Chapter 4
“Do you want to talk about the cancer?” Miles asks.
I tense. How does that prick know what I am thinking about? I stomp out my cigarette. “No. I didn’t talk about it then. I don’t want to talk about it now. It’s gone. Cured. Irrelevant.”
I feel the bite of my words. Irrelevant? It was the catalyst for me losing Chrissie. A worse legacy than the legacy it left in my body. But I’m not going to try to explain that to Miles for some trivial biography. Cancer cost me Chrissie, that’s what my illness means to me, and I didn’t even tell her I had it. She learned about it a year after the diagnosis by reading it in the press. But by then, it was too late. She was married to Jesse and they had their daughter, Krystal.
Fuck, is this why she left me? She wanted more kids? Why didn’t I compromise on that? She was thirty-two and hearing that clock tick. It was the only thing she ever wanted. She told me that. Why didn’t I listen?
I should have had a baby with her. Maybe Chrissie would have stayed. Why did I say no when she suggested it? And shit, not just ‘no’. Consummate ass that I am at times, I said “fuck, that’s all I need.” I’m not even clear on why I said that.
“There is a notation here,” Miles Abernathy remarks, lifting up one of those small spiral notepads Jesse used to like to use, a habit he kept from his days as a reporter. “2006, but it doesn’t correspond to any of the research in the file. Do you know why this date is significant?”
Oh fuck. The blood stills in my veins and my stomach turns. 2006. Jesse couldn’t have known about that. Chrissie would never confess that to him. How would Jesse know?
My thoughts drift again, this time to that lone fuck during Chrissie’s marriage to Jesse that gave me hope that someday there would be us again…
* * *
2006
Oh fuck, when is this party going to be over with? I’m tired of people smiling and getting overly emotional when they talk to me. Such a farce. Not a single person here would give a fuck if the cancer had killed me; hell, there is only a handful in the world who would give a fuck if I died, and probably only because the money stopped.
I toss down my drink, and feel Shyla staring at me in her critical way. Yes, I’m getting drunk today, love. You wanted this trite party and I’m here. Don’t expect me to do it sober.
I settle back into the cushions of the sofa and stare. The apartment is packed with people. Most of them I don’t know. Shyla’s friends. I can only spot a few from my circle of intimates: band, manager, and industry people. I wish Chrissie had come. To see her would make this almost tolerable to endure.
Shyla’s arm wraps around mine tightly. I smile at her. Why did I ask Shyla to marry me? Crap, I know why. Chrissie is never coming back, she’s married to Jesse in a repulsively happy way, and I’m tired of being alone.
I grab another drink off a passing tray. It’s time to get out of here. Chrissie is not going to show. It was moronic to think she would after Shyla told me she had invited her. But no, this is not Chrissie’s kind of crowd: the beautiful, the corrupt, the famous, the amoral; and those who indulge heavy synthetic and sexual recreation. Chrissie hates this kind of thing.
“Are you all right?”
I shift my gaze back to Shyla. “I’m fine, love. Why do you ask?”
She leans in to me and places a full-mouth, overly sexual kiss on my lips. The girl can kiss, I’ll give her that, but when she pulls back she has that insincere worried crinkle in her brow.
“I just want to make sure that this isn’t too much for you. You’re not tired, are you?”
I clench my jaw so I won’t tell her to fuck off since we’re surrounded by people, but this worried-for-me shit is getting old. No, love, I’m in full remission. I could fuck you all night if I wanted to—which I don’t—and another two women afterward and still not be tired. No need to fret. I’m going to be here long enough for you to get some fucking money in the divorce after you leave me.
“Why don’t you go mingle, love? Have fun. You don’t have to sit here with me every minute.”
Her brows lift. “But I want to.”
I feel Len’s heavy stare, the kind he fixes on me when he wants to take me aside and have the don’t marry Shyla conversation. I gesture for one of the serving staff and hand her my empty glass. “Get me a tall scotch, neat, please.” When I turn back around, I look at Len. “Do you want to get out of here and find some real amusement?”
