Chapter Twenty-One Gemma
Chapter Twenty-One
Gemma
My heart pounds as I jab the elevator button repeatedly.
I can’t believe I did that. The look on his face was priceless.
Max Browne just delivered the best orgasm I’ve ever received, and he managed to do it with only his tongue and fingers. The smug satisfaction in his eyes afterward told me everything I needed to know—he had me right where he wanted me. I had to get out of there.
This was supposed to be purely physical—a fantasy to indulge in once and get out of my system.
Not only am I extremely attracted to him—I’d have to be dead to not recognize how gorgeous he is—but our chemistry is amazing, the foreplay is off the charts, and I think I’m, God forbid, starting to like him.
I don’t get crushes. Especially not on a man who holds my career in his hands.
Not on my best friend’s brother. And especially not on someone who could actually hurt me.
Because, ultimately, that’s the truth I’m running from. I think he could hurt me. I’ve spent years having emotionless fun. I’m the queen of no-strings attached. But something about the way he touched me, the way he looked at me, felt dangerously close to meaningful.
The elevator finally arrives, and I step inside, leaning against the wall I was pressed against only an hour ago. I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing.
I flag down a cab as I exit his building, glancing back up at his penthouse windows.
We can’t do that again. I can’t come back here.
I shake my head as I slide into the black cab. We were just messing around. I tell myself. It was nothing more than incredible, mind-blowing fun.
Then why does it feel like I’ve left something behind?
Stepping off the Tube, I follow the crowd of early-morning commuters like a zombie.
I barely slept a wink last night. All I could think about was the way Max’s fingertips felt gliding over my skin as he mapped out my body and planted kisses across my back.
How delectable he tasted and how luscious he smelled.
The first thing I did after arriving at my flat was make a beeline for my dildo so I could finish what Max and I had started. Only problem was, the toy kept turning into Max’s mouth in my mind. His voice whispering in my ear. His hands pinning my wrists.
Even my self-care routine failed me. I tried everything—slapped on a hydrating face mask, pulled tarot cards, burned some incense, and read my newest monster romance where the heroine gets railed by a kraken.
And nothing I tried removed that man from my thoughts.
He was even in my bloody dreams. He gives me one orgasm and somehow manages to conquer my subconscious.
Maybe I’m coming down with something… like food poisoning of the brain.
Max poisoning.
I need a pastry.
I pull my stained trench coat tighter as I make my way to Lance’s kiosk, the cutting wind nipping at my exposed skin.
On approach, I watch Lance place a row of fresh, glistening pastries in the display case. He positions each one perfectly, as always. The smell of butter and sugar wafts through the air and my stomach growls.
“Morning, Lance!” I call.
He glances up, his face brightening. “If it isn’t my favorite troublemaker!” He takes one look at me and lets out a low whistle. “Blimey, lass. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I feel like I have,” I mutter. A very tall, handsome ghost with hands like sin, and a penis that honestly might qualify as a deadly weapon.
“Late night, then?”
I huff. “Not intentionally.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh. Was there a date involved?”
I roll my eyes. “Define date.”
He grins. “Well, whatever it was, I hope he knows he’s a lucky bastard.”
“Believe me, I shouldn’t have gone there,” I deadpan.
His expression shifts, brow furrowing. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”
My tone softens. “No, no. God, nothing like that. He’s just…” I trail off, unsure how to explain Max without sounding unhinged.
Lance leans forward. “Aye, I see. What’s his name?”
I hesitate. “Max.”
He nods, as if he’s already decided he likes the name. “Max. Max and Gemma. Got a nice ring to it.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Abort mission. This is not a good thing.”
He folds his arms, his voice teasing. “Why?”
“Because he’s Anna’s brother.”
“Your best friend Anna?”
“Ugh, please don’t say it out loud. It makes it worse.” I bury my head in my gloved hands.
He chuckles. “It’s all right, lass. These things happen.”
“Not to me, they don’t! And now I’ve got to see him every day. At work. I mean—what the hell was I thinking?”
Lance rests against the counter, his voice gentling. “Right, I’ll say this once.”
“Here we go.”
He points a finger at me. “Oi. I want you to really hear me for a wee second. I’m serious.”
“Fine.”
“Life’s too bloody short to spend it worrying about what other people think. Even Anna. I know she’s your friend, but if something feels good, if it feels right—don’t run from it. Lean into it.” He tips his chin, all knowing and annoyingly wise. “Now, did it feel good?”
I squint at him. “You do realize you’re ancient and this conversation is wildly inappropriate, right?”
He waits, unmoved.
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Aye. There you are, then.”
I shake my head. “It isn’t that simple, Lance.”
“When you get to my age, believe me—it is.”
I scrunch my nose. “Yeah, but you’re like… really old.”
He laughs, shaking his head, and I smirk back. “And still in love with my Everly, forty-five years later. Must’ve done something right.”
I smile despite myself.
“The usual?” he asks, already sliding an apricot Danish into a bag.
I bat my lashes. “You’re the best.”
“I’m not too bad for an old geezer.”
“Your words, not mine.” I grin, rummaging in my handbag for my wallet.
I lift my gaze to pay and look around, noticing that I’m still the only customer. My brow furrows. “Is business getting any better?”
He sets the coffee in front of me, his eyes misting over. “I hate to tell you this, lass.”
“Oh no.” I lift a hand to cover my mouth.
He nods. “Aye. I’ve done my best. I’ve even gone and remortgaged my and Everly’s flat to cover expenses for a little longer, but it’s not looking good.”
My stomach drops. Lance must be—what?—sixty-five?
It’s criminal to think someone who works so hard needs to take out money against their home to cover costs.
My heart breaks for him. I know I’ve been the only customer here every morning this week, but I never thought he’d actually be forced into considering closing.
When I started at Prestige, people were queued right up to the edge of the grass, all willing to freeze their tits off because Lance’s coffee and pastries were worth enduring frostbite—they still are.
I look forward to our chats each morning. He knows exactly how I like my coffee, he knows I need it stronger on a Monday and a Friday; he can tell when I’m hungover versus when I’m stressed and when I’ve had a shite date the night before. Lance is my little rock.
My brain scrambles to find a solution. “I can help you. We can figure something out,” I say.
His hand covers my own. “You’ve done enough just by being here every morning, Gemma.
” He gives me a sad smile, and my throat burns as I swallow the emotion threatening to spill over.
I need to be strong for him. “I’m still here for now,” he says quietly.
“But sometimes we have to accept when things naturally come to an end. That’s life, isn’t it?
Nothing’s guaranteed. We’ve had a good run. ”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Now, you best be off to work. Don’t worry about me. I haven’t gone anywhere just yet. I’ll be all right.” He pats my hand affectionately.
My nostrils flare as I take a deep breath. “So, when?”
“When what, lass?”
“When will you close?”
He exhales sharply. “When it’s time.”