Текст книги "The Other Man"

Автор книги: R. K. Lilley

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

TEASER!

Here’s a teaser for my upcoming novel.  Title to be announced.

Ours was the kind of love that ended up on the six o’clock news.  You know what I’m talking about.  The kind with body bags and headlines about murder/suicides.  

Tragically romantic in its way and highly toxic.  

I had enough venom inside of me without adding the poison of this relationship back into my bloodstream. ~Scarlett, R.K. Lilley

CHAPTER

ONE

“I WAS BORN FOR THE STORM, AND A CALM DOES NOT SUIT ME.”    ~ Andrew Jackson

PRESENT DAY

SCARLETT

He was here.  He was actually fucking here.

On this plane.  My plane.  In my cabin.

How dare he?

This was not allowed, and he fucking knew it.

With agitation, I slapped one of the first class menus against my palm, over and over, like I had a twitch.

I knew it was telling, but I just couldn’t stop.

“Oh my God,” Leona muttered, peeking out of the curtain.  “What’s he doing flying commercial?”

Humiliating me was the answer to that, but I didn’t say it aloud.

That bastard.  I was grinding my teeth.  Audibly.

Leona straightened, her best friend gaze going sharp as she studied me closely.  “I’ll take the cabin this time.  You don’t even need to see him.”

Leona worked the number two flight attendant position in our crew and had been my closest friend for many years now.

She was the good girl to my bad, the sweet to my sour, the nice to my vicious, the peacemaker to my ballbuster.

She was all the things I’d never be, and I loved her for it.  Adored the ground she walked on.

And she knew.  About him.  About our history.  She knew everything, though she was the only one besides me that did.

I shook my head sharply, not letting myself even consider it.  He knew I was here, of course he did.  For whatever twisted reason, he was on this plane and had bought a first class ticket, just to see me.

I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how hard it was for me to face him.

Pride had always been my greatest weapon when it came to Dante.

Sometimes my only weapon, so it was honed to killing sharpness.

“I can handle him,” I told her.  And it was the truth.  It would hurt like hell, but it was a pain I was familiar with.

She bit her lip and nodded.  She was the sweetest thing.  So sweet, I wished I could be more like her.  I couldn’t.  I’d tried, but the results had been laughable.

“Is he alone?” I asked.

“I think so.  So far.”

 The ‘so far’ wasn’t without reason.  The last time he’d sought me out, he hadn’t been alone.

The bastard.

In all fairness, I probably shouldn’t have taken it so personal.  He was rarely alone.

I slipped into the bathroom with my makeup kit and did a quick touchup.

I’d been wearing a nude lip gloss for work as I usually did, but I dug out my favorite red lipstick for this little reunion.

It was aptly named:  Blood.

No other color was appropriate when dealing with my ex.  I put it on because I was planning to draw some.

It occurred to me then that I was relishing and dreading this confrontation in near equal measures.

You see, it wasn’t the first time.  It happened every so often.  Dante sought me out, confronted me, we each got in our blows and limped away.

I usually spat the last word at his retreating back.

A part of me lived for it.

My shredded heart had been wrapped up in spite for a very long time, wrapped so long and so tight that it was suffocating, and it was almost a relief sometimes to let it vent.

But how much of your life can you devote to spite?

I’d spent a lot of time thinking about this.

The answer, in my case, was sad:  Too much.

Great, gory chunks of it.  Major, necessary pieces.

And all because of him.  Dante the Bastard.

I loosened my tie and undid the top three buttons of my blouse, turning my uniform from professional to more than a touch sexy.

I had outrageous curves.  A tiny waist, voluptuous hips, a great ass, mile high legs, and full breasts.

I had the exact body type that drew him like a kamikaze to suicide, so of course I’d use it against him.

He’d never been able to resist this body, not once in his entire life.

I pushed up my breasts, pinching my nipples until they popped perkily through the layers of my blouse and vest.

Go get him, tiger.

I smiled a bloodthirsty smile at my own reflection and headed back out to the galley.

The curtain was still up, but Leona was out in the cabin.  Serving the first pre-board round of champagne, I assumed.

I grabbed my manual and made a quick announcement over the intercom, lowering my voice just so, turning it into a near seductive purr.

I did this for one reason.  I knew it would get to him.

I wanted to score a hit before I ever even had to look at him.

He’d had the nerve to come into my territory.

I’d make him pay.

I always traveled with two pairs of shoes.  One on my feet and one in my carry-on.  Work heels and killer heels.  Work heels were for work, i.e. all of the grunt work on the airplane and keeping my balance at thirty-five thousand feet.  The killer heels were for the glamorous walk through the airport with my crew of gorgeous girls.

Well, okay, it wasn’t glamorous.  Nothing about being a flight attendant was.  But we made it look glamorous, which was close enough, as far as I was concerned.