Shyla tenses. “You can’t bail on your own party, Manny.”
I stand. I’m sure as hell not staying here. Len is flying solo tonight. Linda is in California, and that means Len’s up for anything, like in the old days. That could be fun. Christ, when was the last time anything in my life had been fun?
Shyla stands up, placing her body between me and my escape path. “Don’t go. I want you here.”
Oh fuck, not this again. I could just ignore her and walk away, but then Shyla would create a scene. She doesn’t have any restraint of conduct.
I pull her into me and give her a hard kiss. “I’m tired of being surrounded by people. I’ll be better company later if you let me get out of here now.”
Her eyes narrow. “You’ll be back tonight, right?”
Maybe. Who knows?
I ease in, taking her face in a light hold of my fingertip. I stare down at her. “Once these people clear out, you had better be ready, love. That’s when the real party starts.”
I kiss her again lightly, a slight touch of lips, erotic play of tongue, a quick feel of me, and then I step back. She smiles. Mission accomplished. I can cut out of here without more shit. The barely touching kiss—fuck, it works every time with women.
Len and I start making our way to the foyer.
He leans in to me. “Christ, you’re an asshole. You’re a fucking obvious prick, but somehow none of them see it and women just ask for more shit.”
I laugh.
“Where do you want to go?” he asks.
“Anywhere. I don’t care. Just away from here.”
I freeze mid-step.
Oh fuck.
It can’t be.
Chrissie.
The sight of her sends my thoughts into overdrive. How long has she been here? Why didn’t she come say hello to me?
Len turns to me. “Hey, what’s wrong? I thought we were out of here.”
I ignore Len and do another fast search of the room. I don’t see him. Not anywhere. She’s without Jesse. I’m in the same room with her for the first time in two years and she’s here without Jesse and looking like that.
Incredibly hot. What’s up with that dress? That’s not Chrissie’s style: short, black, skintight, plunging neckline so she’s all cleavage from the waist up, and tall heels so that delectable ass of her pops just the right way. Not her style—my cock goes rock hard—but oh, it should be.
“Are we leaving or staying?”
Len’s voice pulls me from my trance. “I’ll be right back. Give me a minute.”
He follows the direction of my stare. “Oh fuck,” he says under his breath. “Don’t cause a scene. Not here. She’s married. Let it go.”
I glare. “Fuck off, Len. I’m just going to say hello to her before we cut out. She traveled all the way from California to be here. It would be rude to leave without speaking to her.”
Out of my peripheral vision I see Shyla making her way toward me. Oh crap. She loops her arm through mine and presses her body up against me. “I thought you were leaving.”
I smile and grab a drink from a passing tray. “No. You were right. I should stay.”
We stand where we are, soon swallowed by a swarm of chattering people. I’m ten feet away from Chrissie. Twenty minutes has passed. She still hasn’t looked at me.
This is fucking ridiculous. I’m about to shake off Shyla when Chrissie starts working her way through the guests toward us.
Finally.
Chrissie takes Shyla into a fast embrace.
Fuck.
Is she screwing with me?
“I was so happy when I heard the news,” she says to Shyla. “Thank you for calling me. Thank you for inviting me today. I’ve been out of my mind worrying about Alan.”
“I’m glad you could come, Chrissie,” Shyla says. “Where’s Jesse?”
Chrissie tosses her hair back over her shoulder, laughing. “Dante DeMaze is ruining everything these days,” she explains, noting the main character of Jesse’s bestselling spy novels. “Dante has priority over me. And priority over even celebrations like this one. Jesse is trying to make a tight deadline with his publisher.” She looks at me. “He’s writing or he’d be here, Alan. He’s been on a marathon of work for weeks. I don’t even try to pull him away when he’s like this. He was elated when he heard you’re in remission. We both were.”
I’m about to say something. A loud voice stops me.
“It’s Chrissie Parker.”
