Beautiful Illusions (17 page)

Gah!

I pull back as a nervous smile twitches on my lips. I forgot how freely Warren doles out the kisses. In truth, I haven’t kissed him since we’ve come back this summer, and now that some time has passed, it feels a little foreign, more than a little intrusive. And why do I suddenly feel like I’m being held against my will?

The helicopter picks up speed, and we rise even higher until the city fades into a sea of haze. I bet we’re getting ready to land on top of some posh restaurant, and then I’ll fake being sick so we can put the kibosh on this quasi-kidnapping.

A shoreline crops up on our right, which indicates that both Collingsworth and Loveless are well behind us—hell, the entire state of Connecticut is turning into a tiny speck.

“What city exactly is it that we’re touring?” Why do I get the sick feeling I could have easily replaced city for country?

Warren slips his well-manicured hand over my knee before sinking it between my legs.

“We’re going to New York for the weekend, baby! Just you and me.” He offers a toothy grin, his tan skin is just this side of orange, and suddenly I want to vomit on his pricy Dolce and Gabbana patent leather shoes.

I carefully return his hand to his lap, but it springs back to my knee.

New York.

Something tells me I’ll have to pull off an Alcatraz-worthy escape to make it back to Loveless tonight.

Crap.

I am definitely not in a New York state of mind.

“This hotel is the shit!” Warren holds the door open for me as we step into the elevator. My head is still ringing from the sound of the rotors. My brain feels as if a hornet’s nest has dislodged in it. And despite the fact that I’ve got mild cramps and a migraine on the horizon, my mind is buzzing with a thousand clever ways to kill Warren and make it look like an accident. I swear if his fingers travel to my inner thighs, one more time, I’ll reenact the ball-breaking moves I employed on him just last week.

We step off onto the penthouse floor with plush navy carpeting as he wheels my suitcase down the posh hall toward a room with double doors.

“So what are you thinking? We’ll change and go to dinner?” My voice sounds like I’m hearing myself from the inside of a fishbowl.

Warren slips the plastic keycard into the door and gives a wicked grin in lieu of an answer.

“We
are
going back to Loveless tonight, right?” I insist because obviously I refuse to the let the hotel room and luggage offer me a clue.

“After you.” He holds out his hand, and I breeze past him into the darkened room. Warren picks up a remote and points it at the wall, and the room magically fills with the sound of a lovesick sax while a thousand electric candles illuminate the area, exposing an oversized loft-piled bed. In the center of the gargantuan space a table is set up for two with a pair of silver domes over it.

Oh, God.

I take in the opulent display as if it were a crime scene.

Ace had real candles at the boathouse, and the music came from our own hearts, our passion tore up the room, and the only thing we were hungry for was each other.

Warren manhandles another remote, and the fireplace roars to life like an untamed dragon.

“Nice touch.” I let out a helpless sigh and take in the surroundings once again. “Well, we’d better get to dinner I’m starved.” Maybe if I speed things along, I can wade my way through this nightmare and still make it to Loveless by midnight.

“First—a dance.” He snaps up my hand, and I make sure to maintain a comfortable distance. This is Warren after all. I’ve known him since we were babies, for as long as I’ve known Ace—funny how I sort of have polarized feelings for the two of them. I try to think of a time that Ace and I shared a dance, and not one occasion comes to mind. It breaks my heart. But it also gives me something to look forward to.

“What’s going through your mind?” Warren leans in and sniffs into my neck like a predator. He’s immaculate looking tonight with his power suit, his hair slicked back in thick, caramel waves, his fresh tan, even if it is a fake bake. I know for a fact there are a ton of girls who would sell all the eggs in their ovaries for a chance to shack up in New York for the night with Warren. It just so happens that I’m not one of them.

I pull back and take him in as he awaits my answer. I’m sure as hell not going to say Ace Waterman, but I want to.

“Just missing home, that’s all.” It’s the truth. I’ll have to tell Brylee I’m not allergic to it after all.

His hands sink past my waist and round out my bottom. He’s sending some pretty serious signals that I’m prepared to ignore.

“I don’t travel well.” I raise his hands an inch before they find a home in the hills and canyons he’s not welcome to.

“You’re still pissed about the other night.” His chest bumps as he huffs it off. “Did you get the flowers?” He looks perplexed that I could still be angry after he followed up his failed penis plunge with the biggest bouquet that money could buy. Things went from horny to thorny in a single bound, sort of like they’re about to now.

“Look”—he knocks his head back exasperated—“that’s what New York is all about. I’m making it up to you.”

“Great.” I try my best to drag him over to the table. “Consider yourself forgiven. Now, let’s eat.”

I scurry to my seat and whip off the dome only to find my favorite crustacean staring back at me with the tail already neatly pieced off just waiting for me to give it a butter bath. I think Warren would have done miles better to have sent two dozen red lobsters instead of roses. If I were even mildly riding the fence, I might be swayed by deep-sea culinary delights, but I’ll take chocolate and wildflowers any day if it means I get Ace in the end.

“You sure know what I like.” I dig in. If I have to eat a sacrificial meal to spur this hostile takeover along I’m pretty damn glad it comes equipped with a shiny red spine and beady little eyes.

“Of course, I know what you like.” Warren reaches over and places his hand over mine just as I’m about to dive into the first golden delicious bite. “And I know what you need.” His eyes fix on mine, and now my appetite is waning. Why do I get the feeling I might want to save one of these claws for use once he starts chasing me around the furniture? “I’m all about giving you the best. We’re going to have an entire lifetime of this shit, Reese.” His jaw squares out. Warren looks like one of those underwear models they bronze out and blowup over Times Square. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only girl on the planet who’s not attracted to him. “You realize we’re not like other people. We’re so fucking lucky.” He shakes his head as he starts in on his meal.

