Return to Us Read online

  When his hands fell to my waist, I glanced up locking my arms around his neck. I held his hazel eyes in mine, the glowing flecks of amber captivating me, drawing me closer like a moth to a flame.

  “I’ve been waiting all night to get my hands on you.”

  That voice—deep, sensual, and full of delicious promise. I remembered it so well from the last time we were together.

  “Is that so?”

  He nodded. “It is. I’m going to say something completely unoriginal but I need you to pretend that you’re impressed, okay?”

  “Hmm, I can’t make any promises.”

  The people, the laughter, and the chatter all faded into nothingness. He swept me across the room spinning me around until we came to a standstill in front of the floor to ceiling windows. Music was the only thing I heard, and the world suddenly became this small space between us.

  For a moment, I thought the top of my dress would slip, but he proved to be an excellent dance partner. He had a superior frame, perfect balance and his feet never touched the hem of my strapless gown.

  “I’ve wanted to say this since the first night I met you . . . you’re incredibly beautiful.”

  I glanced sideways at him, offering a small smirk. He was right, it wasn’t very original. “My reply will be as equally unoriginal.”

  His fingers brushed over my hand before entwining our fingers. “Lay it on me, beautiful,” he said, rubbing the pad of his thumb over my knuckles.

  “You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.”

  He gave me the most seductive smile which knocked the air from my lungs causing my skin to tingle.

  Even though I already knew his name, he introduced himself—again. This tall solid mass of a man was none other than movie star, Matthew Barber. He had been on my mind since our brief coffee shop encounter some weeks ago, and now he was here standing beside me.

  I might have had posters of him on my wall in college. I might have stared up at them at night and thought about what it would be like to have his hands all over my body. I may have doodled Mrs. Matthew Barber on my freshman psychology notes in bubble letters.

  “What can I get you to drink?”

  The server’s question interrupted the replay of memories. Matthew arched one of his thick dark brows at me. Words failed me, apparently I was tongue tied or the nerves that sent a signal from my brain to my mouth had been fried.

  “Champagne, we’re celebrating,” Matthew replied.

  She smiled and then hurried off towards the bar, leaving the two of us alone once more.

  “What are we celebrating?” I asked, shifting on my heel.

  “Our first date, of course.”

  “First date,” I repeated.

  “Tonight, is our first date.”

  “I can’t decide if this is a unique approach to a first date or not—a welcoming party for an A-lister’s little sister—not particularly romantic.”

  “Not romantic?” He cocked a brow. “We have all the makings of a romantic evening, there’s music, drinks, food, and conversation.” He bent to whisper in my ear, “And an added bonus, since this is our first date that means that I’m two steps closer to getting you into bed and underneath me.”

  The server returned with our champagne giving me time to formulate a response. I could pretend that I was offended and play hard to get. I could give him the milk for free with the possibility that I’d never hear from him again. He’ll want more, I’m amazing in bed.

  Despite his Hollywood star power, Matthew struck me as confident, not cocky or smug. I’d been around plenty of men who wielded their power to make women feel small. This wasn’t one of those times, of that I was sure.

  “I assume you’re playing a numbers game—the magic number being three. I wouldn’t have suspected that you were a follower of the third date rule.”

  “If this is the part where you say, fuck the rules, I’m all for it, beautiful.”

  I smiled behind my champagne glass. “Are you actually friends with anyone here or are you a Hollywood party crasher?”

  “Ronan invited me, but he told me that it was going to be an intimate party. I didn’t expect this many industry execs to be here.”

  I snickered, resting my back on the cool glass of the window. “Remind me to give them a few tips on how to throw a good party.”

  “Noted. So tell me, how did you score an invite to this party?” He took a swig of champagne. His face scrunched up as if he’d tasted something sour.

  “Holliday is one of my closest friends. You know, there’s plenty of alcohol, you certainly don’t need to drink the champagne.” I pointed towards his glass.