Chrissie whirls. Her entire face lights up. “It’s Ian Kennedy.”
She turns back to me.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Alan,” she says, and then hurries off to be scooped up into one of Ian’s overly exuberant, inappropriately physical hugs.
That’s it?
We haven’t seen each other in two years. She traveled three thousand miles to be here.
That’s it?
I can’t breathe. Less than two minutes with her and it feels like the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. I follow Chrissie with my gaze as she moves away into the crowd.
“Are you leaving?” Shyla asks. Shit, I’d forgotten she was there.
“I’m staying.”
I walk away from her. Christ, what just happened here?
I stop at a bar, ignoring everyone and watching Chrissie in the wall mirror behind the tall table.
The minutes of the party slowly tick by. She stays a careful distance away, with Ian glued to her side, laughing and drinking and looking stunning. She’s ignoring me, but I know she’s aware of me.
The room is pulsing with the tension between us. I can feel it. I know she can, too. She looks at me. I feel a jolt through my body. Her gaze quickly moves away. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip.
Oh yes, she can feel it.
She leans in to Ian to say something. Is she finally leaving him and coming over here? We lock eyes again. Still holding my stare, she takes Ian’s hand and moves to the dance floor.
What is she doing?
She steps into Ian’s arms.
I toss down my drink.
She is fucking with me.
My temper flares.
I order another scotch. When I turn back, she’s five feet away from me. Dancing with Ian. I’m about to cut in when the music stops.
The people in front of me start moving, blocking my path. And then, somehow, I’m in the center of the room with Chrissie.
She smiles. “We should probably dance. We’ll look pretty silly just standing here, don’t you think, Alan?”
I stare into her eyes, and I know. She maneuvered this. The staying away from me was deliberate and so was getting next to me on the dance floor alone.
I study her. Her expression betrays nothing. She steps into my arms and a shudder rockets down my body from the feel of her.
Lowering my head so my lips are near her ear, I whisper, “Would you like to explain to me what’s going on, Chrissie?”
She eases back from me. Her eyes widen. Surprised. She makes one of her overly comical expressions. “I’m not sure what you mean. I thought we were dancing.”
Not the answer I hoped for.
Fine. We’ll do this your way, love.
Suppressing an irritated sigh, I change direction. “Thank God you’re here. You’re the first person to walk through that door I’ve wanted to see.”
She laughs. “It can’t be that bad?”
I stare into her eyes. “It’s that bad. I’m so happy you came tonight, Chrissie.”
“Of course I came.” Her arms tighten around me. “And stop being ridiculous. Shyla gave you a wonderful party. I’m so relieved you’re going to be all right, Alan. When I heard you were ill…you don’t have any idea how worried I’ve been this past year.”
Worried? Then why didn’t you come to see me, Chrissie? It’s been two years.
I keep my face carefully expressionless.
Her blue eyes start to sparkle. “You look marvelous, Alan. You don’t even look like you’ve been ill.”
I tighten my hold on her, heightening our contact. “I definitely don’t feel like I’ve been ill dancing with you.”
Her body goes tense.
Damn.
Did I overplay my hand this soon?
She stares up at me. “Why didn’t you tell me two years ago when you found out about the cancer?”
Fuck, why is she circling back to that again? I don’t want to talk about that. I want to know why she is here.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she repeats, more insistent this time.
What does it matter now? “I don’t know. With Neil dying, you and Kaley already had enough to manage. You didn’t need me dropping one more thing on you that week. I was waiting for a better time.”
Her eyes flash, angry. “You were not one more thing, Alan. You were the only thing for me.”
Damn her. Only thing for me? Why did she have to phrase it that way?
“I don’t understand how you could not tell me. How you could just disappear on me and let me think the worst about you. And then to just sit there and listen to the things I said the day I left. Not say a word. And let me walk out the door.”
I want to get out of this as quickly as possible. I opt for honesty. “Because you were right in the things you said to me. Enough right that it pissed me off. Enough right that I kept my mouth shut when you moved out. But only because I never once believed you weren’t coming back, Chrissie.”
