Seven
SEVEN
“No one has ever outrun the Maro Empyreal.”
“I may not be able to run, but I can hide.”
Con Sulley and Lys Amarga, The Quantum Wraith
S unlight hit Sutton’s eyelids, bright and insistent, warning her the day was far too advanced for her to still be sleeping. She startled awake, automatically reaching for her phone on the bedside table as her first action of the day. Her barely open eyes made out the time on the screen—11:30 a.m.? Oh no. No no no. She had things to do and places to see and…
Xavier to apologize to, for vomiting on what looked like rather pricey hiking shoes.
The memory hit her like the softball to the stomach she took in gym class, always her top-line standard for pain coupled with social embarrassment. She squeezed her eyes shut against the fresh waves of nausea, this time from envisioning the horrified look on his face just before she…wait.
Did she also pass out? Seriously?
She might not ever show her face in public again.
Slowly her brain came back online, warning her nothing was familiar. She had on an old LAU shirt, but it was not the well-worn green-and-gold T-shirt she normally wore to bed. This was a film school T-shirt, black and white, and far roomier. And then she noticed her surroundings for the first time.
This was not her room in the main building.
She was in bedroom decorated in the usual style of the Pronghorn Ranch, the Old West via Vegas in the 1950s. There was a mid-century dresser in the corner like hers, but this room was big enough to hold a sofa upholstered in brocade fabric featuring running mustangs. There was an additional window—the source of the sunlight that woke her up—and the bedding was a step up in softness from hers as well.
Her gaze whipped around the room. Her clothes were nowhere to be seen, but her purse was on the chair pulled out perpendicular to the desk. She oriented herself based on her view of the grounds outside, and her already queasy stomach took another hit. She had to be in the big house. As in Xavier’s residence. As in, what the hell did she do?
Her mouth tasted of sawdust and ash. A bottle of water was on the bedside table, and she downed the contents, which barely made a dent in her thirst. She needed more liquid, food and her clothes, in that order of urgent need. Testing her legs for steadiness—and ensuring her T-shirt was long and opaque enough to provide some dignity—she ventured outside the room.
The sounds of classical music and silverware and plates clanking together drew her down a hallway, passing a large living room and a formal dining room. The noises came from the kitchen, cozy and warm but with the latest in high-end appliances. An elegant older woman, her silver-white hair in a stylish bob, was unloading the dishwasher while humming along to Mozart’s “Ein Kleine Nachtmusik” coming from a wireless speaker.
Sutton cleared her throat, wincing at the dry soreness.
Before she could find her voice, the woman turned and smiled. “Hello! You’re awake. You must be hungry,” she said, with a slight Eastern European accent.
“I am.” Ugh. Frogs were more melodious than her. “But, um, where…what…?” Words would not appear in her brain, so she pointed at the T-shirt she wore.
“Ah! You are wondering about your things. I have laundered your clothes.” The woman indicated a pile of neatly folded clothing. Sutton recognized her jeans and top and gathered them to her. “And your phone is charging, just over there. I am Ilsa Petrovych,” the woman continued. “You are Sutton, no?
“Yes.” So many questions crowded her head, but she was unsure how to ask them. What happened during her memory gap last night? Why was she in Xavier’s house? Who was Ilsa?
Who undressed her?
As if reading the panic on Sutton’s face, Ilsa gave her a reassuring smile and pulled out a stool at the high kitchen counter. “Here. Sit. I’ll bring you food.” She placed a glass of water in front of Sutton. “And drink this. Don’t want you fainting again.”
Sutton gratefully accepted the water but remained standing. “Again? So I passed out?”
“You don’t remember? No, I suppose you wouldn’t, you were in and out for a while. That’s why Xavier put you in the guest room on the ground floor. Much closer than carrying you to your suite in the main building.”
That explained the vague impressions still floating in Sutton’s consciousness: Xavier’s arms around her, his dark gaze staring at her, pupils wide. His breath warm on her cheek. His fingers brushing her hair off her forehead…
Ilsa put a plate of quiche and flatware in front of her. “Eat.”
Sutton’s stomach growled at the appetizing smell. She sat down, picking up the fork, but her right arm hurt. She pushed up the sleeve of her borrowed T-shirt to reveal a bandage.
