly, and I take him fully, each stroke pulling hushed groans from my deep within my throat. I build quickly as his thrusts work my clit into a hot ache. My body seizes and tightens around him while his hips drive into me. Soon after, he comes explosively, groaning into my ear and grinding forward with each pulse of his orgasm.

Stunned and breathless, I close my eyes and bask in the aftermath. A bead or two of sweat drop to my breast, and I raise my heavy lids. Evan’s dark silhouette is propped on his elbows above me, his head hanging and his chest heaving. Still holding him, I unfurl my arms from his neck and run my hands up and down his back, content to lie under him forever. As his hair brushes my cheek and his lips touch my collarbone, I wonder what type of unspoken declaration we made tonight. Surely he can’t stay, but how could I ever let him go?

Chapter Nineteen

Saturday morning pours into the bedroom. I wake up blinking and fuzzy-headed, tucked into the crook of Evan’s shoulder. He’s still asleep, his chest rising and falling peacefully under my outstretched hand. It wasn’t a dream. He is here, as warm and naked as me. Rising softly onto my elbows, I peek at him and smile. He is half-covered, one arm outstretched, demanding space. I’m tempted to kiss him awake, but I leave him be, knowing the time change has him exhausted.

Waking up with him feels good, and it makes me want to believe that we could be together. Besides, the morning is too beautiful to remember what a shit show my life has become.

Softly placing a kiss on his chest, I ease off his arm and slip from the bed. Plucking my running shorts and a sweatshirt from the floor, I tiptoe from the room and carefully close the door. I stop in the bathroom and wince when I flush the toilet, hoping the sound doesn’t carry. I wince again when I look in the mirror. Smeared mascara and eye shadow dot my bloodshot eyes, but that doesn’t even compare to the tangled frizz fro a la the Wicked Witch of the West on my head. Grabbing a hair tie, I twist the beast into a ponytail, wash my face, scour my teeth, and rush quietly into the kitchen.

I whip open the fridge and frown. The florescent five-tiered space holds one egg, some butter and condiments, leftover Mexican from God knows when, and half a bottle of sparkling water. Had I not been trying to be quiet, I would’ve slammed the door. Figuring Evan would be out for at least another half hour, I grab my purse and keys, shove my feet into my flats, and sneak out the door. Twenty minutes later, I’m back and hoisting three bags from Whole Foods onto the kitchen island.

After making sure Evan is still asleep, I quietly search through my cupboards for pans and utensils that I hardly ever use. It’s not that I can’t cook; I just don’t cook much for myself. I find my trusty skillet and place it on the burner—a single skillet for a single girl. Ooooh, possible post! I type it in my to-do list and remember that I will have to come up with a lot more posts, write all the posts, and schedule all those posts myself.
Oh God, can I do this?

I’ll deal with work later. Right now I’m wide awake and energized, like my soul has been injected with liquid happiness. Fifteen minutes later, I’ve whipped up a few omelets, started a pot of coffee, and poured some OJ. I put all of the cubed fruit I bought into a large bowl, unfold the morning paper, and make an inviting display of plates and mugs. After a quick flip of my bacon, I step back and nod at my spread.

Oh yeah, I still got it.

I’m pulling the bacon from the oven when the bedroom door opens. I move into the living room and peer around the corner into the hall. There is Evan in just his boxer briefs, looking groggy and disoriented. Even with bags under his eyes, he’s stunning. He smiles when he sees me. With a wink and a yawn, he disappears down the hall into the bathroom.

I’m sifting through radio satellite stations in the living room when he comes up behind me. “Good morning, babe.” He turns me around by the shoulders, pulls me in, and plops a warm kiss on my lips. His mouth is minty, and his stubble scratches my cheek. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared the morning with a man. It’s nice.

The scent of bacon and coffee is heavy in the room, and Evan’s head comes up like a wolf’s. “Breakfast?” He pads barefoot to the kitchen, and I quickly choose a radio station. “Holy shit. You cooked?”

“It’s just eggs and bacon,” I say.

“It’s a hotel spread.”