She looks away. “You should have told me. You were behaving so oddly. You have no idea what I was thinking. I thought…” Her voice clogs with emotion.
My temper takes hold. “I shouldn’t have had to explain myself to you. You should have known me better.”
Her eyes are wide and searching. “Did I really matter so little to you?”
“Don’t lay this one on me. I’m not the one who left.”
I regret the words the moment I say them. She steps back from me quickly. Fuck, this isn’t going the way I want it to.
“What was I supposed to think?”
I rake the hair back from my face. “It’s been two years, Chrissie. Do you really want to drag up our history?”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
Why are you here?
My temper spikes. Five minutes talking with her and I’m already all fucked up again because of her.
She looks around the room. For some reason, she’s nervous. But then, we’re standing in the middle of dance floor, not dancing.
I wait like a fool for her to make the next move.
When her gaze returns to me it’s intense. “I want to talk to you privately, Alan. Wait five minutes. Then follow me.” Before I have a chance to say anything she disappears into the crowd.
Wait five minutes?
Follow her?
If any other woman had said that to me I would think I’d just been propositioned for an opportunistic fuck. But, oh no, not with Chrissie. She said ‘talk’. She means talk.
Fuck.
Across the room, Len is leaning back against one of the bars, not even bothering to hide that he was watching everything. I cross the room to him and order a drink.
“What was that all about?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
Len laughs. “Chrissie.” He says her name in that heavily exaggerated way that always pisses me off. “What is it about you and her? Someday you’re going to have to explain that to me.”
I glare at him. “Don’t ever fucking say her name to me that way again. Not ever.”
Len’s brows shoot up. “Oh, lighten up. I like Chrissie. It’s you I can’t figure out. There are four kinds of women. Sucks. Fucks. Mornings. Keepers. And then there is Chrissie. She’s perfect for you and you fuck it up with her every time. Even tonight.”
I look for the bartender, and then refill my own glass. “Shut the fuck up, Len. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I turn until my back is against the table like Len’s. I let out a slow breath. Has it been five minutes yet? Where’s Shyla? I search the room. I look out the wall of glass at the terrace. Ah, sitting on a patio lounger. Good. Maybe she’ll stay there.
I frown, trying to make sense of the last twenty minutes. After two years, Chrissie pops up in my life at a party looking the way she looks, sexy and available. Not bringing Jesse. Talking about our fucked-up history. Wanting to continue the talk in private.
Christ. I don’t understand any of this. Instinct warns me not to follow her for whatever it is she has planned. Both of us know I’m going to. It’s why she left without even bothering to wait for my answer.
Some things never change. She’s holding every part of me in a viselike grip by simply being here. It feels exactly the same. I am angry with her, frustrated by her, consumed by her, and oh, definitely ready to fuck her. Though I don’t think that’s on the agenda.
Talk? What does she want to talk to me about?
I set down my drink. “Go out on the patio, Len. Keep Shyla out there until I come back to the party.”
Len gives me a pointed stare that screams don’t do this, but he nods.
I start maneuvering through the crowded rooms. Nothing. Not here. I glance in, smile and move on. I try the kitchen, and quickly exit after startling the staff there. I hold up. Where the fuck is she? There are only two places I haven’t checked. The terrace…and my bedroom.
Oh, she wouldn’t be there. I make my way to the back of the apartment. I open the door and there she is.
Chrissie is sitting perfectly still on the floor, her back against a small sofa, a bottle of scotch and two glasses on the table in front of her.
I hang back. God, she looks exquisite. She didn’t turn on the lights. There’s only the soft glow from the fireplace bathing her, and her blond hair is falling in loose curls over one shoulder so the gentle curve of her neck is fully exposed to me. Her head is tilted just enough to make the delicate line of her jaw alluring.
How is it possible that she’s even more beautiful than she was two years ago? I softly closed the door. I turn the lock. Click.