  “Now that you mention it, I could go for a beer and some tostadas, or enchiladas covered in chili pepper sauce. I’m starving and the menu says grilled pear, prosciutto, and arugula salad. What the hell is arugula anyway?”

  “It’s a leafy green plant, resembles fancy lettuce. It’s harmless, I promise. In fact, there are a number of . . .” I paused, and signaled for a server. “My friend would like a beer, please.”

  “Sure thing, sir, we have several IPA’s this evening . . .”

  Matthew held up his hand. “I’m gonna stop you right there. I’ll take a bourbon.”

  “Very well, sir.” The server stepped away making a bee-line for the bar.

  “No IPA’s for you?”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather chew bark.”

  “Funny, I think beer tastes like bitter bark, mossy even.”

  “Well, I need to introduce you to the right kind of beer. I’ll take you out, there’s a bar with over a hundred beers on tap. You’re bound to find one that you love—I’m guessing you’re a Stella kind of woman.”

  “I don’t think so,” I reaffirmed. “Beer is so heavy.”

  Matthew tossed his head back. “You haven’t lived until you’ve had a cold beer and authentic Mexican food.”

  “Okay, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll try the beer if you eat all of the salad.”

  “I’m going to need a little more persuasion.” Matthew jutted his chin. “You were saying, about the arugula.” He leaned closer, so close and smelling heavenly. I couldn’t place the exact fragrance notes—mostly clean with a hint of spice perhaps oranges and a light woodsy finish. I inhaled deeply getting my fill of the scent.

  “Here you are.” The server returned handing Matthew a glass tumbler filled with a honey colored liquid.

  His gaze drifted back to me, the moonlight passing over his strong features. “It’s Gucci Guilty.”

  There was no hiding my smile. I’d been caught, sniffing a movie star. “I like it, very much,” I admitted. He took a swallow of his drink. I studied his neck, and his chin and his barely there stubble. My mind raced with dirty thoughts of his face between my legs with that scruff rubbing against my most sensitive spots.

  “Back to the arugula, I need to hear more about this fancy lettuce.”

  I took a sip of champagne, swallowing down my lustful thoughts along with the sweet bubbles. Averting my eyes, I studied the silk embroidery on his maroon pocket square and the stripes of his navy suit. “Right, arugula has a ton of health benefits—increased metabolism, it detoxifies and improves eyesight. I like it best with chicken, almonds, and goat cheese, but there are dozens of recipes. It’s delicious with figs, Burrata cheese, jam, olive oil, and a little bit of balsamic vinegar.”

  “Wait, did you say—figs?”

  I laughed and nodded. “Believe it or not, yes, people do eat them. You live in California, haven’t you seen them in the produce section?”

  Matthew shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of going to the market these days.”

  “I love to cook, actually, I love to bake, but I don’t do it often—cooking for one person feels like a waste at times. Lots of leftovers, and I don’t like eating leftovers.”

  Matthew’s attention turned to my lips. “Well, I’m going to devour tonight’s arugula salad and then you and I will have
dinner together—and there won’t be any leftovers.”

  Swallowing harshly, I couldn’t seem to find my words. There was something in the way he said the word devour—it sent shivers racing over my skin. It was like a delicious promise laced with innuendo.

  “Dinner will begin shortly, please take your seats,” Holliday announced from the dining room.

  Matthew’s hand landed on the small of my back as he guided me through the room. The feel of his fingers through my dress sent heat spreading over my skin. We approached the table, and then he pulled out one of the chairs motioning for me to take a seat. As I gazed at the menu card in front of me, I caught the newest member of Ronan’s security team rushing up the staircase. For a small gathering, there was a significant amount of security.

  My mother never had this kind of protection. I wondered if she would still be alive today had she had a bodyguard back then. No. Don’t think about that, not tonight. I couldn’t let my mind retreat to that dark place, especially not tonight. Tonight, my dinner companion was a man I dreamed about so many times and I hoped the reality was as good as the fantasy.

