KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (19 page)

“Thank you for dinner,” I tell him, then look at Lillie, who’s adjusting her purse strap over her arm. “And thanks for all the help.”

“No problem, Lucy. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” she answers. “Come on, Corbin. I’ll let you walk me out.”

Corbin moves to where she’s standing and gently pushes on the small of her back. When his eyes scan the elegant bar on the other side of the room, he abruptly stops to focus. He narrows his eyes before his gaze quickly swings to Michael.

It’s as if the two of them carry on another brief and unheard conversation. Soon after, it’s Michael’s gaze that shifts to the woman sitting alone.

She has dark brown hair, swept up off her shoulders. She’s dressed in a beautiful, mid-length, red cocktail dress. Her jewelry is elegant, long earrings and thin bracelets complimenting her attire.

At my side, Michael tenses, then looks at Corbin and nods only once. He may not think his reaction is telling, but that silent acknowledgment is enough.

Corbin says nothing, pushing Lillie’s back once again. He clears his throat before telling Michael in jest, “Have Lucy home by eleven.”

I don’t hear Michael’s reply before he takes a healthy drink of his own wine. He’s only just now finishing his first glass, and I realize that maybe I shouldn’t have had so many. My fourth stares at me, mocking me to finish it. All of a sudden, knowing I’ll be alone with my boss who I’ve not only kissed but haven’t stopped thinking about since I’m parched.

Once they’re gone, I sit quietly, waiting for Michael to dismiss me to leave. He doesn’t. Instead, he asks, “You didn’t bring Ruby with you tonight?”

“You
would
remember that.”

Lifting his eyebrows, I get another smirk along with his empty threat. “And you’ll never forget I remember it.”

Ignoring the light shining in his eyes, appreciating the beauty in them, I finally answer, “No, I didn’t bring her. She’s
really
dead. My friend, Shannan, has been my ride to work.”

Without notice, his gaze shifts back to the dark-haired woman at the bar. I want to ask who she is and whether or not he knows her. I’d like to know if he finds her attractive. He told me he dates models, and the woman we’re both looking at fits the mold. I don’t ask anything, though, because it’s none of my business.

Once Michael finishes paying the bill, I sense the evening is over. I pull out my phone. “I’ll call a cab. You don’t have to wait.”

Michael reaches over, grabs my phone, and tosses it into my purse sitting between us on the floor.

“I said I’ll take you home.”

“Really, it’s no problem,” I needlessly explain. “You can go.”

Shaking his head and reaching down to grab my purse, he hands it to me, then sits up. I take it, place it on my lap, and study the zipper, wishing away this uncomfortable silence.

I hadn’t expected to feel Michael’s hand move the hair away from my neck. In and out, back and forth, he uses his thumb to draw small circles near my jaw. Every caress, every pass… I feel everywhere.

I take soft breaths in an effort to remain calm, but it’s quickly fading.

Twisting my fingers in front of me, I close my eyes and try not to imagine what his skin looks like against my own.

Does he feel this?

Michael applies slight pressure, bringing me out of my thoughts before explaining, “When you’re ready, we’ll go.”

“Okay,” I answer, breathless.

“She’s compliant,” he says to himself.

With my eyes still closed, my head dropping slightly to the side as he continues caressing the back of my neck with his fingertips, I reply, “Not compliant. Just…”

Comfortable?

Safe?

Aroused?

Before I can choose an appropriate response, Michael gives my neck a final squeeze, then releases me. I feel the loss of his touch immediately and sigh in response to it.

“Look at me, Lucy.” At his words, my head comes up and I turn toward him.

I’m relieved to find he’s not judging, as he has so many times in the past, but slightly alarmed to find he’s assessing instead.

“I’m really not compliant,” I tell him for no good reason. I guess hearing him say it the way he did made me feel something I’d rather not admit.

Completely captivated by him.

Wholly consumed in his presence.

Entirely drawn to know what makes him the way he is.

“It wasn’t meant as an insult,” he tells me with sincerity.

“It wasn’t a compliment,” I return.

Michael’s mouth tips up on one side before he asks, “Do you want one of those?”

My breath hitches as I take in his question. He doesn’t strike me as the type of person who gives compliments to women like me. I still think he finds me irritating, but I challenge him. “If you have one, I’m listening.”

Reaching over and grazing my temple with the tip of his finger, he moves the hair from my face. I sit still, enjoying the contact, waiting to hear what he’ll say.

“You have a nice smile,” he tells me.

I’m not sure if it’s the effects of the alcohol or hearing the most generic compliment known to women, but I laugh out loud. So hard, in fact, that I have to lean forward, my stomach aching. Once I’ve regrouped, I turn around and find him serious.

“Oh shit,” I whisper, leaning over and putting my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”

Looking down at our connection, he observes, “Apparently, my compliments are funny.”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just… I’ve seen your girlfriend. I’m guessing it’s not her smile that you find so…complimentary.”

“Oh yeah?” he tests. “What about her would be so
complimentary
?”

He’s challenging me, and I’m about to fail.
How did we get on this subject again? Oh yes, four glasses of wine.

Shit
.

“Her sparkling personality?” I ask, hoping I’ve not stepped out of line.

I realize I haven’t when he laughs. He’s not as obvious with his, but the small, one-syllable chuckle was enough to confirm he’s amused.

“Let’s go. I’m sure you have other things to do on a Saturday night than make fun of your boss.”

Once I’m fully upright, the room starts to spin. Michael senses this and grabs my hand. Just as I’m steady, he releases it and hands over my purse. When I notice his focus moves back to the woman again, I feel dwarfed and trivial in her presence.

“Thank you,” I respond, walking past him in the direction of the door without waiting for him to follow.