“Ah,” Ilsa said. “From the IV. Lucky for you the production medic was at the party.” She nodded at the T-shirt Sutton wore. “You woke up enough for me to help you put that on.”
Sutton stopped eating as a new avalanche of embarrassment threatened to bury her. “I’m sorry to have been such trouble.”
Ilsa laughed. “Not at all. I’ve worked for Xavier, looking after Erik since he was two. Now, that’s trouble. Although he is mostly a good kid, when he isn’t eavesdropping,” she called out.
Erik appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Hi, Sutton.”
“Hey, Erik.” She gave him a brief wave, memories of the night before returning in vivid Technicolor. Erik standing next to Xavier, the same stance, the same expressions… She pushed the plate of quiche away.
“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Erik protested to Ilsa. “I was waiting for you to stop talking. You always say it’s rude to interrupt.”
Ilsa threw her hands in the air. “Of course. You were waiting. But let Sutton finish eating before you bombard her with your comic books. She just woke up.”
“Now? Really?” he asked.
“Why? What time is it?” Sutton grabbed her phone and looked at the screen, also noting with a groan she had several missed messages from her parents. “It’s noon? It can’t be noon.”
At least there was one shiny silver lining. Xavier was nowhere to be found. She’d count her small blessings. The longer she could put off that sure-to-be horribly mortifying encounter, the better.
She gathered up her laundry. “Thanks for the food and the hospitality, sorry I slept so late. I’ll change in the guest room and then get out of your hair.”
“But coffee is brewing,” Ilsa said.
“Rain check!” Sutton exited the kitchen as fast as she could. When Ilsa and Erik were safely out of sight, her shoulders fell from what seemed like their permanent position around her ears. Then she stopped. Which way was the guest room?
She stood in the hall, unsure. Should she go left or right? She decided on right and turned on her heels—
And came face to face with Xavier.
“Oh!” She nearly dropped her clothes.
He appeared as if he had recently showered, his dark hair brushed back and damply curling at the ends. His plain black T-shirt clung to well-defined pecs and outlined broad shoulders while gray sweatpants hung low on his hips.
She’d never seen him look better. Or more appealing. The wave of warmth that had always kindled when he was near became a tsunami, the structural integrity of her knees as unreliable as ten years ago. “After you,” she said.
He didn’t move. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, you know, fine. Since embarrassment isn’t an actual cause of death.”
A half smile dented his left cheek. “Glad to hear it.”
“I, um, want to…” She ran her free hand through her hair and then instantly regretted that choice when her fingers met snarls. There went her plan to encounter him only on her terms. Just her luck to run into him with sleep creases in her cheeks, a rat’s nest on her head and wearing only an oversized T-shirt.
A T-shirt, with nothing on underneath, made clear by the bra and panties visible in her hands. And the heat rising in her belly, flooding her chest and face. Her nipples pushing against the thin material.
Neither of them had on their usual armor. And it was intoxicating.
She didn’t realize she had stopped speaking until she clocked his quizzical expression. “You want to…?” he prompted.
Right. “I, um, want to thank you for everything you did for me last night. Ilsa filled me in. I promise, I didn’t sleep in on purpose.”
“You needed the rest,” he said. “Medic’s orders. Don’t worry about it.”
“Your shoes didn’t need the damage, however. I’m incredibly sorry.”
“They’re just shoes.” He shrugged. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“I am, other than the whole being embarrassed thing. I only had two cocktails.”
“Dehydration was the medic’s diagnosis.”
She frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. I stocked up on liquids.”
“Energy drinks are not hydrating. Housekeeping found what they called, and I quote, ‘a lifetime supply of empty Fyzade cans’ in your room.”
She frowned. “That’s an exaggeration. Maybe a case of Fyzade. Or…two.”
“You’re making their point for them.”
“I thought the rule was whatever happened between you and housekeeping stays in your room.”
“That’s Vegas. And even then, I’ve rarely found what happens there stays there.” He shrugged, his smile spreading to both cheeks. That smile, on those damnable kissable lips.
Those lips that kissed someone else as least long enough to have a child with them. A child he didn’t tell her about when they discussed working together after she graduated.
And more.
The heat left her cheeks to settle in her heart, a burning knot of pain. “I suppose you’re right. We can’t all keep secrets tightly zipped up. Or completely forget them. Must be nice to put people out of your mind as if they never existed. Maybe for you, they never did.”