I yanked my bag out of its spot in the cubby that ran just behind my jump seat and pulled out my killer heels.

Don’t get me wrong.  My work heels are not hideous.  I wouldn’t be caught dead in hideous shoes.  They are black, patent leather, three-inch wedges with a cute little bow on the toe.

But this was not the time for cute.

I switched out my shoes in record time, stepping into five-inch red platform stilettos with a peep toe.

My uniform was simple and sleek.  A black pencil skirt, white dress shirt, black vest and tie.  I’d had every piece custom tailored to fit to perfection, accentuating my figure to its best advantage.

Add that to a sexy pair of red stilettos, and I felt like a million bucks.

I stashed my bag right as Leona returned to the galley.

“I handed out menus, but the champagne could use topping off,” she informed me, dashing back into her galley to prep for takeoff.

That was fine.  I was ready.

I grabbed the opened bottle of champagne and strutted out into the cabin.

Under my breath I was humming Seven Nation Army.

My battle anthem.

Because this was war.

I faltered slightly when I spotted him, but recovered between one step and the next.  His face was downcast, eyes pointed away from me, thank God, so at least he hadn’t seen it.

His looks had always devastated me.

I was a shallow thing, with a weakness for the superficial.  Even now, with all we’d put each other through, his beautiful face moved me.

He was just how I remembered.  Every gut-punching, heart-wrenching inch of him.

He was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.  He had wicked good looks, with ebony black hair, light eyes, olive skin, and a perpetually shadowed jaw.  His features were even and sharp, with slanted eyes and a lush mouth.

He was extremely tall, enough so that it was apparent when he was sitting down.  If he stood, even in my killer heels he’d tower over me.

He was broad-shouldered and muscular, but he was lean enough to pull off looking elegant in the ungodly expensive suits he wore on a regular basis.

Physically, he was just my type.  I was a sucker for a sinister looking man.

Another thing that was all his fault.

“Dante,” I crooned with a smile when I reached him.  “To what do I owe the honor of your disagreeable, unwelcome presence?”

He’d been looking down at his phone when I’d approached, and he sucked in a deep breath at the sound of my voice.

He held it there for a long moment before letting it out and waited another beat still before letting his ocean blue eyes travel up to meet mine.

Ah, sweet torture.

This was the part I dreaded the most.

When our eyes clashed, and everything—every horrible, wonderful, painful, ugly, beautiful, torturous, ruinous, gory bit of us came back to me.

It was bad enough when I didn’t have to look at him.

But when I did—exquisite torment, with a touch of pleasure so concentrated, so brutally pure it had ruined my life.

Broken my heart.  Eviscerated my soul.

“Hello Scarlett,” he returned in that beautiful voice of his that I utterly detested.  It was the deepest timbre and compelling to an unusual degree.

Compelling to the point of controlling.

When it warmed, I warmed with it.  When it cooled, I went cold.

His voice was a dirty trick.

An unfair weapon.

I wanted to wrap my hands around his throat just to disarm it.

Well, if I was honest, I wanted to choke him for numerous reasons.  Several came to mind, not the least of which was that the thought of it turned me on.

“How flattering that you’d deign to fly commercial just to ruin my day.”  My tone dripped with venom.

“How flattering that you’d put on your favorite red lipstick just for me,” he returned with his own bloodthirsty smile.

Fuck.

Point to The Bastard.  He must have gotten a glimpse of me before I’d put it on to notice the difference.

His eyes shot down to my feet, and a ghost of a smile flitted across his face.  “And the shoes.  I’m more than flattered.  Your efforts never go unappreciated, angel.”

Another point.

If I was fair, it was two.

Because angel.  The bastard.

I barely held my eat shit and die smile.

He didn’t call me that because I was angelic.

Obviously.  He was being ironic.

He thought I was the devil, and as far as he was concerned, I sure as hell was.

But that wasn’t why it burned.  It burned because it was a very old nickname, from back in the day, when we were just dumb kids in love, and he’d actually meant it.

Once upon a time, I’d been his angel.  The reminder was yet another reason I’d have loved to wring his neck.

“More champagne?” I asked him, holding up the bottle, wondering if the other passengers would notice if I quietly poured it over his head.

He looked away, and I saw his lip curl up in disdain.

That made me grind my teeth.

It was shitty champagne, cheaper than he was used to, and he couldn’t hide his distaste.

God, he was a snob.  It was one of the things I hated most about him.  At the top of a very long list.

“Oh.  The brand too low class for you?  You poor baby.  You should put it up on your blog:  Spoiledrottentrustfundbrats.com.”

Here was the part where he was supposed to make a biting crack about me being from a trailer park, or pointed out how far I’d fallen that I was slinging drinks on an airplane, or asked archly about how my failed acting career was going.

That’s how this little play worked.

Only he didn’t.

He just raised suddenly tired, sad eyes back to me and said, “We need to talk, Scarlett.”

