Tied to His Betrayal Read online

  Chapter 8

  Darius

  While the tabloids stayed busy all of Wednesday with the story about me and Alex, creating a love affair out of fictitious facts, an urgent business meeting in New York to ensure that a lucrative deal didn’t fall through kept me from seeing Taylor again after she left my office. Now that I returned to San Francisco the following afternoon, and before I return to Bennett, Inc., I enter a used bookstore tucked into one of the corner buildings on Columbus Avenue.

  “Can I help you?”

  I turn toward the soft voice and smile at the middle-aged saleswoman. “No, thank you. I see what I need.” And that’s the gorgeous blonde standing with her back to me, nose deep in a book.

  The woman follows my gaze and then smiles sweetly at me. “If you need any help finding something, please let me know.”

  I nod, not saying anything more, ensuring Taylor doesn’t hear me. For now, I want to watch her. That beauty right there, who amazes me with her strength and softness all at the same time. Christ, I can still feel her lips dragging against my cock, slow and gentle, until she became rough, wanting to take in all of me.

  So warm. So wet. So perfect.

  My greedy dick swells in my pants, as easily as I breathe, because that’s what she does to me. She drives me crazy. She makes me need her in ways no woman has ever made me need her. She can harden me with a smile or a simple look. Even now, I want to take all that she can give me and then ask for more, simply because I can.

  I move a little closer to Taylor now and lean against the side of the tall wooden bookshelf as I gaze upon her. There’re only a few customers moving about the store, and it’s no surprise to me that she’s so lost in her book, she doesn’t hear me clear my throat behind her. I imagine she has no idea who’s come into this store and who has left. Books do that to her. They are, and I suspect always will be, the bones to her soul. They take her away. And that’s all I want to do, too.

  Eventually, she shuts the book, and her shoulders rise and fall with her long exhale. I can’t help but wonder what world she’s gone to or where her heart lies from what she read, when she turns around.

  She blinks. “Oh, my God, what are you doing here?” Her worried eyes scan the room from left to right, clearly on the lookout for the paparazzi who I’m sure she thinks are following me.

  “I was careful when I came here,” I tell her, moving even closer now. Any distance between us has never been something I’ve been very good at maintaining. I like her close. It’s what made her moving away so hard; a void happened, a piece of me left. And I’m fully aware that piece feels like it has returned now.

  When she continues to scope the area, I add to reassure her, “There were two photographers who tailed my driver for a quarter mile before we lost them. No one is outside. No one knows I’m here. It’s fine. Relax.”

  She doesn’t look convinced, standing on her tiptoes and glancing over my shoulder toward the store’s front windows. “Are you sure they didn’t just stay back so you thought they didn’t follow you?”

  “Taylor.” I sigh, frustration tightening my jaw. “No one followed me. I made sure of it.”

  “Okay, okay.” She gives me an apologetic smile, lowering back to her feet. “It’s just scary, you know. This innocent meeting could end up all over the tabloids tomorrow with some terrible story that we’ll end up stressing about.”

  “Yes, I know,” I gently acknowledge her worries, shoving my hands into my pockets. “And I’m doing my best to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

  Right then, a female customer walks by us, and Taylor watches the woman, slowly frowning, which I take to mean that the woman is checking me out. I can’t help but grin with pride. I like her jealousy. I always have.

  “What book were you reading?” I ask, getting her focus back where it should be: on me.

  She sighs, her glare slowly fading as she turns to me. “Oh”—she hugs the book to her chest, her eyes twinkling—“it’s a total gushy romance that you’d hate.”

  I chuckle.

  “So…” She pauses, studying me a moment, an obvious thought crossing her mind. Her eyes begin to narrow. “How exactly did you know I was here? You’re not having me followed, are you?”

  “No, but I’d like to,” I admit. “Then I might sleep better.”

  She snorts, her shoulders droop. “All right, then do tell: If you’re not keeping tabs on me, how did you know where to find me?”

