Wicked Grind Page 9

  "Maybe they really like what they buy."

  "Maybe they do. But how do I know?" He shrugged, then thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his khaki shorts. "I want to earn it, Kelsey. I see my dad and all the attention he gets just from marrying in to the family. I know it bugs him. He's a CPA, and not even for the entertainment industry. But the paparazzi still hound him. And he feels like a fraud."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because he said so. Not to me, but I overheard him talking to my mom just the other day. About how nobody sees him for himself. And how my family all expect him to be larger than life. The way they are. He hates it. I mean, he loves my mom, but he hates that he's invisible. All the public sees is the name. Not him."

  She nodded thoughtfully. "I get that."

  "You're not invisible. I already told you."

  "Not to you." Her smile filled him up. "But I understand where he's coming from. And you, too. You want to make a name in photography the same way I imagine dancing on the stage."

  "You could do that, you know. Maybe not now," he added as she started to shake her head. "But after you graduate. Move out on your own."

  "Maybe. I don't know."

  He wanted to press the issue. To tell her that whatever weirdness her dad was holding onto about dancing and dating and anything else, she needed to just ignore it. He'd never even really met the man and he knew that Leonard Draper was sucking the life out of his daughter. He wanted to say all that--to tell her to not let anyone stop her from following her dream--but before he got the words out, she stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek.

  "What was that for?" he asked, a little stunned, and very pleased.

  "For Swan Lake."

  He hesitated, because he knew that was her way of changing the subject. But in the end, he let it go. "You're welcome," he said. "And we'll both have to thank Joy."

  "True." She laughed. "She's never going to let me forget this. She said you can pick me up at her house, and then after the show you can drop me back as late as you need to. She'll drive me home in the morning so that my dad can see her drop me off."

  "And she won't blow your secret?"

  "Never."

  "Then it's a date."

  "My first real date."

  A wave of pride swelled inside him, and he swore to himself that not only was Friday night going to be memorable as a first date, it was going to rank for all time as her best date ever, even if he did only have two days to pull it off.

  When Friday rolled around, he had to congratulate himself. He met her at Joy's in a Lincoln Town Car with a private driver, and he felt pretty damn sophisticated as he walked up the porch to get her. And then, when the front door opened and she stood there looking stunning and elegant in a simple black dress with a string of pearls, her luxurious hair curling softly around her face, he knew that he'd made the perfect decision.

  So he really wasn't expecting her look of confusion, maybe even shock, when she saw the car.

  "It'll be more fun," he explained as he led her toward the drive. "We can talk, we don't have to worry about parking, and I won't completely turn you off by cursing like a pirate once we hit LA traffic."

  "Oh. I guess that makes sense," she said, even though the little furrow between her brows suggested it didn't make sense at all. "It's just--you know what? Never mind." She squeezed his hand. "I'm really looking forward to tonight."

  "Me, too," he said, even though her odd behavior had taken a bite out of his enthusiasm. "Actually, wait," he said, because he really couldn't stand the not knowing. He took her arm and pulled her to a stop. "What's going on?"

  She hesitated, then answered. "It's just that I thought you didn't like all of, well, that stuff." She waved her hand at the car. "Your grandmother's stuff, I mean. The drivers and the limos and all of the show."

  He laughed, so relieved the sound just bubbled out of him. "I like it just fine. What I said was that I want to earn it."

  "But--"

  "And I did. I have family money, sure. But I also have my own account. I opened it when I was twelve and sold my first print at an art fair in Laguna Beach."

  "You used the money you've been saving since you were a kid to rent us a car?" Her smile was so wide she could have advertised toothpaste.

  "I want tonight to be special."

  She took the arm he offered. "It already is."

  And she was right. The night started perfect and only got better. She'd never seen a professionally performed live ballet, and he felt like a superhero, simply from being the guy who gave that to her. They didn't have time for dinner, but they drove through In-N-Out Burger, his favorite fast food place ever, and though he'd been worried that she'd think it was tacky, she was so obviously delighted that they were eating to-go hamburgers in the back of a Town Car that he grinned all the way to the theater.