That set me off.  Here he was, wasting my time, and he wasn’t even giving me the reaction I wanted.

Scratch that.

Needed.

“Oh yeah sure,” I said flippantly, fake-distracted eyes traveling away from him to skim leisurely around the rest of the cabin, letting him know that he was barely worth my attention.  “Go ahead.  Talk.”  I snapped my fingers.  “Be quick about it.  There’s still time for you to get your privileged ass off my commercial plane before we close the doors.”  My voice was dismissive to the point of rude.

“Not here,” he ground out.  I could tell by his tense tone that I’d gotten to him.

Score another hit for me and my fake nonchalance.

I knew how to push every single button he had.

I’d keep pushing them until my fingers fell off or he left.

I saw one of my other crewmates, Demi, giving me a strange look from the coach cabin.

Dammit, I’d forgotten for a second that I was working.  I had at least a hundred things to do in the next five minutes.  I didn’t have time to indulge in this hate-fest just then.

“Excuse me,” I told Dante coldly, not even looking at him again, and strode away.

I approached him again as I was taking dinner orders.  I’d skipped him on my first sweep, only getting to his seat when everyone else was taken care of.

With every other passenger, I’d politely inquired what they’d like from the menu.

Dante, as always, got special treatment from me.

“We’re out of everything but chicken,” I told him flatly.  “Take it or leave it, princess.”

Dammit, I’d overdone it.  That actually made him smile.

“I’ll take it,” he said, sounding amused.

I hated it when he sounded amused.  It made me want to smile, and perversely, to smash a blunt, heavy object over his head.

“It’s good to see you, Scarlett.”  The fucker actually managed to sound like he meant it.  “You look as amazing as you always do.  How’ve you been?”

Shut up, I wanted to say.  Just stop talking.  

Just leave me alone. 

Forever.

But I’d never say any of that.  It would be too much like letting him win.

And if he won, I lost.

And I refused to lose again.  I’d lost enough.

“Peachy,” I said through my teeth.

“I saw that commercial you did.  The one for the body lotion.  You were really good.”

He was making fun of me, of course.

“Fuck you,” I drawled.

His brows lowered, bright eyes squinting at me.  “I wasn’t being sarcastic.  You were good.  Beautiful.  Charming.  Charismatic.  I’d bet a lot of money that the exposure from that is going to get you some offers.”

“Offers for what?  Go on.  Let’s hear it.  Stripping?  Prostitution?”

He sighed.  “For an acting job.  God, you don’t make anything easy.  I was trying to say something nice to you.”

“Why?” My tone was hostile.

His mouth twisted, his eyes imploring me as he answered with a soft, “Because, insane as it is, I miss you.”

He sounded like he genuinely meant it.

It made me feel violent, so unhinged that I couldn’t keep it in, couldn’t hold back a quiet and vehement, “Go fuck yourself.”

I turned on my heel and stormed off.

Add another point for The Bastard.

COMING SOON!

HERE’S A LITTLE TEASER FOR MY UPCOMING NOVEL,

BOSS

HAZEL PIPER

I loved Clayton Bishop.  Huge love.  Hug him tight and never let go love.  We were best friends, near inseparable, and had been for years.

He loved me back.  He’d have done anything for me.  He thought I was the most beautiful girl in the world.  I knew it because he told me, but also, I could see it in his eyes.  He was in love with me.

I loved Clayton, but I was in love with his brother, Declan.

Declan, who hated me.

Declan, who would barely look at me.  Who went out of his way to avoid me.

He hadn’t always hated me.  I used to be as close to him as the rest of the Bishop brothers.

It happened about two years ago, the hate.  Came out of nowhere and trampled its way all over my heart.

And to this day, I did not know why.

It didn’t matter.  I was lovesick.  Totally.  I couldn’t see beyond the agony of my feelings for him, not even for Clayton.

When Declan was nearby, my body knew it.  Not just the same room, but even near that room, and I swear I changed, things in my body started throbbing, I lost brain cells, and became an utter fool.

He, on the other hand, barely seemed to notice me now.

I couldn’t have gotten his attention if I stripped down and started dancing naked.

 It was so unfair, because he had all of my attention all the time.

It was an obsession that had kept me company for so long that I needed it.  Needed it to get through the day.

And as if unrequited love weren’t enough, our lives were securely and inevitably entwined.  It wasn’t even an issue of seeing him daily.  This was an hourly affliction, with shared car rides, classes, and often, when I went home, even shared dinners between our close-knit families.  There was no escape, no relief, no reprieve from the barrage of feelings that I held inside of me for a guy who’d barely given me solid eye contact for nearly two years.

I was so screwed.

This dilemma had been the contentious focal point of my life for so long that a lot of other things slipped my notice.

Significant things.

Important things.

Things I’d soon come to regret.

COMING SOON!