  I drop my chin, giving her a knowing look. “I called in to speak to you, and Bennett’s receptionist told me that you said you were going to a bookstore on your lunch hour.”

  “Oh, right.” I see her recalling the conversation in her mind, her eyes flicking up at the ceiling. Obviously not angry anymore, her expression turns curious. “And you knew I’d come to this bookstore?”

  “Of course.” I smile. “You’re a creature of habit, regardless that you keep insinuating how different you are now.”

  She laughs, and it’s easy and free. “I do love this place.” Her eyes follow the saleslady walking by us before she addresses me again. “It’s crazy, you know, I kept thinking when I came back to San Francisco everything would be so different.”

  “But it’s not?”

  She shakes her head, moving closer to me. “It’s like nothing has changed at all. It’s kinda…I don’t know, really nice, you know. It’s still home, just the same as I remember, does that make sense?”

  I smile. “It makes perfect sense, actually.”

  She takes another step toward me, and I understand the need. I’m pulled toward her even if I shouldn’t be. Even if I know that, in the end, this can’t ever work because I am who I am. I’m the right-now guy. Taylor might want that guy right now. But soon she’ll want more than I can give her, and I’m well aware of that. Though, I realize now, it doesn’t matter. I owe her this. I’ll be whatever she needs me to be.

  Just as the air warms between us, and she nearly reaches me, she stops and steps back, suddenly aware we’re in public. “Ugh,” she comments with a frown. “I guess I gotta get used to that. You know, not acting on impulse.”

  “You shouldn’t have to get used to that,” I tell her.

  And that’s our pitiful reality. There are things with my life that Taylor shouldn’t have to deal with. The media being one of them. She shouldn’t have to put up with that just to be with me. She’s a free spirit and she should live freely. But I pushed her away once to protect her and that led to the mess she’s in. I won’t push her away again. “We need to be smart,” I explain. “But we can’t live in constant fear either.”

  “Isn’t that kinda depressing?” she says, pressing the book to her chest again. “I mean, always wondering if someone is going to take a picture of you.”

  “Depressing?” I ponder. “No. Annoying, yes.”

  She laughs, shaking her head at me. “I’ve only been in all this craziness for a short time and look how much it’s affected my life. I can’t imagine this being my life all the time.”

  I see her cringe and can tell she wants to retract those words. “It’s all right,” I reassure her, wanting to reach out and comfort her, but knowing I can’t. I won’t risk exposing her again. “I asked for this life. With the success I sought, the fame, and sadly, the media comes with it.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she concedes.

  And I hate that she does. It makes me think of why I ended things with her before. I hated seeing her bend for me and my life. It was wrong then, and it’s wrong now.

  “So,” she continues, breaking into my thoughts before I can decide exactly how I feel about that. “Why did you come find me here? Just for a visit?”

  “Of course I wanted to see you.” I smile, liking the way her face lights up. “But I’m here to invite you out for dinner tonight. Would you be up for that?”

  She nibbles her lip, eyes squinting. “I know we went for ice cream the other night, but that was very spontaneous and quick. Do you thi
nk dinner is wise?”

  I nod, acknowledging her concerns. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure we won’t be photographed.”

  She glances around the bookshop, obviously thinking things over, and when she looks back at me, she smiles sweetly. “Well, okay then. I’d love to meet for dinner tonight. When and where?”

  “I’ll text you later with the details.”

  “Perfect.” She bounces from foot to foot, clearly pleased with our plans tonight. “What are you up to for the rest of the day?”

  “Meetings,” I grumble, wishing I could stay here with her. “Always meetings.”

  “Speaking of meetings.” She glances at her watch. “I better get back, too. Being late will get me in trouble.”

  “You’re standing here with this boss,” I point out, arching a brow.