  Best of all, they shared a chocolate milkshake.

  She was smart and funny and easy to be with, and the more time they spent together the more she came out of her shell. The only hitch in the entire evening was the rather minor point that he couldn't watch the ballet at all. He pretended to, sure. But mostly he just watched her. The way she moved. The way her dress hugged her body. He wanted to touch her so damn much. To kiss her softly so that he could hear how much she liked it. And then hard, because that's what he wanted. All these feelings inside him, this need. It was all because of her, and he was a walking, talking ball of lust with a hard-on, and he really wasn't sure how he was going to hide that from her.

  He spent the last act of the ballet trying to distract himself by thinking about how he'd photograph the stage if he'd been hired to do the publicity shots. What film speed. What aperture. How he'd place the dancers in relation to the set. How he'd set up the lighting. And maybe he should use a filter to give it a magical quality.

  The more he thought about it, the deeper he sank. And, thank God, the more he relaxed. So by the curtain call he could stand beside her and not risk complete and total mortification.

  But oh, God, he wanted this girl.

  "That was amazing." She took his hands. "You're amazing. Thank you."

  They were in a semi-private box, and the two other couples filed out first. She started to head that direction, but he tugged her back. "Wait," he ordered when she arched a brow in question. "I still owe you something."

  For a moment she looked confused. But when he stepped closer and slid his hand around her waist, her eyes grew wide. His palm rested against her lower back, and he could feel her heat and the little nervous tremble. "I owe you a kiss, remember?"

  Her lips parted just a little, as if she was going to speak. But then she swallowed and simply nodded. He leaned in and brushed his lips over hers, a kiss as soft as breath, tentative and easy, because he knew it was her first. But when he heard her soft little moan of pleasure, it was like someone had thrown gasoline on a fire. Need exploded inside him, and he pulled her closer, until her body was flush against his, and her arms locked around his neck as if he was the only safe haven she knew.

  With his free hand, he cupped her head, wanting more--everything--and when her lips parted and he deepened the kiss, his tongue tasting and teasing, he thought that if he died right then it didn't matter, because nothing could be more perfect than this.

  When they finally broke the kiss, she was flushed and breathless and absolutely beautiful. "First kiss," he said, with a tease in his voice. "How'd you like it?"

  "I'm not sure," she said, her words belied by the sparkle in her eye. "Maybe I need a second kiss to compare it to."

  He was happy to comply, and gave her lots and lots of comparison kisses on the far-too-short ride back to LA. And when the car pulled up in front of Joy's house, her lips were swollen, her eyes bright, and her hair just a little disheveled.

  She looked amazing. More than that, she made him feel amazing.

  "Thank you," she said as the driver opened the door. "You showed me the world tonight," she added, and he was ce
rtain she wasn't only talking about the ballet.

  He kissed her one more time on Joy's doorstep, and felt like the coolest guy in the world.

  After that night, they became inseparable, but in an understated, quiet way. Neither of them wanted word to get back to her dad. So they were careful. Very careful. They walked together in the areas of the club that weren't well-trafficked. They spent a lot of time in their copse of trees, where he took photo after photo of her, until she'd hold up her hand and say that she wanted to talk to him, not a lens.

  And there were kisses. Lots of kisses. The kind that were a promise of things to come. Things they both wanted, but certainly couldn't ever have. How could they, when they couldn't even go on a real date?

  When the end came, he had no clue that he'd started walking down that path. On the contrary, he was actually looking forward to the future. Wondering how they'd make it work with him in Boston and her in LA. But he was sure they would make it work. That much he promised himself.

  The night of Patrick's party, he knew that her parents were out of town, and he'd called her house and asked if she wanted to come. Just a bunch of kids from the club and a few from the town. It would be fun, he assured her.

