Chapter 32 #2
I’m furious at myself for caring that he’s texting an ex.
But it has to mean something. After my breakup with Devlin, we were kind to each other when we had to interact, but there was too much hurt there to stay close.
Maybe the fact that Preston’s friends with his ex means they didn’t care about each other enough to leave scars, no lingering hurts or residual feelings.
Or maybe it means one of them still has hope they’ll get back together.
I drive myself crazy wondering, but by the time I work up the nerve to go back to Preston’s table, he’s gone.
I pick up the money on the table, worrying that I upset him until I get done counting and realize he left exactly one nickel for a tip.
That stingy bastard! He’s rich as sin, and I’m working at a damn café just to pay the atrocious bills in L.A.
I’m steaming mad for the rest of my shift. If he thinks stiffing me is going to get me to come home with him, he’s in for a rude awakening. Here I was feeling all sympathetic and protective of him, and he reminded me exactly what kind of person he is and why I’m better off staying away.
If the day started bad when I woke up with a pounding head and marks on my body that made my heart sink with familiarity, it only gets worse.
It’s not unheard of for an asshole to leave no tip, though fortunately it doesn’t happen often.
I’m less upset about that than the fact that it was Preston, and I know he only did it to piss me off.
Worse, it worked. As if my day’s not quite shitty enough, a kid barfs on my shoes and my headache seems to get worse instead of better throughout the day.
By the time my shift is over, I’m ready to binge some mindless TV, have a glass of wine, and put it all behind me.
I drag myself up the steps to my apartment, hugging an arm under my boobs so they don’t go bouncing around and making my back hurt worse than it already does. When I get to my door, I shove my key in the lock, relieved that I’m finally home and can take my bra off and put my feet up.
Except the key doesn’t turn.
I jiggle my lock, then pull my key out and check that it’s the right one.
A sinking feeling starts up in my belly again, but I tell myself it’s silly.
It’s just a coincidence that this happened the day after Preston showed up.
I lean back on the wall, count to ten to calm my fury, and call building security.
“Hey, Doll,” drawls a voice on the other end that does not belong there.
“Did you get into my phone?” I demand.
“I’m sure I’d never do something like that,” Preston says.
“Preston,” I growl. “This is a complete violation of privacy.”
“Just keeping you safe, Doll.”
“Safe from what?”
“You know how many creeps would love to break into your apartment?”
I close my eyes and sigh. “I know there’s one creep who changed the number for my apartment’s security guard in my phone.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Did you also change my locks?” I ask. “How am I supposed to get into my apartment?”
“Maybe you should stop trying and come home.”
“I’m going to murder you, Preston Darling.”
He chuckles, and I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to see him walking along the second-floor balcony toward me, looking so good I could faint dead away if I wasn’t so pissed at him.
“You should never move into a place without changing the locks,” he says into the phone, still holding it to his ear even though he’s so close I could hear him if he called out. “That’s the first thing you do when you move.”
“Well, I might have to move again if assholes keep stiffing me on tips.”
He grins as he approaches. “Then maybe you’ll move back to Faulkner.”
“Not a chance,” I say, glowering at him.
When he reaches me, he hangs up and slips his phone into his pocket. Somehow, his smile below the mask makes him look sexy and mysterious, and damn it, why does he affect me this way?
My eyes fall to the logo on the shirt he’s wearing, and I gape up at him. He slides a key into my lock and pushes the door open, then hands me the keyring with two keys on it, the smug grin still on his face. “You’re welcome, Doll.”
“Why are you wearing that?” I ask, not moving from my doorway. Suddenly, my heart picks up speed, and I swallow hard. “Did you… Beat up my security guard and take his clothes?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says again. “I got a job, that’s all. I might be staying in the area a while.”
“You,” I say, still not budging. “Preston Darling is going to work as a security guard for an apartment complex. Isn’t that a little… menial for you?”
“Somebody’s gotta look out for you,” he says. “I don’t trust the others to get the job done. They didn’t seem especially concerned about the old locks on your door. Shouldn’t they be more careful with someone famous in their complex?”