She whirls to face me, and the color in her eyes darkens.
“I’m sorry it took so long for me to find you,” I say, striving for a neutral tone. “I tried every room. Even the kitchen. I wasn’t expecting to find you in here.”
Chrissie lifts her chin. “I wasn’t expecting to be in here.”
She stares up at me, saying nothing.
I’m not sure which way to go. I opt for direct.
“Do you want to tell me what’s going on, Chrissie? Why you’ve gone to so much trouble to talk to me face-to-face?”
She flushes. “I don’t know. It made sense when I left California. It doesn’t anymore.” She exhales, frustrated.
I sit on the floor beside her, close, but not touching.
“Well, if you don’t know, love, I sure as hell don’t.”
I smile.
Her breathing calms.
She laughs.
To keep myself from touching her, I fill the empty glasses with scotch. I hand one to her.
She takes a sip, then studies me for a moment. “I didn’t come to New York without Jesse by accident.”
Interesting.
“I sensed that five minutes after you got here.”
She nods.
“I’m sorry I’m being such a pain. It was all clear in my head before I got here. I don’t mean to be difficult. It’s been such a rough year for me. Shock after shock after shock. Learning about your illness. Then Kaley getting ill. All those endless tests before she was well—”
She takes in a deep breath, unable to finish.
I don’t like the feel of this.
She fixes her gaze on me, intense and worried. “One day everything makes sense and then nothing does. Then I’m here. With a whole bunch of stuff I need to say. Only I don’t know how to say it.”
She makes another ragged exhale of breath. She finishes her drink, sets the glass on the table and quickly refills.
That was more Chrissie-incoherent than usual. Is she drunk?
“Why are you drinking so much?”
She laughs. “That sounds really weird coming from you.”
“Chrissie, what’s going on?”
She shakes her head in an aggravated way. “I’m sorry. I’m making a mess of this. Don’t think I don’t know that. I’ve been a pretty big mess since Kaley got sick.”
Now I’m annoyed. Why does she keep circling back to her daughter? Kaley’s illness was a minor one. A blood infection cured at hospital. When I heard, I called Jack. According to him, she’s fine now.
I feel alarm. Maybe he lied to me.
“Kaley is all right, isn’t she?”
“She’s perfectly healthy these days. It’s just been a lot to process, OK?”
I nod, but I don’t fucking understand why she wanted someplace private to talk to me about her daughter.
Those enormous blue eyes fix on me. “I’m acting like an idiot, aren’t I?”
She makes a small smile.
God, she is beautiful, even when she’s frustrating the hell out of me.
I smile. “No. Not an idiot. Never.”
She exhales loudly again. She smiles, staring at a vacant spot in the room in that way she has when she’s trying to organize her thoughts. “I’m not sure how you’ll take this, Alan. It will probably make no sense and make me sound like a bitch. It’s just…I’m married to Jesse. You’re getting married. It feels like we are finally done and in the past. It makes it harder for me to know what the right thing is to do.”
I hold my reaction to that tightly leashed. She’s right. That made no sense and it did make her sound like a bitch.
“You said you had something to tell me,” I prompt.
Her enormous blue eyes cloud over.
Shit. Why did I have to say that so coldly?
“I don’t want to lose your friendship, Alan. It is important to me that you never hate me.”
I grab a cigarette from my pocket and light it. There is a strange feeling of déjà vu to this. I’ve lived this moment with her before, when she was married to Neil. It didn’t make sense then. It doesn’t make sense now.
I’m starting to feel anxious. Nervous. I don’t know why.
“Chrissie, whatever it is you have to say, just say it.”
Her eyes flash. “Please. I’m trying to. But what I have to say isn’t easy. I’m trying to explain. Your illness, it terrified me and it made me think. About all kinds of things. Us. The past. How short life is. None of us knows how long we have. There are things between us that I need to fix. Correct. This isn’t easy for me.”
I wait until she is calm.