  "I'm watching Griffin tonight."

  "I thought he was almost thirteen. He can't stay a few hours by himself?"

  "It's just that--"

  "What if I come over to your place?"

  "And, what? Rely on Griff to keep a secret? He would--for me, he totally would--but he's just a kid and he might slip up. We've talked about that, Wyatt. Remember?"

  "I know. I know. It's okay. I get it." He wanted to mean it, but he couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice. "It's just that Patrick's family's house is huge. There'd be space for us to be alone, you know? Without feeling like we're in a spotlight at the club."

  "I want that, too," she said, with so much sincerity in her voice that he felt like a heel for being irritated that she wouldn't come. "But even if babysitting wasn't part of the equation, should we really be seen together like that? At a party? I mean, we've been so careful. What if my dad--"

  "It'll be crowded. Just a group of kids. Worst that happens is he finds out you left your brother for a few hours to go to a party with a bunch of teenagers. He doesn't need to know anything else."

  Even as the words came out of his mouth, he couldn't believe he was saying them. Was he really encouraging her to break all those rules? Yeah, he was. Because he was a selfish asshole who wanted to see her. Just for a few hours. What was the harm?

  And they had so little time left.

  "The summer's almost over," he pointed out. "I'm gone in less than two weeks."

  "Wyatt, please--"

  "Just write down the address. I'm staying the night with Patrick, so you can come anytime if you change your mind, okay?"

  She hesitated, but in the end she relented. "Okay. But I probably won't come."

  He gave her the address. "And Kelsey? I'll be waiting."

  "Don't count on me." Her whisper was so soft, he barely heard it, and when she ended the call, he felt a little lost.

  "You fell hard, dude," Patrick said. "Is widdle Wyatt in wuv?"

  Wyatt punched him in the arm. "You're a prick, you know that, right?"

  "Bullshit. I'm a great guy. Everyone says so."

  Wyatt laughed, but he couldn't get the question out of his head. It was the first time he'd really thought about it, and he knew with one hundred percent certainty that the answer was yes.

  That ought to scare him, he thought, but it didn't. It made him feel great. And it made him want Kelsey beside him all the more.

  Which, of course, made the party a complete bore, because he didn't want to be there without her.

  He wandered the rooms aimlessly, chatting with some of the kids, drinking beer like it was water until the room was spinning just a little.

  Which explained why when he first saw her by the big screen TV, he thought he was hallucinating. Then she walked toward him, holding a plastic cup like a good luck charm. She took a sip, then another. Then she downed the rest of the drink and finished crossing the room to him.

  "Hi," she said, then kissed him, and from the bourbon on her breath, he had a feeling she'd downed more than the one glass when she'd been searching the house for him.

  "Hi, yourself." He pushed back from her. "What happened to being discreet?"

  She shrugged. "I missed you."

  "Let's get out of the crowd." He took her hand. "Come on. I have something for you."

  "Really?"

  He led her to the guest room where Patrick had told him to throw his stuff, then shut the door. "You can sit," he said, pointing to the bed, since the room had no chair.

  She made a funny little sound, but sat awkwardly on the bed, and he started to rummage through his duffel, finally coming up with the little silver-wrapped box he'd brought for her.

  "For me?" she asked, when he handed it to her.

  "Open it."

  She licked her lips, then slid her finger under the tape and carefully removed the wrapping to reveal a square, white jewelry box.

  "Go on," he urged, since she'd hesitated once again.

  She did, pulling off the lid and then gasping when she saw the bracelet inside. It was a cuff-style, brushed silver bracelet that was shaped into the sign of infinity, a sideways figure eight. It gleamed in the dim light, and she ran her fingertip over it as if it was the most priceless thing she'd ever seen.

  "I found it at this boutique when I was out with my grandmother last weekend. I thought of you. And, you know, forever."

  He would have felt silly saying the word, except it was so damn true.

