Chapter Sixteen
Liam
“Christ, brother,” Brayden says. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I'm fine,” I say. “Cuts and bruises. No big deal. I've had worse from dad's old belt.”
Brayden chuckles and nods. “The belt. Yeah, I remember that thing,” he says. “Good times.”
I lean back in my chair and take a sip of my coffee, chatting with my brother over Skype. Hemingway is curled up on a large pillow I keep in the corner of the room for him, snoozing away. I envy my dog at that moment. At that moment, there's nothing I'd like more than to curl up and go to sleep.
Well – that's not exactly true. As snippets of my encounter with Paige in her shop yesterday flit through my mind, I can think of something else I'd rather be doing – her. But, that's not an option at the moment, so sleep is the next best option. For some reason, I feel exhausted. Like I could sleep for days.
“The cops have any clue who the guy was?”
I shake my head. “None,” I say. “But, they're trying to lift prints off the knife.”
Brayden runs a hand through his hair. “You're lucky, Liam,” he says, his tone serious. “That could have gone really bad for you.”
I shrug. “It didn't.”
“It could have though,” he says. “What were you thinking? Why didn't you just hand over your wallet?”
“He never asked for it.”
Brayden shakes his head. “Yeah, well, you're lucky.”
“It was just the perfect end to a shit night all the way around.”
“What do you mean?” he asks. “I thought you closed the deal on that multi-use? That's a pretty nice gig.”
“That was the high point of the day,” I say. “Everything went to shit after that.”
“How so?”
I filled him in on everything that happened up to that point – having to deal with Damon Moore and Brittany at the bar. When I was finished, he whistled low and shook his head again.
“Yeah, that sounds like a pretty shit night all the way around, brother,” he says.
“Tell me about it.”
He leans back in his seat and cocks his head, a far-off look in his eyes. He gets the look on his face that says he's thinking hard about something. Brayden scratches at the stubble on his chin and finally turns back to the computer screen.
“Doesn't it seem strange to you?” he asks.
“What?”
“That Brittany shows up out of the blue like that?” he asks. “I mean, first of all – how did she know to find you at Grady's?”
It's an interesting question and one I hadn't really thought about. With everything that happened, I guess it didn't seem important. But now that I’m slightly more removed from the situation and have a clearer mind, I can see that it's a very good point. I hadn't been to the bar for weeks. Hell, I hadn't been in Seattle all that much since I left her at Savato's that night.
How did she know I would be at Grady's when I was? Hell, I didn't even know I was going until I looked up and found myself there.
“And doesn't it seem odd to you,” Brayden continues, “that after she drops this threat on you in the bar, you're attacked outside of it? The timing of it all raises some serious red flags in my head, brother.”
I let out a long breath and take another drink of coffee, my mind swirling with a million different thoughts – precious few of them making any sense at all.
“Paige floated that question out too,” I said. “She seems to think that Brittany had something to do with it.”
Brayden arches an eyebrow at me. “Who's Paige?”
I look at his image on the screen for a long moment, struck by the sudden change in topic, and not comprehending the question. And then it hits me, I'd never told him about Paige. Not that there's a lot to tell, really. And I'm certainly not going to tell him about our little tryst at her shop yesterday. That's something that's not fit for public consumption, nor do I engage in locker room talk or brag about conquests. I’m not that type of man,
There's definitely something there with Paige. Something between us. I can't define it. I can’t quite put my finger on it. Have no idea what it is. I just know there's something there. Something that I want to explore a little further – which surprises me. It surprises me greatly, in fact.
I came to Port Safira with the intention of hiding away to lick my wounds and get my head straight. Developing any sort of romantic relationship was the furthest thing from my mind. And yet, there's something about Paige that compels me. Draws me in. It seems strange, but I feel – safe – when I'm with her. I feel comfortable. Like I don't have to put on airs or subscribe to a lifestyle that's not really me.
Paige makes me feel like I can just be myself – be the guy who loves books, coffee, and his dog – and that's okay. That's enough. I'm enough. I don't get the impression from her that she's got an agenda or an ulterior motive. I don't get the feeling that she's after my money. Honestly, she's one of the most real, genuine, and down-to-earth people I've ever met.
Until I figure out what it is between us though, it's not something I want to talk about.
“She's a friend,” I say.
“You have friends?” Brayden asks and laughs. “And here I thought it was just you and Hemingway.”
I shrug. “It is, for the most part,” I say. “But, Paige owns a bookstore in town. We've had coffee and talked a few times. Nice woman. Good conversationalist.”