Michael

The ride to Lucy’s is quiet. Not because she’s passed out, but because it seems the events of the week have finally had a chance to settle.

When she made her entrance for dinner, wearing a simple evening gown which she made beautiful, I refused to take my mind’s bait. I wasn’t going to give her appearance another thought. I couldn’t, if for no other reason than Lillie would notice.

Corbin had no issue taking her in, though. He was smiling at her in a way I hated—warmly and with acquaintance. All week, they’d been bantering back and forth. He’d say something she thought was funny, and she’d give it back without a care. The thought of the two of them together caused a stir in my gut which nearly made me physically sick. In reaction, whether it was for my benefit or Corbin’s, I leaned in and positioned my arm possessively around her chair.

But touching the soft skin of her neck and face after they left – that was all for me.

During dinner, it was mainly Corbin and Lillie who kept the conversation flowing. Lucy could hardly get a word in edgewise. I’m not entirely certain she would’ve had much to say anyway.

I wanted her to have something to talk about, though, whether it be another smartass comment like she’s so used to making, a personal story about her life I never knew, or even a remark in regards to how much she enjoys her job. She didn’t say much, though. She just kept sipping on her wine as though she’d never be able to enjoy another.

“How’s your girlfriend?” Lucy asks, interrupting my thoughts.

“I don’t think it matters.” And it’s true. “She wasn’t my girlfriend before, and I don’t see her anymore.”

“You don’t?”

“No,” I reply.

After Lucy left Ashlie and me alone in my office, I told her we were over. It wasn’t a decision I contemplated for long. Ashlie wasn’t important to me, and she was becoming difficult. I didn’t care to continue trying to work around her tantrums and rudeness in regards to Lucy.

“I’m glad you don’t talk to her. She isn’t a very nice person,” Lucy voices further. “But I guess as pretty as she is, she doesn’t think she needs to be.”

“How’s that?”

Ignoring my question, pressing forward with seemingly whatever comes to mind, Lucy asks, “Did you know the woman sitting at the bar?”

“Yes. She’s someone I used to know.”

“Another model,” she breathes out, sounding defeated.

“Yes,” I confirm. “Another model.”

“Ashlie judges me. Without knowing anything about my life, she thinks she knows who I am.”

“Ashlie does a lot of things she shouldn’t.”

“She’s so pretty, but so mean.”

“Lucy, do you have a point?” I ask, hoping she gets to it soon. I hate talking about Ashlie with anyone, but mainly Lucy.

“Aurora is gorgeous
and
nice. So is Ariel. And even Lady, but she’s a dog, so I’m not sure that counts.”

“Lucy?” I interrupt, not knowing who or what in the hell she’s talking about.

“Pocahontas,” she names next. When she does, it finally dawns on me where her head’s at. “Now
she’s
pretty,” she continues. “And she doesn’t even care. She just lives her own life and follows her own path.”

I decide to end her rambling. Reaching over and grabbing the hand sitting in her lap, I give it a gentle squeeze and ask, “Are you good?”

Her fingers return the gesture with careful contact before threading them through mine. It’s small, but I feel her pulse in the tips as she softly moves her thumb back and forth under my own.

“I’m okay,” she assures.

She pulls her hand away too soon, focuses on the window, and uses the tip of her finger to draw a small heart where the humidity had set.

“Who’s Aurora?” I query, only remembering the first name she blurted out.

With her unusual topic of conversation, I’m finally able to focus on something else. Something other than remembering the touch of her lips, the warmth of her skin, and how either of them affected me.

“Aurora?” she repeats, then scrunches her face tightly in disbelief. The light of the dashboard is dim, but I can still make out her subtle, yet over-dramatic, disappointment. “She’s Sleeping Beauty.”

“Ah, I see.”

“You can learn a lot from fairy tales if you watch them closely enough,” she says.

Her words aren’t a lie
. She
believes them, and her tone tells me she’s convinced in her belief.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “It’s the villains in them ya gotta watch, though. They want to steal everything from you, even if you don’t have anything worth taking.”

My mind flips back to the day I went to her apartment. She called me Captain Hook, accusing me of stealing all the fun. I don’t smile at the memory, as I had the day after, but rather feel something deep. I just don’t know what it is.

“She blames me,” Lucy says on an inhaled breath.

Turning to look at her as she studies the road nearing her apartment, I question, “Who blames you, Lucy? For what?”

I know she’s talking about Margret Monroe, but can’t share this. I want
her
to explain. If I can get her to talk about it, I can offer my help. If she won’t let me, she may consider Jane or Corbin.

Unfortunately, sighing with exhaustion, she changes the subject. “Thank you for the ride. I could’ve paid for a cab.”

I wonder briefly what the price of a cab would cost her, and if she were truly able to afford it. I don’t know exactly what her salary had been before Corbin hired her, and I realize I have no idea what we’re paying her now. I need to find out.

“Is Dillon with your mom at your house?”

“No, he’s at hers,” she replies in a voice laced with sleep. “He’ll be home Sunday.”

I don’t attempt to make any other conversation until we’re at her place, sitting in the dimly lit parking lot in front of her building.

“Are you okay?” I ask again. When her eyes come to mine, I can see the effects of her week, coupled with the wine, are weighing heavily. “Do you need help getting inside?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

Trying to assist her in any way she’ll let me, I get out of the car and make my way to her door. I open it and offer my hand. After looking at me carefully for a brief second, she accepts. Once she steps out, she stumbles forward. I grab the top of her arms to catch her, holding on until I’m convinced she’s steady.

“Michael?” she whispers in the darkness once I let her go.

The street light shines, illuminating her delicate features. They’re soft and gentle. Even if I tried, I don’t think I could turn away.

“I’m right here, Lucy.”

“I…” she starts, then stops, stepping closer and closing the distance between us. “I…”