“Nothing is going to happen to me. You’re worrying for nothing, Chrissie. And I think by now even you should be able to figure out we will always be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that.”
Instead of calming her my words have made her more frantic. It’s an odd reaction. “You can’t know that for sure.” Her fingers tighten around her glass until her knuckles are white. “What a mess I’ve made of everything. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. I hope you know that, Alan.”
After too long she looks at me, pinning me with an intense stare, her bright blue eyes pleading and leveling and arousing.
She flushes. “I’m sorry, Alan. I shouldn’t have come here.”
Now I just want to end this and get away from her. I stand up, putting distance between us. I’m beginning to dislike her for the anticipation I feel in my cock, her emotional botheration and my complete inability to do anything but love her. Even in ghastly moments like this.
“Then why don’t you get the fuck out?”
I don’t know which one of us is more shocked by that. Oh God, did I just throw her out? It’s the last thing I want.
She stands up.
She sets her glass on the table.
“Chrissie, I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize. You’re right. I should get out of here. I should never have come.”
That remark aggravates me further. I’m not sure what she intends to trivialize with that comment: me or her feelings for me.
I move my body into the space that separates us and stare into her eyes. “Don’t leave. Not like this.”
“No, Alan. You were right. It’s better for us both if I go now.”
No. No. I don’t want to be right. Not about this.
I stare at her. “Why did you come here?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
What the fuck is she trying to do to me? We’re together for the first time in two years. Chrissie maneuvered it. Both my heart and my body are on fire for her, and all she did was drag me through a few minutes of incoherent verbal drivel. And now she wants to end this and leave me with another fucking undecipherable moment of us.
She can’t leave. Not yet. Not this way.
I lean in and kiss her, pouring all the love in my body for her into it. I press my hands to the base of her spine, holding her against me and deepening the contact in an alternating flow of lips and tongue, pressure and lightness.
My breathing speeds up as I wait for a response. Her body stiffens, but that’s all. Nothing more. I tell myself to step back. My hands and mouth continue to devour her.
Then, just when I’m about to end this, she moans, pressing her pelvis into me, and starts meeting the heated, hungry moves of my body. Her hands fist in my hair. Her tongue dances with mine, insistent and hungry. We fuck each other with our mouths. We shed our clothes, dropping to the floor and our bodies mold together, frantically searching.
I turn her until she’s straddling me. If this is the last fuck I’m ever going to know with her, I don’t want to miss a single moment of it flashing on her face. I wrap my arm around her slim waist, lift her, and then position her on my erection. I lie back as she lowers herself, taking me in her.
My breath escapes from my body. I don’t know how I’ve lived without this for two years. God, she feels so good. I can’t even count the number of women I’ve fucked since her. Not a single one of them could ever feel like Chrissie.
Mesmerized, I watch her slowly rise up, then sink back down hard onto me. Ragged pleasure dances across her face. Her head rolls as she moans. Again. Pausing at my tip in a manner I know well, then slamming down to fill herself with me again. She is so wet and tight around me. Her hands stroke my flesh as she effortlessly finds our rhythm and rides me. She grows harder and harder with each bounce. The tension in her builds. I grab her hips, pumping hard upward into her as she shouts my name incoherently through her orgasm.
I can’t hold back.
I explode inside her even though I don’t want this over yet. She’s limp in my hold as I thrust into her until I can’t go any longer.
She collapses on my chest, and I wrap my arms around her, burying my lips in her hair. Then I remember what I saw on her face as we fucked. I’ve wondered it a thousand times, why she walked out on me in Malibu. I finally have the answer and I don’t like it.
Chrissie never stopped loving me.
She couldn’t take the pain of loving me.
The way her eyes looked the entire time she rode me was an expression I saw a hundred times when we were together. Love…and pain.
She stares at me, overwhelmed by what we just did. She pulls away and starts gathering her clothes. I don’t try to stop her. And for the first time, I don’t know what to say to her. As great as this fuck was, it would have been better for us both if I had let her walk away.