  "Forever," she whispered, then stood up and held it out for him to put on her wrist. He did, then drew his hand back, his fingertips grazing her skin until he closed his hand around hers and pulled her to him. He kissed her then, not asking, simply taking what he wanted. And unlike their first kiss in the theater, this one was wild and deep and familiar.

  They'd shared many kisses since that first, and yet this one felt different. Richer. Fuller. Overflowing with promise, ripe with sensuality, laden with desire.

  "Kelsey," he murmured when they broke apart, now joined only by their hands. "I want--"

  "I know. But I--"

  He shut her up with a kiss, not wanting to hear why he couldn't have her the way he wanted her. All of her.

  He craved her. Needed her. Felt like he'd lose himself if he couldn't find his soul in hers. He was swimming in poetic nonsense that would have seemed sappy and stupid at any other time or with any other girl, but with Kelsey seemed as real and true as gravity.

  And since he knew he'd never convince her with words, he set out to convince her with action. He touched her. Teased her. His hands roamed over her even as his mouth tasted. Her mouth, her ear, her neck. He cupped the back of her neck, his other hand finding her breast as his lips kissed down to the tiny bit of cleavage revealed by the simple sundress she wore.

  Her heart was beating fast--he could feel it against his hand, against his lips. And he was so hard, so desperate for her. He'd wanted her from the first moment he'd seen her, then more and more with each minute he spent with her. She'd captured him completely, but he knew from the way she surrendered in his arms that she felt the same way. That she was ready.

  But then she pushed away, and all of his hopes shattered like so much broken glass.

  "Kelsey?"

  She stepped back, breathing hard. "I want to--I do. But I can't. I shouldn't."

  "You should," he insisted, even though he knew he was being a selfish prick. He should be telling her it was okay, it didn't matter. But he wanted. Oh, dear God, he wanted. "Kelsey, I love you."

  The words escaped before he could think about them, and even though they were true, he hated himself for saying them. He didn't want to force her. Didn't want to use bullshit emotional blackmail. And he damn sure didn't want her to think he was saying pretty wor
ds just to get her in bed.

  But that's what she thought--he was certain of it. Because she turned away to the back wall as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

  Fuck. He'd done it. He'd gone and ruined the best thing ever.

  He was in the process of brutally kicking his own ass when she faced him again, a fierce determination burning in her eyes.

  And when she started to unbutton her sundress, all he could see was her. All he could imagine was the feel of her skin against his.

  All he could think was that she loved him, too.

  But he was an idiot, of course. A goddamn fool.

  Because he didn't have the slightest clue that a night that looked like heaven was going to end up turning into hell.

  10

  I see him the moment I step outside the club. He's leaning against the side of a Lincoln Navigator, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches me. His hair is windswept, the gold shining under the yellow-tinted parking area lights, and from his posture it's obvious he's still wound up tight, as if he's on the verge of exploding.

  As I get closer, I can see the irritation and impatience on his face as clearly as if it was stamped there. I know it's directed at me--and that knowledge kicks off a swarm of butterflies in my stomach, my reaction one of both anticipation and trepidation. Because even while I fear the explosion, I'm grateful for any reaction from him. This is the man who never looked back, after all, whereas I spent years mourning his loss.

  And, while his attack on Drunk Dude may have mortified me, I can't deny that it excited me, too.

  What I'm not certain about is why exactly he's annoyed. Is it because of my dance? Or is it because he's getting tired of waiting in the parking lot for me?

  The latter wouldn't surprise me. The truth is, I did take my time coming out. In fact, I'd considered staying until the final girls danced, not only because I was in the mood to aggravate Wyatt, but also because I wanted that money.

  Based on the chatter backstage as I was changing and packing up my stuff, I know I was in the lead by a huge margin. And everyone was speculating who would end up winning if I actually followed Wyatt out of the building. Because that's one of the rules. The winner has to be present.

  But here I am outside.

  Here I am, walking away from what I'm guesstimating is at least a grand, probably a little more.