Brayden studies me through the computer screen. Even online, his gaze is penetrating. Brayden knows me better than probably anybody else on the planet. He can always see right through me. Knows when I'm lying or hiding something. He knows all of my tells.
It's something that drives me absolutely batshit crazy about my younger brother.
“Good conversationalist, huh?” he asks.
“Very smart woman,” I say. “Very well read.”
“Uh huh,” he says, and I can hear the skepticism in his voice. “So, how long have you been banging her?”
A wry grin touches my lips. And even though snippets of our little encounter in the bookstore flash through my mind – and I feel my cock stiffening in response – I can answer his question honestly.
“I'm not,” I say simply. “I haven't slept with her.”
Brayden studies me, as if he's trying to discern the truth of the matter for himself.
“But, you want to,” he says.
“I didn't say that.”
“You don't have to.”
I chuckle and take another sip of coffee, racking my brain for a way to divert the conversation, which is veering into dangerous territory.
“Hey, I'm not judging,” Brayden says. “In fact, I think it's healthy for you.”
“Healthy.”
“Yeah,” he replies. “Help you get the taste of Brittany out of your mouth. You're young – well, youngish –”
“Eat shit,” I say and laugh. “You're only eighteen months younger than me.”
“That's still eighteen months younger,” he laughs. “But, you're young, relatively good looking, and rich – you probably should be out banging anything that moves. You should be knee-deep in panties in that fancy house of yours.”
“I doubt Janice would appreciate having to clean up that many pairs of panties.”
“She'd get over it,” he says. “In fact, she'd probably tell you exactly what I'm telling you.”
I laugh and shake my head. “I really doubt it,” I say. “Janice is kind of old-fashioned.”
The truth of the matter is that I'm not the kind of guy who is into random, casual flings. I did that when I was younger – before Brittany. And it's not really my style. It's not something I normally share, but I'm not the love 'em and leave 'em type. I crave connection with a partner. I crave something deeper than just the physical.
I mean, the physical is nice, and I enjoy it. And if the frustration got to be too much, I'd probably go to a bar and pick somebody up. But, it would be a last resort, really. My preference is to have a connection to who I'm sleeping with. To me, sex is just so much better that way.
Which makes me think about Paige and what we did in the shop again. I have a strong feeling that she and I are a lot alike in that way. And since I enjoyed what we did yesterday, and I know she did, does that mean we share a connection in that regard? Or was it just two people with a physical need, scratching an itch?
I don't know. It's yet another question in the long litany of questions I have when it comes to the woman who continues to perplex and confound me.
“Wait a second,” Brayden says, looking at me closely through the screen. “You actually like this woman.”
“What?” I scoff. “You don't know what you're talking about.”
“Sure, I do,” he says. “I know you, brother. And I can see that dreamy, starry-eyed look on your face when you simply mention her name.”
“You're being ridiculous,” I say and laugh.
“Am I?”
I stare at him for a moment and wonder to myself if he actually is being ridiculous or not. When it comes to my emotions, and especially Paige at the moment, nothing is clear to me. This is something that frustrates me to no end. I'm a man who is always clear-headed and rational. Cold, hard logic is second-nature to me and I've never been one given to flights of emotional fancy.
It's one of the things that makes me successful at what I do. I can take a situation, almost any situation, and quickly break it down and analyze it with a logical eye and rational thought. It allows me to see and anticipate problems, as well as quickly find ways to solve them. It was how I approached the situation with Brittany once I found out what she was up to.
But, that's not the case when it comes to Paige, however. When it comes to Paige, my mind is a chaotic mess. I can't seem to think straight or act logically. I don't know what it is about her, but she gets my head all twisted up in knots.
Not that I intend to tell Brayden that.
“Yes, you're being ridiculous,” I say. “Paige is a friend.”
“If you say so, big brother.”
I chuckle. “I do say so,” I say. “Now, I should get going. I need to shower and get on with my day. Some of us have work to do.”
“Hey, I'm working today.”
“I thought you were playing golf.”
“I'm meeting with a client who happens to love playing golf,” he says. “I'm just doing what dad taught us and am giving the client what they want and need.”
I grin at him. “Fair enough,” I say. “Good luck nailing down that deal.”
“I don't need luck,” he says. “I'm an Anderson. We make our own luck.”
“That we do.”
He looks at me for a long moment before we sign off and I can see the look of concern etched on his face.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Just – watch your back out there, Liam,” he says. “Something doesn't feel right about that whole situation.”