  THE VIBRATIONS FROM THE pocket of my jacket pulled me out of my conversation with Tinley. Earlier in the evening I’d instructed my publicist there were to be no distractions tonight. I simply wanted to enjoy a night with my friends.

  Noting the name on the screen, this wasn’t a call I could send to voicemail.

  “I have to take this call,” I said, pushing back from the table.

  Tinley smiled up at me and nodded. “Do what you need to do.”

  “I’m sorry, darlin’, give me one minute,” I whispered into the phone. I’d been in Ronan’s penthouse prior to this occasion, enough times to know where his study was located so that I could take this call in private.

  “Hey,” I said, opening the door to the study. “What’s the matter, baby girl?”

  “Uncle Matt, I miss you.” The words came from my adorable five-year-old niece, Evie. My brother, Nathan, had settled down and married his college sweetheart, Marlene, years ago. After nearly a decade of trying to get pregnant, and nearly losing hope, they were blessed with a miracle they never thought would happen.

  “Aww, I miss you too, darlin’.”

  She let out a soft giggle. “Are you comin’ to visit us soon?”

  Pain radiated in my chest. “Well, I hadn’t planned on a visit anytime soon. But, I tell you what, how about we plan a video chat. Would you like that?”

  “Okay, you promise?”

  “I promise. I will call you soon.”

  “All right,” Nate’s Texas drawl cut through the speaker. “That’s enough, Evie, say goodnight to Uncle Matt and run along to bed.”

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “Yeah, sorry about that. We got new phones and I haven’t setup the lock feature yet. I’ll be doing that once we hang up.”

  After a few moments of idle chit chat, I ended the call with Nate and made my way back to the dinner party festivities. Shoving my phone into the pocket of my jacket, I glanced around the room for Tinley. Where is she?

  As I walked towards the bar, Ronan stepped into my path. “Enjoying yourself, mate?”

  “Yeah, thanks for the invite,” I answered, before ordering a bourbon. “How long is your sister going to be here?”

  “I’m not certain, maybe a few weeks. It depends on whether or not she finds a space for her boutique and how quickly we can close the deal.”

  My eyes drifted across the room catching a glimpse of Tinley as she raised a glass to her perfect lips slicked with a deep red color.

  Feeling tightly wound and in desperate need of release, my mind began to conjure fantasies. What would her skin feel like against mine? I had a small preview when I laid hands on her earlier, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  Looking beautiful in a strapless blue gown, she was engaged in a conversation with two men, one of whom was an executive I recognized from Avalon films. The expression on her face told me that she was bored, but nonetheless she entertained the man who was speaking. It’s the same look she had the night I first met her in Los Angeles. I debated whether or not to save her from the boredom, but something told me Tinley Atkinson wasn’t the kind of woman who needed rescuing. No, she was a woman who radiated confidence and sexiness in equal measure. Tinley was fascinating, and I enjoyed our conversation before and during dinner. At present, all I could think about was tasting her—just one little taste of her on my lips left me feeling irritated.

  “You’ve had your eye on that woman all evening,” Ronan mumbled.

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Slightly.”

  I turned to face him. “What do you know about her?”

  “Not much, Tinley’s a close friend of Holliday’s. She’s an artist, I think. Her father is a big oil tycoon or maybe that is her uncle.”

  “Interesting, but I was more or less asking if she was dating anyone.”

  He shook his head and tossed back a drink from his tumbler. “Oh, well, I don’t know about her dating life. For that you’ll need to consult Holliday. Or here’s an idea, just ask her out.” He slapped my shoulder, and then strode away.

  Tinley turned around, her blonde hair slid over her shoulders as her gaze locked with mine. Coming here tonight and seeing her was unexpected, but now to find out that she and I shared mutual friends it all seemed like fate or some shit that I normally didn’t buy into, but it was hard to deny.

  Tinley scooped up her black clutch from the table. The light from the chandelier glinted off the diamonds around her neck. I wanted to taste her there, everywhere.

