Chapter 5
Chapter Five
REBEKKA
Whose idea was it to drink six Dirty Martinis on an empty stomach? I may be older than Rian, but clearly, I’m not any wiser. My stomach churns as we step out into the starry night.
‘Bye.’ Ivy offers my cheek a slobbery kiss.
‘See you tomorrow,’ Scarlett calls. I’m still not convinced about that, but my brain is too foggy to argue.
‘Watch out for Baby Beckett,’ Avery warns me as she slides into the back of the Bentley. ‘He’s got quite the reputation with the ladies.’
‘Don’t I know it,’ I murmur, more sharply than I intended.
Rian stiffens beside me. ‘It’s not my fault all the good ones are taken.’ His hand squeezes my waist for a split second before he guides me towards his Porsche and opens the passenger door for me.
‘How come you don’t have a driver?’ I ask when he rounds the vehicle and slides into the seat beside me. The scent of his woodsy cologne mingles with the scent of leather. It’s a battle not to lean into his neck and snort it up like a drug.
‘I do, but I like driving.’ His dark eyes flick sidewards and electricity thrums between us.
I’d like him to drive me.
And I’m not talking about in his car.
Fuck.
I’m drunk.
Drunk and horny.
Not a good combination, but an inevitable one when my husband hasn’t touched me for well over a year and I don’t have the time, energy or inclination to get myself off.
‘What about a bodyguard then? Don’t you have one of them?’
‘Do I need one?’ His tone is overtly flirtatious.
‘Do I?’ I ask quietly, as his eyes drift to mine again.
He lifts his hand from the steering wheel, and I think he’s going to drop it on my thigh, but instead, he grabs the gear stick, then turns to fully face me over the console. ‘I would never hurt you.’
There’s something so sincere, so honest, so wholesome in his tone that I believe him. We both know what he’s referring to, and it isn’t physical danger. He knows what his friend is like. He knows, and he’s assuring me that I’m safe with him.
Tears spring to my eyes.
I tear my gaze away and stare out at the moonlit sky.
‘Are you hungry?’ He asks, seeming to sense my need for distraction.
‘Starving,’ I confess.
‘What would you like?’
I don’t hesitate. ‘A bagel slathered with butter and a full fat Coke.’
‘Hmm.’ He pulls out into the traffic, glancing around. ‘Would you settle for some garlic cheese fries?’
‘Yuck.’ I wrinkle my nose. ‘What about thin sliced pizza? I’d smash a Penne alla vodka right now. Or even a baked ziti pizza.’
It’s his turn to wrinkle his nose. ‘Only Americans would put carbs on carbs.’ He shakes his head.
‘Don’t knock it until you try it.’ My stomach gurgles. I’m praying it’s the thought of food and not because I’m about to taste Dirty Martinis again for all the wrong reasons.
‘Don’t suppose there’s any late night diners around here that I don’t know about? I’d settle for some pancakes.’
‘No diners.’
I watch him through the darkness.
Course there isn’t. I finger the charm bracelet on my wrist and sigh. ‘Nothing here feels like home.’
With his eyes firmly focused on the road ahead, I’m free to perve on—I mean study—his razor sharp jawline and chiselled cheekbones with no danger of being busted.
I sigh.
He really is fucking beautiful, and it’s not the alcohol clouding my vision. His full lips part like he’s about to speak, then his mouth closes again.
‘What?’ I probe.
His head twists towards me for a split second as his eyes search my face. ‘I could make you pancakes, I suppose.’
‘You can cook?’
He scoffs. ‘How hard can it be?’
God, this man makes me laugh! ‘That wasn’t a yes. Do you even have the right ingredients?’ I really would like some pancakes right now.
‘We might not do pasta on pizza, sweetheart,’ my stomach flips at the term of endearment, ‘but I’m pretty sure every house in Ireland has eggs and flour,’ he says wryly.
‘Ah ha!’ I lurch forward in my seat. ‘But do you have the main ingredient?’
‘Which is?’
‘Maple Syrup, of course!’ I slap his leg before I can stop myself. The sensation of his thick muscular quad beneath my palm sends shockwaves charging through every inch of my body. I snatch my hand back like I’ve been scalded.
A heavy silence falls between us. This attraction between us is nothing new… but somehow, tonight, it’s different. Maybe because we both know my husband’s in Paris with his latest floozy. Rian looked so guilty when the girls mentioned Paris it was as if he was the one cheating on me.
After several long beats, I reach out to turn the radio on. Weirdly enough, he seems to have the same idea at the exact same second. Our fingers collide in front of the sound system, and once again, my hand is on fire. ‘Sorry,’ I mumble awkwardly.
‘Me too,’ Rian says. For some reason, I get the feeling he’s not referring to our fingers touching, but something else entirely.