“I'm on it,” I say. “But, I don't think there's anything to worry about.”
“Yeah, well, watch your back anyway.”
“Will do.”
“Love you, big brother.”
“Love you too.”
I sign off the Skype session and lean back in my seat. Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I think Brayden is right – something doesn't feel right about the whole situation. How did Brittany know I would be at Grady's? And why didn't the mugger demand my wallet? He just attacked without word or warning. Looking back, it doesn’t seem like he was interested in my money at all.
I feel like I'm staring at a puzzle before it's put together. There are a ton of random pieces and I don't know how they all fit together. Not yet.
But I intend to find out.
Hemingway lifts his head and looks at me when I stand up, giving me a wag of his tail. Apparently, I'm not interesting enough though, because he lays his head back down and goes right back to snoozing.
I walk out of my office and down to my bedroom, shutting the door behind me. I strip down and step into the bathroom, turning on the faucet in the walk-in shower, and wait for the water to warm up. When steam starts billowing out of the shower and filling the bathroom, I walk in and step beneath the waterfall of water.
I turn around and run my hands through my hair, letting the water rain down on me. The cut on my arms stings beneath the water at first, but it soon fades away. The heat though, works through my sore muscles, loosening them up, and I slowly start to feel human again.
Standing beneath the fall of water, I let it work its magic on me, letting the heat work out the aches and pains in my body. Slowly, as my muscles loosen up, so does my mind. The fog in my head starts to lift and my brain starts to clear.
And as it does, I see Paige's face peering at me through the dissipating fog. I see those bottomless black eyes framed in that perfect alabaster colored face. See the hair, darker than a raven's wing, pooling down over her shoulders.
From there, my memories take control and I'm flashing back to the bookstore. To what we did. I recall the sensation of her body pressed against mine. The feel of her lips. Her tongue. The way she touched me with her small, delicate hands. I remember the scent of her. The taste of her. I recall the feeling of having my tongue inside of her. The way her juices dripped down my chin.
I remember everything about our encounter in incredibly vivid detail and feel my cock stiffening. The sound of her moans and groans of pleasure as I licked and sucked on her sweet, tight pussy echo through my mind like the soundtrack of the most erotic film ever made.
With the water from the shower spilling down over me, I take my rigid cock in my hand and give it a firm squeeze. I close my eyes and conjure up the images of Paige, letting our sensual tryst in her shop replay through my mind on an endless loop.
With a firm grip on my stiff rod, I begin to stroke myself. I can feel Paige's lips pressed to mine. Feel the warmth of her breath in my ear. I'm rock hard and as I hear her sensual moans in my ears and have her scent in my nose, my body is begging for release.
I throw my head back, a low growl escaping my throat as I jerk my cock hard and fast. Going down on her had been pleasurable for the both of us. I loved the way she tasted. Love the way she moved beneath me. The way her body reacted to my touch.
I want more. A lot more.
As I pump my cock in my fist, my memories give way to fantasies. I picture Paige in sexy black lingerie. I close my eyes and imagine feeling her soft, plump lips on my cock. I moan as I imagine feeling her mouth sliding up and down my hard rod, her soft, delicate hand jerking me off at the same time.
I imagine standing her up and bending her over. Running my hands along the smooth, silky black stockings she's wearing. I reach out and run my hands along the smooth, soft flesh of her ass. I picture her looking back at me, biting her bottom lip, a sultry look on her face.
“Fuck me, Liam,” her voice echoes in my mind. “Fuck me hard.”
I imagine myself stepping forward and slamming my cock into that sweet little pussy of hers. I groan, imagining the tight, wet feel of it. I jerk my cock harder, feeling my balls begin to tighten as I picture myself pulling her hair while I drive my cock into her over and over again.
I hear her moans, I hear her crying out, feel her pushing herself back against me, taking my cock even deeper into her. The pressure is building up inside of me as I fantasize about fucking Paige good and hard. Fantasize about feeling my hard shaft slamming into the soft, velvety folds of her tight little pussy.
“Fuck,” I growl as the pressure building inside of me finally boils over. “Fuck yes, Paige.”
My cock throbs in my hand as I finally burst, a jet of hot, white cum shooting out of me and landing in water pooling around the shower drain. I lean against the wall, reveling in the sensations coursing through me. My cock pulses as my orgasm begins to fade, taking with it the fragments of fantasy that had sustained me.
With the water pouring down over me, I picture Paige's face again and recall the way she felt and tasted.
I want her so fucking bad. I have to have her.