  The man she had been talking to put his hand on the small of her back leading her towards the hallway.

  No, jackass, my hand goes there.

  Glowering, my grasp on the tumbler tightened. Tossing it at his head would be a terrible fucking idea.

  Holliday glided up to her side giving her a hug. Unable to move my feet, I stood there frozen.

  Move, you pussy.

  Tinley was leaving—leaving with a man that wasn’t me. The moment had passed, so much for fate.

  A Month-ish Later

  AS I PULLED TWO mugs from the cabinet I pressed brew on the coffee maker. The second cup was for Holliday, who was staying with me at present. It had been close to two weeks since she’d walked out of the place she shared with Ronan. I felt horrible for them both. It seemed like the two of them clicked on all cylinders in their whirlwind romance bubble. But now the bubble had burst, and she was miserable. The tabloids were already printing rumors of their alleged break-up.

  This summer was off to a somber start. I was in desperate need for some romance in my own life. No woman should be desperate for romance, should they? A few weeks ago, I was sure that my life was headed in that direction with Matthew Barber. My eyes trained on the drip of the dark liquid as I thought back to the evening he held me in his strong arms. That night had been on my mind a lot.

  When Matthew excused himself to take a call from some darlin’, a familiar sense of dread wound through me and I’d decided to skip out on dessert. It was a kneejerk reaction. They say that the best defense is a good offense. But, I say screw that. After my last breakup, my defense has served me well. And while it kept me from scoring, it also kept me from getting crushed.

  My last relationship was a bit crowded—there were three people involved. I was the “other woman” and I had no idea that he was married. For a year and a half, I had not one clue.

  With Matthew, anyone could have been on the other end of that phone, but my wounds were still fresh even after all this time. Admittedly, I got spooked. Once the coffee finished brewing, I grabbed the sugar and creamer and then placed them on the tray.

  I climbed up the backstairs, passing through the loft where my mother’s white grand piano sat and found Holliday on the balcony staring out at the ocean. Storm clouds gathered in the distance.

  As I stepped onto the balcony the co
ol air whipped over my skin. “Ready for some coffee?” I asked, placing the tray on the table.

  “Yes, coffee is my life blood,” she replied, tucking her dark hair behind her ears.

  I took a seat on the lounger and tossed a blanket over my legs. “Are you sure that you’re going to be okay here by yourself?”

  Nodding, she stirred the contents of her mug. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”

  Her finger traced the rim of her cup. “Charlotte pulled a few dresses for you and they’re going to be delivered to your hotel suite tonight. You and your stylist should have no problem finding something perfect for your interview tomorrow, Tinley.”

  I sucked down a swig of my coffee. “I cannot thank you and Charlotte enough for helping me with a wardrobe.”

  “Speaking of thanks, I need to thank you.”

  I waved her off. “You’ve already thanked me, plenty, for letting you stay here—we’re family.”

  Holliday was the younger sister I never had, and I hated seeing her in such pain. During my childhood, my parents had always talked about growing their family, but with Mom’s play selling out night after night and Dad traveling for business nearly every other week it wasn’t possible. Then, when I was seventeen, my mom died. Even though I was well aware of the fact that having siblings was not happening, it was more than solidified with her death.

  “I’m so glad that you’re here,” she said, squeezing my hand. “God, I missed you. You’re not allowed to be gone so long anymore.”

  I smiled. She was referring to this past winter, when I’d spent a few months in Texas and then California. It was nice to get away, but it was hardly a vacation. I spent a majority of the time working, trying to clear my head.

  “I missed you too,” I said, blowing the steam away from my mug.

  “Ugh, why did I have to fall for Ronan Connolly?” she asked, placing her mug back onto the tray. “I should have visited you in Texas, and roped myself a cowboy or two like you did. Love is a tricky business.”

  “You don’t mean that, but the cowboys are pretty great. Seriously though, you’re always welcome in my home.”