  “Yes, I’m well aware,” she replies with a sassy grin, nudging my arm. “But let’s not create more office gossip than we’ve already got going on.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” I lean in to kiss her on the cheek, but quickly think better of it and move away. “Later.”

  Her brows rise above her dancing eyes. “Oh, now tell me again that you don’t find that a little depressing.”

  I glance from left to right, seeing we’re very much alone at this moment, not a person in sight. “You’re right. Not kissing you is depressing.” I grab her hard, hearing her squeal, and plant a strong kiss upon her lips.

  “Darius.” She gasps, jerking away.

  I give her my best sensual grin and turn, leaving her standing there with her hand on her mouth, eyes wide, just the way I like her.

  Flushed, aroused, and craving me.

  Taylor

  Later that day, and with my workday well behind me, I arrive at the redbrick building on the corner of the street, standing there utterly shocked. “This cannot be real,” I whisper to myself, gaping at the bright neon sign glowing in the night.

  “Surprised?” A low smooth voice shivers across me.

  I glance over my shoulder, finding Darius wearing blue jeans that are snug against his thick thighs and a fitted white T-shirt. Dear God, every inch of him is fuckable. In a suit, he’s magnificent. Out of it, he’s simply just hot as hell.

  When I look back into his eyes, I find them burning with desire, and I smile, feeling the same desire fill me, too. “Not only surprised,” I admit. “I’m completely shocked shitless.” My favorite restaurant ever still stands like it hasn’t changed at all in five years. “How did this place not get demolished?”

  He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets, glancing at the restaurant behind me. “Looks like they renovated, if you ask me.”

  Yeah, it certainly does. Years back, the bricks had been cracked, with even some missing. Now it actually seems out of place, far newer than the other buildings on the street.

  Darius’s low chuckle sounds behind me when I move forward and open the door, but I’m too focused on what’s ahead of me to comment on his laughter. I rush inside and squeak in joy, seeing the fifties memorabilia covering every square inch of the walls. Greasy burgers, thick strawberry milkshakes, nothing has ever compared to my love for the fifties-style diner in Lower Nob Hill. “You’re right.” I spin around to Darius, finding him standing in the doorway grinning at me. “Somehow they’ve made this place even better than I remember.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “I’ve never seen anyone so excited to eat at such a dive in my life.”

  I smack his arm in my defense. “It’s not a dive. It’s the bestest restaurant of all time.”

  He doesn’t even flinch; obviously my smack feels like a feather to him, and he laughs. “That’s quite the adjective.”

  “Yes, it is. And”—I smile at him—“it’s the bestest adjective ever and perfectly explains my love for this restaurant.”

  His mouth twitches, eyes twinkle, when a high-pitched feminine voice says, “Hello, Mr. Bennett and Ms. Erickson, will you please follow me.”

  I spin around, finding a cute-as-a-button waitress wearing a blue dress with a red apron, dark hair pulled into a high bun on top of her head. “Thank you,” I say to her before giving Darius a look. Obviously, he alerted them to our coming here tonight.

  He grins at me.

  I follow behind the server, seeing her tight butt swaying back and forth, and I begin to wonder why I liked this place so much. But one good inhale of all that grease around me reminds me of the perfection soon coming my way. Even so, I glance over my shoulder, because that butt looks a little too good for my liking. Though one look into Darius’s eyes, and my heart dances.

  I’m on his mind, not her. There’s something very special about being the center of Darius’s attention, something so very addictive.

  The waitress sits us at a booth with the blinds drawn, and it’s in that second I realize how alone we are in this restaurant. Too alone. Too quiet. I take my seat and accept the menu, and Darius does the same. Once the waitress hurries off, I voice my suspicions. “You made this happen tonight, didn’t you?”

  “What did I make happen?” Darius asks, looking at his menu.

  “You rented out the restaurant.” I wondered why he seemed so comfortable and not worried about being photographed. But now I know; tonight has been planned by Darius to the very minute.