And there it was. The bitterness she tried so long to tamp down, hidden and tucked away. The anger that he could see in her again and act as if they had been barely acquainted outside the classroom. As if they never shared their dreams, their hopes, their desires.
As if she didn’t matter. Never mattered. And certainly not to him.
Served her right for pursuing something her heart wanted when her head told her not to take the risk.
She pushed away from the hall wall, holding her head high, not blinking so the tears threatening to make an appearance wouldn’t fall. “Excuse me.”
His hand, warm and strong, grasped her upper arm. “What the hell did you mean by that, Sutton?”
Xavier stared at the woman who had upended his life. Twice. He wouldn’t survive a third time. So he was determined to get through the next few months, finish The Quantum Wraith , and walk off into the sunset with his sanity intact. He and Sutton were adults. There was no reason why they couldn’t have a calm, respectful, professional working relationship. He’d learned at a very young age he couldn’t make people like him, much less love him, and chasing their affection only resulted in more rejection.
But he’d had enough of walking on tiptoes around her. She blew hot and cold, turning from almost human to stone incased in ice without warning. If he knew what the triggers were, he would gladly avoid them. But there was no pattern he could discern, just random landmines to trip.
“What did you mean?” he repeated.
Sutton tugged her arm, and he immediately let go. “I need to get dressed.”
“No.”
Her eyes widened. “No? Of course I need to—
“No. Until now, I’ve let you call the shots. I’ve always let you call the shots, but damn it, I’m not playing that game this time. If you want to pretend when we’re around other people that we met for the first time on the set, go ahead. But right now, it’s just us.”
“If I want to pretend? I’m following your lead. You’re the one who looked at me as if I’m an uninvited, unwanted studio exec come to ruin your fun.”
What the hell ? “You showed up out of the blue on a day where things were going from bad to catastrophic. How was I supposed to look at you? Thankful you reappeared after a decade of silence? Grateful you reentered my life just to take my film away?”
Her mouth opened and closed a few times. Her voice, when it came, was thin and reedy. “You were the one who left. We made plans to meet, and I went to your office and the department secretary told me you had packed your things and you were gone, never coming back. And that was it. I never heard from you again. How dare you talk like I’m the one who disappeared!”
“If you spoke to Margie, then you know why I left. And you never contacted me .”
She was shaking her head. “She didn’t give me a reason for your exit, just said you weren’t returning to LAU and our grades would be ready the next day. She even patted my hand like she pitied me. Why would I reach out to you after that?”
No. That can’t be right. “I gave Margie a letter for you. The only contact information I had was your university email, and I didn’t want to risk the chance you might not check your account or lose access to it after graduation. She said she would deliver it when you came in.”
Her headshaking intensified. “All I received from her was a speech about putting college behind me and starting my real life.”
The day he departed LAU would be forever stored in the wiring of his brain, no matter how much he wished he’d never lived it. He could still recall the blue cardigan draped on the back of Margie’s chair, her eyes crinkling with a reassuring smile as he handed the envelope with Sutton’s name written in bold black letters to her. He started to speak, but Sutton cut him off with a snort.
“Maybe she knew to pity me. Was I the only one who didn’t know about Erik?”
Erik? What did Erik have to do with him and Sutton if she hadn’t read the letter? “I don’t follow.”
“Oh, please. How much amusement did I provide you, Xavier? Did your ego get a boost by having me trail after you like a puppy with a crush? When Jay came to give his lecture about cinematography, did you go out to drinks with him afterward and laugh about me?”
He was lost. So lost. Up a creek in the middle of the woods, no sun or moonlight to illuminate a path, utterly lost. “I have no idea what you mean. And I resent that you could think that of me.”
“I have eyes. I’m not blind.”
“Blind? What in the hell are you talking about?”
“And. You. Left.” She jabbed a finger into his chest with each word. “What else am I supposed to think?”
He grabbed her right hand with both of his, sandwiched her fingers tightly between his palms. “I left because my sister died. That night we—she was killed. Car accident.”
Sutton blinked at him. Her shoulders fell, all the fight in her fleeing. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry.” Her hand turned in his, her palm sliding to find his right hand, and she squeezed. “I had no idea.”