‘Maybe I should just go straight home.’ I don’t want to. The thought of spending another lonely night padding around the penthouse is doing absolutely nothing for me. But going home with Rian isn't my smartest move.
And it’s not him I don’t trust.
It’s me.
Every time he’s near me, heat creeps into my skin, slides beneath it and swirls through my sad little soul. It’s not just the physical attraction. He has this innate way of making me smile, even when I don’t want to. I feel… happier when he’s making one of his suggestive jokes.
‘You’re not going home until you’ve eaten something, whether it’s pancakes, pizza, or the fries,’ he says in a voice that I don’t feel like arguing with.
‘Fine.’ I rest my head back against the headrest and allow my eyelids to flutter closed. I’m so tired. So very tired.
I jolt awake to find we’re in the underground car park of Rian’s apartment block. His hand is clasped around mine. Has he been watching me sleep?
If it was anyone but him, it would be creepy rather than cute, but I don’t have time to overthink it.
The urge to be sick is rising rapidly in my stomach.
I yank the door handle and hop out as quickly as my heels permit, and manage to drag myself out of his sight before I vomit into the nearest gutter.
Classy, right?
Could I be anymore disgusting?
Rian hovers behind me, the sound of his pacing footsteps echoing off the concrete. I reach into my handbag for a tissue and dab my mouth. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I finally say, spinning slowly to face him.
Instead of disgust on his face, his expression is one of concern. ‘Don’t be sorry. You think I’ve never been sick before? Never overshot the runway? Happens to the best of us, sweetheart.’
That word—sweetheart. It sets my soul on fire.
He steps closer, closing the distance between us.
‘Don’t.’ I hold my hand out. ‘I’m disgusting.’
His huge eyes flare as they slowly drink me in. ‘You’re a lot of things, Beks, but disgusting could never be one of them. Come on.’ He twists towards the entrance of the building. ‘Let’s get you cleaned up.’
I’m too cold and too tired to argue with him, but my feet refuse to budge from their spot on the concrete.
He offers a tentative hand to me. I stare at it for a minute, swallowing hard before I take it.
His warm fingers wrap around mine. That familiar electricity skitters over the back of my hand, shoots up my arm and straight down my spine as I fall into step with him.
Much like the building Anthony and I live in, the décor in Rian’s building is plush.
There’s chrome, marble, and mirrors everywhere.
I catch sight of myself as we pass by the concierge and step into the lift. Rian doesn’t let go of my hand.
‘You lied.’ I whisper, catching sight of myself in the mirrored wall.
‘About what?’ He cocks his head.
‘I am disgusting.’ I rake my fingers through my dishevelled hair.
The lift door slides closed. We’re alone.
It’s terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.
The air is thick with sexual tension. ‘If you weren’t married to my best friend, I’d show you exactly how disgusting you are not, right here, right now in this lift.
’ His voice is low and earnest and weighted with the same want that’s haunted me since the night we met.
My breath catches in my throat. ‘If I weren’t married to your best friend, I’d let you.’
Our eyes lock. All the things that we’ve never said rise like smoke swirling between us.
‘Why couldn’t your father have asked mine to invest in Remington Publishing?’ He shakes his head.
It’s the first time we’ve ever spoken about the attraction between us. It was probably inevitable, but it still feels like opening a can of worms.
‘Because my father has never done anything helpful for me in my entire life,’ I admit with a shrug. ‘In fact, no man has.’
Silence falls between us again. The lift ascends to the top floor. The penthouse. The doors slide open silently. We step out into the opulent corridor. Two suited security staff man Rian’s front door.
‘Evening,’ he greets them with a warm smile. ‘Go to bed, guys. I’m not going anywhere tonight.’
‘Yes, Sir. Call if you need anything.’ They leave quietly in the lift we just got out of.
‘Does that mean I’m not going anywhere tonight?’ I ask in a quiet voice.
‘Do you want to?’ He presses his thumb to the lock, and it opens as his fingerprint is processed. He motions for me to enter his apartment ahead of him.
I’ve been here before, several times, always with Anthony. That was in the beginning though, when I was still his shiny new toy.
‘Honestly?’ I step inside, my feet sinking into the plush cream carpet.
Unlike the sterile icy penthouse I share with Anthony, Rian’s walls are bathed in golden light from carved alabaster sconces, every corner warm, inviting, opulent but intimate.
The warm glow and tasteful furnishings soften the cream marble, turning this place into something that feels lived in rather than staged.
He follows me in. The door closes with a soft click.
‘I’d stay here forever if I could get away with it.’ The words slip out before I can stop them. His eyes find mine, and for one heart-stopping second, I wish he’d ask me to.