I pop the luscious bite into my mouth and contemplate his theory. “I guess you’re right.” I don’t mind talking through a mouthful of food. In fact, the more I disgust Warren and kill any fantasy he might have of me being his plus one on any of his future hostile dinner takeovers, the better. “But I kind of like the simple life. Camping, a nice crackling fire, picnic baskets—massages.” Specifically the kind Ace gives with his tongue, but I leave that part out.

“Camping?” He ticks his head back a notch as if I suggested we scan the corner for cockroaches and eat them for dessert. “This is as close to camping as I’ll ever let you get.” He gives a greasy smile. “And, in just a little bit, I’ll be giving you a massage you will never forget right in front of that kickass fire.” He flicks his tongue in the air, and I straighten in my seat.

Dear God, deliver me from Warren.

He picks up the wine and fills both our glasses to the rim. “Knock some back, would you? Tonight is special. We’re in New York City, baby. And, in just a little while, we’ll be working those mattress springs. I think it’s about time we take it to another level.”

I stare at the broken lobster and muse at the fact he feels like my only friend in New York right about now, and I suddenly don’t have the heart to eat him. For a moment I contemplate running to the bathroom and calling Ace to help figure a way out of this mess until I remember my phone has conveniently died. Besides, even if Ace offered to drive here to get me, he wouldn’t arrive until morning. I would never ask him to drive all night. It’s not like I’m some damsel in distress. I can certainly hold my own. I mean I’ll just get another room—

A gasp gets locked in my throat when I remember the fact my wallet is still snug in my backpack next to my bed. Perfect. I’m officially trapped in New York with Warren and his wandering hands while visions of mattress moves dance in his head.

I bet that’s what Dad meant by he and Beverly “took care of everything,” as in ran up my battery and hid all my credit cards. Nice. Not that my father would do that, but, dear God almighty, I sure like spreading the blame for my idiocracy.

“What’s up?” Warren is already on his fifth glass of imported vino which I’m betting is a good thing. Maybe he’ll pass out for the night, and he won’t have to face the world’s most expensive rejection. And I do plan on doling it out sooner than later.

“Nothing, really. I was just thinking I should probably hit the sack. My head has been on fire ever since we got off that thing, and I’ve got these insane cramps.” I double over and let out a horrific groan.

“Well then let’s get you to bed, little lady.” Warren does his best impersonation of a cowboy, and this mildly alarms me. He whips off his jacket and scoops me up in his arms. Before I can process what’s happening, he’s on top of me with his tongue halfway down my throat, and the mattress rodeo has officially begun.

“Get off!” I try to push him away, but he’s suddenly morphed into a wall of granite. “I can’t have sex with you. I’m on my period.”

“What?” He jumps off as if I were on fire. “Shit. That’s fucking disgusting.”

“It
so
is.” I decide to go with it. “In fact, I turn into a red fountain at night, so you might want to sleep on the couch.”

“
Shit
.” He hops off the bed so fast, you’d think I just gave him head lice. Warren examines his dress shirt, for stains no doubt. “We’re here until Sunday. You’ll be over that shit by then, right?”

Sunday
?

“Nope,” I sag into the feathered bedding as if I were disappointed myself. “I’ll have it for another six days straight.” Okay, so I may have stretched the truth, but it’s really none of his damn business how long my body decides to punish me in advance for the luxury of having children.

Warren groans as if he’s having his balls mauled off by a rhino.

“Heavy—
heavy
, bleeding.” I nod.

“All right, all right.” He covers his ears. “I fucking get it.” He snatches up a pillow and heads to the couch.

There’s that.

The next day sucks. I mostly shop while Warren mostly tags along like he’s actually enjoying it which makes me feel horrible on several levels because, for one, he’s buying, but if I’m going to break things off with him, we might as well keep our friendship intact. He won’t even hold my hand due to the red plague that’s racking my body, so, all in all, it’s panning out to be a rather platonic experience—far more genuinely so than the one I’m having with Ace.

Early Sunday morning a helicopter picks us up on the roof, and we do the entire first day in reverse, only its Warren who drives us back to Loveless from our father’s legal offices.

I don’t have the balls to look at him all the way up the mountain. I keep waiting for a lull in traffic, or a lull in my panicked brain to break up with him officially, but it feels like that moment never arrives, and, before I know it, Kennedy is waving at me from the balcony of the house.

“Thanks for the trip, Warren,” I say, and he gives a brief nod, the look of frustration rife on his face. “It was a really nice thought.”

“Yeah, whatever. We’ll get it right.” He snarls into the window.

I get out and watch as he drives down the street before turning and glancing over at Ace’s cabin. His car is tucked in his driveway, and just the sight of that old Cougar warms me.

It’s so nice to be back in Loveless—even nicer to know I’ll be seeing Ace in just a little while.

Ace

The sun shines bright over the lake, pressing its heat over Loveless, hot and smothering as if someone stuck a magnifying glass in the sky just to intensify the torture. It’s been three long days since I’ve last seen Reese.

Brylee came over Friday night and let me know the tricks Warren had up his designer sleeve. She told me that Reese forgot her wallet, that her phone was dead. As soon as she filled me in I thought about heading to New York and trying to find her myself. That image Reese painted of Warren trying to force himself on her haunted me all weekend. But she handled him then, and I knew she could do it again if it came right down to it. There was obviously a phone in her room. She could have called the police if things got out of hand. I guess what I’m most worried about is that Warren somehow managed to rekindle the flame. Maybe Reese discovered that luxury hotels and helicopter weekends are something she prefers to a popup tent and a rusted-out Cougar.