  A hint of a smile crosses his face. “Something like that.”

  “Why would you go to that extreme to bring me here?” It seems like a lot of work.

  “Because you love it here,” he says softly, finally looking up at me, and I’m lost in the intensity in his eyes. “And, sadly, at the moment, we have to resort to making plans to ensure you are kept out of the tabloids.”

  Before I can say how sad that is, and what kind of life is that for Darius to live, the waitress returns with two glasses of water and asks, “Would you like to order now? Or do you need a few minutes?”

  Darius smiles. “I suspect we can order.”

  Of course we could. I always order the same thing. “I’ll take a fifties burger and fries, please, plus a strawberry milkshake.”

  She nods at me then asks Darius, “And for you?”

  “I’ll have the same,” he states.

  “Great.” She gathers the menus and gives a big grin. “If you need anything, my name is Debbie; just holler for me.”

  “Thanks, Debbie.” I smile back.

  She hurries away to fetch our orders, and not a second later, I hear the sounds of the milkshake blenders whipping me up something delicious. “It’s crazy,” I say, looking at the old vintage posters on the wall across from me, “who in the hell would put this much money into this place?” Everything is new and some of the antiques I see around me had to cost a pretty penny.

  “Clearly someone who wanted the restaurant to stay around,” Darius comments, drawing my attention to his face.

  He’s watching me in that serious way he does, like he’s trying to read my mind. “Well, I’m glad that someone did.” I never expected this place to be around, but as I see Debbie returning with our milkshakes in tall glasses, I’m only too happy they are still in business.

  It’s kinda easy finding your way back to yourself when everything that once made you you is all still around. And, as I see Darius continuing to examine me intently, I’m beginning to wonder if that’s why he asked me here tonight. This isn’t about a date, but it’s about doing something I once loved and being somewhere that once made me happy.

  I know my reality with Darius. I know what he can give me and what he can’t. And right now, what he’s giving me is enough. Doing this, with him, reminds me of a very happy time, probably the happiest time in my life.

  “Thank you,” he says to Debbie as she sets his milkshake in front of him.

  I stay silent, removing the paper wrapping from my straw then taking a sip and having to suck hard. But as the strawberry coldness spreads across my tongue, I moan, shutting my eyes. “God, that’s so good.”

  Darius chuckles, clearly findin
g this amusing. He always did like my appetite, and not only my appetite for food. Usually when I liked something, sex included, I always wanted as much as I could have until my fix had been properly met.

  “I’m glad you approve,” he says before taking a sip of his milkshake. “I like seeing you this way.”

  My heart warms just that easily. Darius is always thinking of me. For five years I felt really, really alone. And this sense of comfort makes my soul feel a little more stitched together. Because of that, I’m beginning to feel like all of this is very one-sided. Determined to correct that error, I ask, “All we’ve been doing is talking about me lately. But what about you? Tell me about the women you’ve dated.”

  His brows shoot up. “How do you know I’ve even dated women since you?”

  “Well, I did see the tabloids and stuff.” I pause, not wanting to know about what relationships he’s been in, but kinda wanting to know, too. I never said that I made sense.

  He smirks, clearly enjoying this. “You’ve been following me through the tabloids, have you?”

  I roll my eyes and throw the paper wrapping from my straw at him. “Moving on, please.”

  He chuckles, picking the wrapper off his shirt and placing it on the table.

  “There will be no distracting me,” I tell him sternly. “So, did you fall in love with any of them?”

  “No.”

  “Never. Not ever?”

  He shakes his head. “No. Not ever.”

  “Why?”

  He pauses. Then, “I didn’t have that type of relationship with them.”

  I try to process what he’s said, but fail miserably. “What type of relationship did you have, then?”

  “One that benefited us both,” is his carefully worded answer.

  In that very second I completely understand. Clearly the relationships he had were of a sexual nature. “Did they make you happy, though?” Because that’s all that really matters to me.