“I’m not famous,” I remind him. “I had one song on the radio two years ago, and an album that flopped so hard the label dropped me.”
“You have a new song out now,” he points out.
“I am finally getting a little traction with a song off the second album,” I admit, trying not to smile and show how excited even the smallest bit of success makes me.
I don’t want to jinx it, count my chickens before they hatch.
It could fizzle out any day, and then I’d look like a jerk who got what was coming for not being humble.
“Exactly,” Preston says. “Can’t be too careful. I’m going to watch out for you, Dolly. Until you agree to come home, I’m going to be here, guarding your door.”
“You know you have to work the whole complex, not just my apartment,” I tell him. “Did you change everyone else’s locks, too, or just mine?”
“I don’t care about anyone else,” he says with a shrug.
“Then you probably shouldn’t be their security guard.”
“The other security guys don’t care,” he says. “At least I care about one person. I’m already number one in the company by default.”
I give him a hard look. “I’m not going home.”
“You will,” he says, resting an elbow on the doorframe over my head and leaning in like he’s going to kiss me. My tummy does a flip, and my thighs tremble. He tips my chin up before I catch myself and shove him back.
“I won’t,” I say. “This is my life. My job. My dream. I’m not giving it up for you.”
Before he can answer, I step inside and close the door, locking it behind me. I take a tiny bit of satisfaction in closing the door in his face.
When I go into my room to take off my bra and pantyhose, I see steam wafting out of the bathroom.
I step inside to see a bath already drawn, bubbles billowing from the water, the lovely scent of roses filling the air.
A bucket of ice sits near the tub, a bottle of expensive white wine chilling inside and an empty wine glass waiting to be filled sitting beside it.
Damn him. Why does he make the gross invasion of privacy so appealing?
A bath is exactly what I need, resentful as I am at the intrusion. I slip out of my clothes and into the warm water, lying my head on the edge of the tub and trying to enjoy it instead of thinking about where it came from.
When I’m done, I put on my plush pink robe and flop down on the couch for a quick nap before I order dinner in, binge some reality TV, and have that glass of wine I’ve been waiting for all day.
I’m halfway through dinner when I get a text from Nash and remember his words from last night.
He wants me to have a new look, a slimmer image.
A struggle to decide between the rest of my stir-fry and a second glass of wine begins.
Most days I’d choose food, but after the day I’ve had, I need the wine to help me relax.
I ignore his text and let myself indulge for the evening.
I’m thoroughly relaxed by the time I slide into bed an hour later.
As I drift off, the memory of last night fills my mind, and heat pulses between my thighs.
I slide my hand between my legs, feeling the delicious soreness that only a big dick can leave.
I snuggle down on my pillows, thinking of him prowling outside, keeping me safe, and I fall asleep.
I wake when a hot mouth meets the swollen flesh I fell asleep touching. “Preston,” I gasp, grabbing for the head between my thighs.
“Mmmm,” he moans, his tongue making long, firm strokes through my slit.
“What are you doing?” I demand.
“I’m making you cum,” he says, slowly sinking a finger into me. “Do you always wake up with my name on your lips?”
The sound of his familiar voice reassures me, since I can’t see him in the dark.
“No, I never have, you were just—” I break off with a gasp when his tongue lathes over my clit.
“Don’t be ashamed,” he says, lifting his head. “I like it. Say it again.”
“Preston,” I whisper, my fingers fisting in the sheets as he sucks gently at my clit.
He moans, the sound of pleasure deep in his throat sending a pulse straight to my core. “Again,” he commands before sinking lower, his tongue working around my entrance while his finger continues to stroke at my G-spot.
“Wait,” I say, grabbing his head. “We can’t—.”
“We can,” he says, spreading me open with his fingers so he can lick more thoroughly.
“Let me go freshen up,” I say, tensing and trying to squeeze my knees together.
I twist sideways and switch on the lamp.
I don’t know what I’d do once I got to the bathroom, but I have to get away.
He makes me feel too good, dangerously good.
I just need to wake up, clear my head, and tell him to leave.
He spreads my knees wider and inhales deeply, letting out a growl of pleasure on the exhale. “You smell fucking incredible.”
“But—”