He hadn’t talked about Rosalie to anyone but Erik in a long time. No one in his professional life—well, other than Jay—knew he once had a sister. As for his parents, the less he and his parents spoke, the better. Rosalie had been the pride of their existence, their wanted child, the offspring who followed in their footsteps and devoted herself to science and research. Xavier was the afterthought child, a later in life mistake born fifteen years after his sister, who rejected their empirical, logical world to play at what they called “inconsequential, ephemeral fantasy.” His parents didn’t understand him, didn’t want to understand him.
But Rosalie did. Everything Xavier knew about kindness and treating others with respect, he learned from his older sister. She took on the role of caregiver for him far more easily and readily than his biological parents, who paid much more attention to their lab specimens and computers than to him. And she encouraged his imagination when his parents would stifle his stories and drawings.
It was Rosalie, who became an ER doctor, who helped him pay for film school when their parents refused to support his “frivolous” education and cut him off from their financial resources.
“She was coming out to California,” he said, finding the words one by one. “She needed a break, and we were going to drive up the coast after my seminar finished. She was running errands, picking up last-minute things before her flight, when she witnessed a traffic accident and got out of her car to help. That was the physician in her. But it was a busy street, and dark, and…”
“Oh, Xavier,” Sutton whispered, her hand tightening on his.
“We don’t think she saw the SUV coming. Doctors said she would have died instantly, so hopefully she didn’t feel any pain.” He may not talk about Rosalie much, but he didn’t forget. Recalling her death freshly pierced his heart anew each time.
He rubbed his free hand over his eyes. “Leaving LA, going to Connecticut—it’s all a blur now. But I know I gave Margie the letter for you.”
Sutton nodded, her fingers still tight on his. “I feel so… I’m so sorry. For your loss. I had no idea that’s why you left. Her death must have been such a shock.”
“And then I suddenly also had to take care of Erik, so—”
“You gained custody of Erik at the same time? Why? That’s too much to take on when you’re grieving. Couldn’t Erik’s mother continue to look after him?”
Erik’s mother? What? “Erik’s mother is—was—Rosalie. And, yes, she wanted me to become his guardian.”
Sutton’s eyes were wide, her pupils dark and large against her green irises. “Rosalie is… So you’re not… Oh my God, Xavier. I can’t imagine…”
“You thought I was Erik’s biological father?” Which meant… He did the calculations. “You thought I had a child and didn’t tell you.”
“In my defense, you and Erik have similar mannerisms. And you both jut out your lower lip like so—” she demonstrated “—when you’re deep in thought.”
Her imitation of Erik was spot on. And of him, he supposed. “You’re the first person who has ever remarked on that. Most are surprised to learn we’re related.”
“Was Rosalie blond, too?”
He shook his head. “No, Rosalie and I looked similar. Erik takes after his father, who abandoned them before Erik was born. He still doesn’t want anything to do with us. His loss.” The less said about Erik’s father, the better.
“I really like Erik. I’m so sorry, but it sounds like he’s much better off without his bio dad.”
Xavier was still stuck on Sutton’s earlier words. “All this time, you thought I had a child and didn’t tell you? No wonder you’ve been…” he searched for words that wouldn’t cause her to become a frosty statue “…testy.”
Her gaze narrowed, but then her face relaxed into a rueful grin. “No, I only believed that since last night. You ghosting me since graduation, however—” she shrugged “—that might have made me testy.”
Right. She said she didn’t receive his letter. “Well, now you know what happened. I didn’t mean to ghost you.” He loosened his grip, letting her escape if she wanted.
She refused, keeping her fingers entwined with his. “Xavier, I really am sorry. For everything. For your loss. For thinking you would disappear without a word. But…”
“But what?” His thumb began to trace a path along her warm skin.
“But—” she inhaled as he found her sensitive inner wrist “—you know, the gossip back then was that the secretary also had a crush on you. Maybe that’s why I didn’t get the letter. Still, does it matter? The past is the past. We can’t change it.”
“No. But we can move forward.”
Her gaze flashed. “I do wish I’d read what you’d written, though.”
“Dear Sutton.” He recited the letter he’d long ago committed to memory, retracing the words a thousand times in his mind, wondering where he went astray, said the wrong thing, put her off contacting him. “There’s no easy way to write this. My sister just died. I’m on the next flight to Connecticut. I’m sorry not to say goodbye in person. I meant every word I said last night. But graduation is a big deal. A time of transition. Opportunities will be coming your way fast. You should be free to accept whichever one you desire. I don’t know when or if I will be able to return to Los Angeles. So take your time. Take as much as you need. But if you still feel the same way after taking that time, call me. Or email. I don’t want you to think you’re being pressured, so the next contact is up to you.” He couldn’t stop stroking her skin. “Not the most romantic note.”
“Romantic enough.” Their gazes met and held, her eyes glistening. Her fingers tightened on his and he took a step toward her. Now only inches separated them. He became suddenly, viscerally aware of how easy it would be to lean down and capture her lips with his. Taste the unique sweetness that was Sutton and Sutton alone. Gather her to him, with only their T-shirts and his well-worn sweatpants between them. Cup her luscious ass and bring her fast to him, mold her against his cock, half hard since he first encountered her in the hall.
Finish, finally, what they started ten years ago that sultry Los Angeles night. He had invited his seminar students to a small party at his rented house in Los Feliz the night of graduation, a celebration for those who didn’t otherwise have plans. He could almost smell the night blooming jasmine, surrounding the porch where Sutton and he found themselves alone after the others had left, could almost hear the creaking of the porch swing as they sat thigh to thigh arguing over the merits of the latest Tarantino film. His entire being focused on her, transfixed. Like now.
And just like that night, her mouth parted, her pink tongue appearing to wet her lips. Her gaze dilated, her eyelids heavy, and she swayed toward him. Her breathing intensified, her chest visibly rising and falling, and he knew if he asked, she would consent to what was sure to be a repeat of the most mind-blowing kiss of their lives.
Plates crashed in the nearby kitchen, snapping him out of his haze.
Erik. He had responsibilities now that he didn’t then. From the moment he held two-year-old Erik and became his legal guardian, he vowed Erik would always know he came first. His nephew and now adopted son would never know the searing pain of being overlooked and belittled by a parent.
He wanted Sutton. Even now, his cock was warring with his brain. But he also needed her help bringing The Quantum Wraith in for a smooth landing so he could hopefully have even more power to choose his following project.
Erik would be a teenager soon, and the next few years would be critical for him, both in establishing a friend group and preparing for whatever he chose to pursue after high school. There would be more financial security for him, and their schedules could line up more now that Xavier had a studio film on his résumé.
Xavier dropped Sutton’s hand, instantly missing her warmth, her strength. “And I was right,” he said lightly, leaning away from her. “Opportunities did come your way.”
Her gaze, so open and vulnerable a moment ago, started to shutter. “I worked hard to get them.”
“Things turned out for the best. I had to be there for Erik.” Erik was his priority and always would be. He owed Rosalie that. He owed Erik that. “You’ve obviously found your place at Monument.”
His heart may not believe their current situation was the best of all possible outcomes. But to finish this movie and achieve his goals, his head would act as if it were.
She folded her arms close against her chest. “I have. In fact, I’m up for a promotion. To take Chester’s job. But that depends on delivering the film on time and on budget.”
He hated the distance in her expression. He hated even more knowing he put that distance there. “And I want to jump to the ranks of A-list directors. And that depends on delivering the best film I can possibly make.” He held out his right hand for a handshake. “Partners in getting what we both want?”
There. That was the best he could do. Because saying anything else—such as telling her, no, he did not want to pick her up and run with her to the nearest horizontal surface where they could finally allow the sparks that always flew between them turn into an all-consuming fire—would be a lie.
But Sutton was nothing if not perceptive. One of her traits that first drew him to her was her ability to read other people, both characters on the screen and in real life. Her gaze searched his and he was careful to keep his expression impassive.
She must have found—or not found—what she was seeking. “Partners. In making The Quantum Wraith a success,” she said, accepting his hand.
The electricity stung sharply, as always. But this time there were no subtle caresses, not explorations of skin against skin. Her grip was firm, almost painfully so. She meant business.
So did he. He returned her grasp, bone crush for bone crush.
Their hands untangled and dropped. Sutton turned her back on him without a word, her head held high as she disappeared toward the guest bedroom. A voice deep inside screamed to go after her, to not let this second chance slip away.
Then he heard Erik from behind him, chatting with Ilsa as they existed the kitchen, and he stayed where he was.